help this horse? I don’t have much time, so the sooner you can give me an answer, the better.
Thanks,
Don’t-know-much-about-horses
Before I lose my nerve, I hit Send.
Nine
I finish putting away groceries. Then I get an apple out of the fridge and pour myself a glass of milk. I’m halfway through the apple when I hear the ding that means new e-mail has arrived. I know it couldn’t possibly be Winnie already, but I check just in case. And it is!
Dear Horsewoman,
Yep, I know you don’t think of yourself as one. But you are! It says a lot that the abused horse chose you. He sensed something good in you, someone he can trust. Horsemanship is more than knowing how to post in a saddle or win a blue ribbon. It’s communicating with your horse. So you’re off to an amazing start!
Since you haven’t been around horses, you need to observe them. Watch how they relate to each other. I admit that I recognized this e-mail address right away, even though I don’t know who you are exactly. But I won’t tell Hank or anybody there that we’re e-mailing. That’s your call, okay? At least I know you have horses to watch at Starlight Animal Rescue. One will be the leader, the dominant horse. The others are more content because they trust the leader. They don’t mind letting a dominant mare go first. They’ll gladly move over if she wants their spot. They respect her.
That’s the role you need with this abused horse. You need his love and respect. Then he’ll do what you ask.
So how do you become the leader? Not with force. Your horse would win that one. Plus, somebody already tried force with your horse. Instead, ask. Ask your horse to do what you want him to do. If you want him to move over, touch his side with your finger. Don’t keep pushing. Touch, then release. If he doesn’t move, touch again with a little more pressure. Then release. And do it again. And again—until he’s so annoyed with you, he moves. Don’t force, but don’t stop until you get the behavior you want.
That’s enough for today. But I’ll be here. Write me again!
Winnie
I’m so excited. I want to write back and thank her. But Wes and Popeye come in, then Hank and Kat. And we all fall into dinner preparations—slicing celery, making salad, filling water glasses, and setting the table, while Popeye works his magic with the fish he brought home from the market. Wes keeps as far away from me as possible.
Just as Popeye turns the skillet to warm, I hear a car drive up. “Miami!” Popeye cries. He drops the fryer spatula and runs outside.
Hank takes over cooking the fish. “Something tells me Mom’s home.”
From the kitchen, I hear Popeye greet his wife as if they haven’t seen each other in years.
“Are they for real?” I ask Hank.
“Real as it gets, Dakota,” he answers.
Popeye rearranges seating at the table so he can sit next to his wife tonight. He prays for the food and for each one of us and for a lot of things—the smell of fresh-cut hay, Kat’s new hairdo, Rex the dog, and finally the fish.
Annie asks how our days went, and she starts with me.
“Fine,” I reply.
Wes harrumphs.
I go on as if I haven’t heard him. “I hung out in the barn. And I almost got eaten by a pack of wild dogs.”
“She wrecked a pet adoption!” Wes shouts.
“Wes, lower your voice, please,” Popeye says.
“I’m sure there’s more to this story, Wes,” Annie says, passing him the salad. He doesn’t take it. “Tell us what happened, honey.”
“No.” He stares at his plate in heavy silence.
“All right,” Annie says calmly. “Let us know if you change your mind. Kat, what did you do today?”
Kat tells us about Kitten’s new hiding place in the barn. “And I got a promising application for Barney the cat.”
“Application?” I ask.
“That’s one way we place abandoned pets,” Kat explains. “We won’t let them go with just anybody.”
Hank reports on Lancelot’s progress, or lack of it.
Then Annie
Thanks,
Don’t-know-much-about-horses
Before I lose my nerve, I hit Send.
Nine
I finish putting away groceries. Then I get an apple out of the fridge and pour myself a glass of milk. I’m halfway through the apple when I hear the ding that means new e-mail has arrived. I know it couldn’t possibly be Winnie already, but I check just in case. And it is!
Dear Horsewoman,
Yep, I know you don’t think of yourself as one. But you are! It says a lot that the abused horse chose you. He sensed something good in you, someone he can trust. Horsemanship is more than knowing how to post in a saddle or win a blue ribbon. It’s communicating with your horse. So you’re off to an amazing start!
Since you haven’t been around horses, you need to observe them. Watch how they relate to each other. I admit that I recognized this e-mail address right away, even though I don’t know who you are exactly. But I won’t tell Hank or anybody there that we’re e-mailing. That’s your call, okay? At least I know you have horses to watch at Starlight Animal Rescue. One will be the leader, the dominant horse. The others are more content because they trust the leader. They don’t mind letting a dominant mare go first. They’ll gladly move over if she wants their spot. They respect her.
That’s the role you need with this abused horse. You need his love and respect. Then he’ll do what you ask.
So how do you become the leader? Not with force. Your horse would win that one. Plus, somebody already tried force with your horse. Instead, ask. Ask your horse to do what you want him to do. If you want him to move over, touch his side with your finger. Don’t keep pushing. Touch, then release. If he doesn’t move, touch again with a little more pressure. Then release. And do it again. And again—until he’s so annoyed with you, he moves. Don’t force, but don’t stop until you get the behavior you want.
That’s enough for today. But I’ll be here. Write me again!
Winnie
I’m so excited. I want to write back and thank her. But Wes and Popeye come in, then Hank and Kat. And we all fall into dinner preparations—slicing celery, making salad, filling water glasses, and setting the table, while Popeye works his magic with the fish he brought home from the market. Wes keeps as far away from me as possible.
Just as Popeye turns the skillet to warm, I hear a car drive up. “Miami!” Popeye cries. He drops the fryer spatula and runs outside.
Hank takes over cooking the fish. “Something tells me Mom’s home.”
From the kitchen, I hear Popeye greet his wife as if they haven’t seen each other in years.
“Are they for real?” I ask Hank.
“Real as it gets, Dakota,” he answers.
Popeye rearranges seating at the table so he can sit next to his wife tonight. He prays for the food and for each one of us and for a lot of things—the smell of fresh-cut hay, Kat’s new hairdo, Rex the dog, and finally the fish.
Annie asks how our days went, and she starts with me.
“Fine,” I reply.
Wes harrumphs.
I go on as if I haven’t heard him. “I hung out in the barn. And I almost got eaten by a pack of wild dogs.”
“She wrecked a pet adoption!” Wes shouts.
“Wes, lower your voice, please,” Popeye says.
“I’m sure there’s more to this story, Wes,” Annie says, passing him the salad. He doesn’t take it. “Tell us what happened, honey.”
“No.” He stares at his plate in heavy silence.
“All right,” Annie says calmly. “Let us know if you change your mind. Kat, what did you do today?”
Kat tells us about Kitten’s new hiding place in the barn. “And I got a promising application for Barney the cat.”
“Application?” I ask.
“That’s one way we place abandoned pets,” Kat explains. “We won’t let them go with just anybody.”
Hank reports on Lancelot’s progress, or lack of it.
Then Annie
Similar Books
