That Feeling!

Hi Everyone,

What a winter this has been. I truly hope you’re all okay, maybe sipping some hot chocolate, cozying up on the couch when you can, and of course, keeping the horses in your heart.

Recently, our incredible volunteer Wendi asked me to consider writing about what it feels like when you earn a rescue’s trust. The moment a reticent mare lowers her head to your hand. The moment a spicy gelding stands motionless, next to you in the farm’s quiet. The instant a wide-eyed mini takes a first step in your direction, instead of away. The sensation you have when a new mama eyes you as you greet her foal, decides you’re not a threat, and returns her nose to her hay.

Although I’m reluctant to try to articulate that feeling–only because I’m pretty sure I’d fail miserably–I can tell you that it’s a feeling I chase whenever I’m at the farm.

The other day when I visited the donkeys in the paddock by the barn, I had to reassure Maggie, whose confidence throughout her pregnancy has been waxing and waning, that she could approach me safely. About ten feet from where she was standing with her mates, I lowered myself onto my portable stool (comes in handy with rescues who get spooked by full-size humans) and sat quietly for a few minutes. Maggie glanced at me several times before deciding not to approach.

I so longed to engage with her, but I knew I couldn’t force it. Eager to break the silence that had settled above the snow, I began to talk to her in the most soothing voice I could muster. Lord help her, I even sang.

Ignoring my tone-deafness (or more likely, wanting me to stop), Maggie turned to face me and took a few steps my way. Then she stopped, considered her options, and again, moved slowly towards me. I put my hand out, she sniffed it, and she took another step.

Within a few minutes, I was tickling the tip of her nose, then stroking her face. And I, well, I had that feeling. You know, the one I’d empty my bank account to bottle, if I could.

That same day, I meandered past Snookie, one of the mules I wrote about a long time ago. While I have not been able to gain his full trust, sometimes he beckons me to the fence line and makes a weird little noise that feels like he might be saying, “I’d like to say hello, even though I’m not anywhere near ready for affection.” The act of walking towards him without causing him to bolt–even from over the fence–makes my heart swell. That feeling.

In the four years I’ve been volunteering at 13 Hands, I’ve met many rescues who’ve been reluctant to trust. Some of those encounters have been wildly successful, and I attribute that to the consistent, trustworthy care they get from the staff. Simply put, there’s no way a traumatized rescue would allow me in if they weren’t already building trust with the people who greet, feed, and water them daily.

A few of the rescues, however, are proving to be trickier. Perhaps it’s an inborn trait. Perhaps their trauma is deeper than we can reach. There’s good news, though. That feeling–the one you get when a shy, scared, defensive rescue lets you in–is so big, so warming, so magical, that it’s always, always worth trying.

Until next time,

Karen