Beautiful Mess

“What a beautiful mess, what a beautiful mess I’m in… spending all my time with you, there’s nothin’ else I’d rather do.  What a sweet addiction that I’m caught up in…’cause I can’t get enough…”

I’m just a mess sometimes.  Sensitive, easily prone to tears by things that might register to another on the emotional Richter scale at no more than a “Oh, that’s touching,” you can just about knock me over with a well told emotional story.  And it doesn’t have to be gut-wrenching, tragic or devastating – I am as easily moved and brought to near-weeping by a moment of generous compassion or simple joy. 

The passage of time has only sharpened this facet of my persona.  And so here I am, several years and three rescued animals later, and occasionally and discreetly still searching on the side for stories of second chances and opportunities to do more, to help more, to save another one.  Don’t misunderstand me - my home is full.  One sensitive, goofy and anxious coonhound and a cat who regularly scales a floor-to-ceiling wooden beam in the middle of my living room – not to mention one rather proud and stubborn Quarter Horse who has so completely stolen my heart that I catch myself associating happy song lyrics with him on a regular basis…yes, I am at capacity when it comes to rescued animals.  No vacancy.  No can do.  I mean it.   

There’s something beautiful…and yes, even messy…about loving a rescued animal.  The things they teach you about yourself.  The emotions they bring out.  The self-sacrifice you didn’t think you were capable of.  The way they teach you to love.  The way they teach you to forgive.  The way they don’t need you to be perfect or right, or without flaws…they just need you to be, to have someone they can trust.  

I never have an interaction with my horse, Tuff, without experiencing some sort of emotion (even if that emotion is frustration).  The other day I walked out into the pasture, grooming supplies in hand and a widespread grin on my face.  He looked beautiful and at peace, grazing with his pasture mates.  In a perfect world, his head would have snapped up and he would have broken into a gentle lope, coming straight towards me with unreserved delight.  But this isn’t a perfect world and he doesn’t always act as my dreams play out, so although his head snapped up and he registered my presence, it just as quickly dropped back down to the lush green grass which was far more compelling than my arrival.  I tried to groom him and did so only somewhat successfully - every 30 seconds his skin would twitch and he’d walk away half a dozen steps and drop his head down to graze again.  Only mildly exasperated, I turned to Bo, who watched me with a curious intensity from a few steps away.  I noted the wind twists in his mane and thought I’d try to untangle the mess if he would let me.  What a difference.  He stood perfectly still, head held high but relaxed and let me weave my fingers gingerly through his mane for a good 15 minutes.  His trust and quiet acceptance melted my heart.  I turned to Tuff, whose rear end was facing me and I feigned an indifferent shrug.  “I love you,” I whispered to Bo loudly enough for Tuff to hear me and then I sauntered away.  After a minute, I turned around to see that Tuff was suddenly alert and watching my every move as I left the pasture.  A grin broke out on my face once again and I enthusiastically called out “Bye, Tuffy, your mom loves you!!!”  What a pushover. 

Yes, I’m a mess.  I’ve cried my heart out over that horse on hard days.  And I’ve also experienced pure and unadulterated joy just being in his presence…or the times he makes me laugh unexpectedly with his playfulness…the side of him that I feel sometimes is reserved just for me.  It really is a beautiful mess.  I’d take the ups and downs and all the emotion that goes with it any day…the love I get in return, the way my life has been enriched and the capacity to which my heart has grown is worth it all.

One step at a time

It doesn’t take much sometimes.  A nasty phone call from someone who refuses to listen.  A well-intentioned yet biting remark from a friend.  An urgently needed car repair that couldn’t come at a worse time.  Even something as simple as the local Starbucks running out of your favorite white chocolate mocha with whip can be enough to send you plummeting over the edge and spiraling downward into a complete emotional breakdown.

On a larger scale, events like the recent catastrophic earthquake in Haiti can make one feel like a tiny, insignificant dot in a world filled with so much great need.  You want desperately to help, the images are heartbreaking, but you are overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the devastation.

