How many times I have thrown up my hands-beside myself, not knowing what to do. After seven years, we are still fighting the same fights. I'm tired and I want to go for a quick hack in the field. "No," she tells me. "I just want to go hang out with my buddies and eat grass." She begins grinding her teeth and rocking forward and back, forward and back; it's her way of dealing with things that make her anxious. I sigh and decide to fight this battle another day. I return the saddle to the rack; hang the reins on the wall. As I head home, I have a chance to collect my thoughts.
She and I are so much alike, it's uncanny. Neither one of us expected the abuse we got. And we've both spent our whole lives dealing with it, trying to make sense of it. I realize I am being very selfish, trying to force this beautiful creature into doing things that are completely out of her comfort zone. At first, I thought I was trying to help her build her confidence, when all along it really was mine I was focused on. "See? I have a thoroughbred-look how fantastic I look riding her! She is so gorgeous!"
Was I thinking about how hard it was for her when I asked her to venture away from the herd for rides in the woods? Folks would scoff and tell me my horse should be obedient-no balking, no resistance. I guess they weren't there the day she was being loaded in the trailer with six or seven others-headed to an auction that was know for it's share of meat buyers. When she arrived, she had a better than fifty-fifty chance of ending up on someone's dinner plate. Animals are smart-they sense things. They know the difference between good and bad. It's part of how they survive.
So, I have to remind myself that when someone comes across a living being that is damaged, it takes time to build trust again. I need to show her that I love her, no matter how difficult she might be. No matter how long it takes. It's been a long standing fact in our society that if something doesn't serve a purpose, it's time to get rid of it. I had to show her that wasn't going to happen again.
There is this notion that race horses lead a pretty charmed life. That is only true for a very small part of the population. And even then, it only lasts for a short time. A lucky few will get to live out the rest of their days standing for sire at a farm or becoming a brood mare, but the rest, if they don't show promise, end up looking for homes. Thousands and thousands of them. They end up with well meaning folks who very quickly realize they are way in over the heads with this breed and they don't want to take the time necessary to retrain them or understand them. They are sold or end up at auctions. Not many individuals consider how that must feel to the animals. It's sort of like not wanting to know where that hamburger comes from that you are eating. Out of sight, out of mind. No one wants to see the terror in their eyes or imagine how alone they must feel.
I used to get excited about the races, but now that I see how my girl is, and how I'm still picking up the pieces after seven years, I'm not so thrilled. We humans are funny creatures; so selfish.
When I visit Dancer this evening, I will whisper in her ear how sorry I am and let her know how much I love her, no matter what. I will let her know that it never mattered that she came in first when she raced because with me, she'll always be number one.
