Friends.
Have I got a story for you.
A few days ago, I invited my friend Caryn to visit 13 Hands with me.
Before I tell you about our visit, I have to share that just over a month ago, Caryn underwent surgery for lung cancer. Although she was assured by her doctors that they had removed all of the cancer and that she would need no further treatment, the diagnosis and surgery shook her. When I saw Caryn for lunch some weeks ago, she shared that it took her by surprise – how deeply the surgery affected her emotions.
Although she is a fierce animal lover (the person who has shown up at shelters to adopt the least adoptable cat or dog), Caryn has no experience with horses. On our trip up the Taconic, she admitted that she was a little intimidated by their size. After all she’d been through, it seemed reasonable to me that her confidence would be shaky, so I assured her that 13 Hands has safety protocols, that she would not be in harm’s way, that the farm’s fences would keep her safe.
We started our tour with the babies and their mamas – Regalo and Darla, Velvet Gem and Midge, and Black Pearl and Cherokee. Caryn took in the foals’ goofiness, their curiosity, and their staggering cuteness. Almost instantly, I could tell she was beginning to relax.
We wandered over to Nutmeg and Cecilia, my favorite minis, who marched to the fence to introduce themselves. We moseyed on; sat and chatted while Rory, Dusty, and Lorelai chewed on hay; and made our way towards Zoey, one of my newest cuddlers. But Cleo, an older Warmblood mare, had another idea.
Head over the fence, tall in the sun, silent and still as a palace guard, Cleo drew Caryn toward her. Caryn stopped just long enough to ask me, “Who’s that?” and I responded, “Oh, that’s Cleo.” Before I could suggest we say hello, Caryn was in front of Cleo’s giant, soft muzzle, letting Cleo sniff her hand.
I know Cleo to be reliably quiet, gentle, and kind. I’ve groomed her and spent time with her, and I’ve been impressed by her steadiness. What I witnessed next, though, was beyond anything I might have expected. The word mystical comes to mind.
Caryn began to whisper to Cleo, who lowered her head so that Caryn could stroke the stretch between her forelock and her nose. Cleo’s eyes closed dreamily as she listened to Caryn’s words. Recognizing that a very special connection was in the works here, I took a half-step back along the fence line. And that’s when, in a release of all the emotional turmoil of a cancer diagnosis and a serious surgery, Caryn started to weep.
It’s hard for me to watch a friend cry; I always feel particularly helpless when I can’t make things immediately better. I fumbled inanely for words which would assure Caryn that it was okay to let it out. But the truth is, the sound of my voice was an interruption of what was happening between Caryn and Cleo. So I shut up.
Eventually, Caryn’s whispers became a little louder, a little more determined, and I heard her say to Cleo, “We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.” And that’s when I noticed something I have never seen before.
A single tear had gathered in the corner of Cleo’s eye, and just as Caryn and I noticed it, it dropped to the ground.
Simply remarkable.
Yes, we know horses don’t cry. Yes, we know it’s the start of fly season. Yes, we know spring awakens all kinds of allergens which can make eyes water. Yes, we know. We know.
But we also know that Cleo somehow beckoned to Caryn. We know that Cleo responded instantly to Caryn’s undeniable warmth and tenderness. We know that despite Cleo’s towering stature, she made Caryn feel secure. Safe.
Above all, we know that in this beautiful, mystical moment, the fence line separating Caryn and Cleo seemed to fade away.
Until next time,
Karen