I stood in the arena a few weeks ago and watched an intense chiropractic, holistic evaluation be completed on my horse.  “Overwhelmed” doesn’t begin to sum up my feelings after the 2+ hour session.  I knew he needed it, desperately needed it, and eagerly anticipated positive results.  I didn’t count on or expect the flood of emotions from either my horse or myself.  And with each reaction he gave – head rearing up sharply, sidestepping, resisting and recoiling…then, more softly, head dropping, eyes softening and a slow chew – I reacted, my eyes welling to the brim each time, swallowing hard over the ever-growing lump in my throat.  Near the end of the session, when he had let down his guard and begun to trust enough to allow Dr. Seelye to work on his front legs and she loudly and joyfully proclaimed “Good for you!  Good for you!!” to him, I wanted to collapse into a sobbing heap right then and there.  My own self-conscious embarassment prevented this, however, and I covered my mouth and squinted my eyes tightly should they betray the carefully composed air of stability I tried to exude.  In fact, I still cannot think about that moment in the arena, or talk or write about it, without welling up all over again.  I love my horse  and when it comes to his healing and well-being, my emotional ties to him are plainly  and at times pathetically evident.

I walked away from the session with a lot of information.  And a bit of a sense of - how am I ever going to help him or make a difference?  Adding in the challenge of trying to select a new name for him (and the resulting internal dialogue I’ve wrestled with the past few weeks: does his name, “Tuff,” really define him or is he who he is as a result of everything he’s been through and does today?  Am I spending far too much time dwelling on and stressing over this?), and I feel a bit ineffective and, again….overwhelmed.

It’s easy to feel outnumbered when the challenges are stacked higher than the victories.  So as I left the barn the other day, again having struggled through an “off” day with my horse (also known as the Most Beautiful Horse on Earth), I climbed slowly into my car, removed a glove, and stopped.  I breathed it in deeply – that sweet and familiar smell of my horse: hair, dirt, shavings, the whole bit.  Fellow horse lovers may understand.  I have loved that smell my whole life.  It is associated with some of the best memories I have.  So here I sat, worn down by the odds seemingly stacked against me – and him – and just….breathed.  It had a powerful effect, this simple thing.

I have to remember this sometimes, about life.  At times you really only can take things a day at a time.  Walking alongside rescue horses, one knows this all too well.  And even if you can’t take on a whole day, you take a step.  My horse is living proof of this.  For each step he’s bravely taken, even in the midst of intense pain, it’s been a cause for great celebration (and sometimes happy weeping).  If I can focus on this, I don’t feel so overwhelmed.  Or powerless.  We’re all capable of making tremendous impact and great strides, even when it doesn’t feel that way.   Even through the small and simple things.

Healing together

Working in rescue, the focus is so often upon the saving and healing of the animals who come into your care.  For those who arrive battered and wounded from the neglect they’ve suffered, the need for recovery and tender loving care is all the more apparent.  I think of  horses like Baylee, left in the muck and mire of a round pen with no source of food or clean water, and the transformation that has taken place since she has come into our barn.  This beautiful animal seemed to develop rapidly into a stunning young prospect horse.  And yet, as we sometimes learn, the transformation that a rescued animal must undergo is more extensive than the changes that take place in just their physical appearance.  Baylee still struggles with lameness issues that were brought on as part of the malnourishment she suffered during a key time of development in her young life.  Her journey to complete recovery continues.

As I led my own rescue horse, Tuff, into the round pen the other day, I struggled with the twinges of guilt that I hadn’t devoted the amount of attention to him over the past couple weeks that he deserved.   I counted on him making me pay for this too.  I took a deep breath and attempted to focus - I needed the time with him to be positive, having just struggled through a particularly difficult week myself.  He deserved nothing less than my undivided attention.  Starting with basic groundwork, I encountered immediate resistance.  He held his ground stubbornly.  A swish or two of the tail, a pawing of his front hoof and a set expression all let me know that he wasn’t going to make it easy on me.  The more time I spent, the more I became engrossed in his movements – or lack thereof – and his demeanor.

As mild frustration started to swell within me (really, I just wanted this to be a good day between us), I bit my lip hard and tried to will him to connect with me and what I was asking.  Finally, something broke and released.  I don’t know who experienced it first – although he gave the first outward signal with the shifting of his hind end, I felt a dead weight lift and a sense of calm and intention come over me.  Suddenly his head dropped, his eyes softened, and he let out three deliberate and exaggerated yawns (in the world of natural horsemanship, this was a signal that he was processing, making new connections in his brain).

Something so simple, yet it was enough to send me over the edge – tears welled up and abruptly spilled down my cheeks.  It wasn’t just relief that he finally “got it.”  To me, it communicated the crumbling of a wall between us – he was letting me in and I was finally open to receive it.  As I leaned forward and buried my face helplessly into his neck, he remained still and quiet, just allowing me to be.  I realized in those few moments that he was not the only one in need of tender loving care.  He’s been broken… and so have I.  Working and learning with him has taught me so much about myself, and I sometimes wonder if I give him back a fraction of what he gives me.

The healing can truly be on both sides.  We spend our time, hearts, and energy loving on these neglected, unwanted, and abused animals and so often may miss the lessons and healing they are in turn giving us.  Life is not easy and we all have our battle scars–like so many of them.  Taking the time to understand and walk alongside them on their journey of healing can offer lasting benefits we never may have imagined.

No one ever said it would be easy…

Sometimes, no matter how high your hopes or how pure your intentions, things just don’t go the way you envisioned.   Driving to the barn on a cold and rainy fall evening, I was hopeful that my horse was feeling better after his most recent bout of lameness.  I also hoped to glean some inspiring material for the latest blog entry.   I packed away my camera and anticipated maybe even getting a great shot or two.

After battling traffic for an hour, I arrived and it was nearly dusk.  The rain and dark didn’t make for an ideal photoshoot, so I scurried inside to be near my beloved horse.  The barn was nearly deserted as the horses quietly and contentedly munched on their hay.  Tuff jerked his head to attention in his usual fashion and I knew within three steps that he was feeling no better.  He limped out slowly next to me as I set about to examine and clean his feet.   I have found that there is almost nothing more personally discouraging to me than seeing my horse in discomfort like that.   Next to his hulking and powerful frame, I feel sadly helpless in easing his burden.

As I rummaged through the tack locker to find some bute and sunflower seeds to lift his spirits, I heard a pathetic and sharp series of cries emitting from the nearby tack room.  Kittens.  Molly, a resident stray and elusive as always, had escaped the last vet appointment and delivered a final litter of kittens for the season.  The volume of mewing led me to believe the kittens were at least 4 or 5 weeks old - I was taken aback when I opened the door to see five tiny squirming babies, their eyes barely opened.  Molly had stopped nursing them and they cried out in hunger.  Emily, one of our Leg Up For Kids instructors, suggested I try giving them the formula again.

And try I did.  Sitting on the concrete floor, watching them squirm over my boots and cry out pitifully, I looked desperately at Molly for help.  She shied away each time I placed a kitten helpfully near her.   One kitten stepped into the tiny dish of formula and I watched it spread over the floor.  Molly came up and lapped it up and I exhaled in disappointment.  Emily stated that perhaps she would take them home that evening and try to bottle feed them in order to get them through the night.  I prayed so.

As I led my lame horse slowly back to his stall, I felt downright defeated.  Although Tuff’s mood didn’t seem terribly impacted by the soreness, I grimaced each time I watched him struggle to put weight on that foot.  Then I walked back to hear the cries of the 5 hungry kittens.  The entire drive home, I fretted over the kittens and whether or not they’d survive the night…tears blurred my vision and I wanted to curl up in bed and call it a day.  For about a week.

No one ever said that rescue work was easy.  Logically, I know that.   But I suppose I go into it each time hoping for the natural high that comes with each success story…each animal saved from the brink of death… But there are heartaches too.  Animals that can’t be saved.  Instances of abuse and neglect that can shock even the most seasoned animal welfare worker.  Even small struggles, like listening to the small cries of young hungry kittens, are enough to send someone like me over the edge and morph into a sniffly, tearful mess.

But then I think about Tuff.  And although his struggles with soundness are likely permanent, which I knew going in, his triumphs are far more measurable and impactful.  They tell the true story of who he is and what he’s been through.  We have temporary setbacks all the time and I’m still learning to sort through what he’s been through emotionally as well.  I may never fully know.  But I know that he tries.  His spirit is indomitable and I’d like to think that, at least some of the time, he’s happy now.  He’s permanently etched into my heart.

The kittens made it through the night.  Thanks to the dedication of fellow animal-loving big hearted ladies, they were bottle fed through two critical nights and when returned, Molly accepted them back and immediately began nursing.  I would be lying if I said my eyes didn’t instantly well up at the news.  The anguish of the night before seemed a distant memory.  It’s this.  Moments just like this that keep us going and motivated to take on the next day, filled with heartaches, joy and challenges.  No one ever said it would be easy, but I promise you it’s always, always worth it.

Sweet Justice!

Jake Rider, the owner of Howdy, Lily, and Cody who was charged with 11 counts of animal cruelty was finally sentenced.

He will be spending six months in jail and has been ordered to not own any animals for seven years.

Would we have liked to have seen more? Sure, but we’re happy that the court clearly felt his crime was a serious one.