“The horse will mirror you,” Bobbi says, “We pick the horse we are most like.” I happened to be standing next to Sugarplum, a beautiful, tall, tan and white paint horse that was left after my three friends picked the other three horses in the arena to work with. Sugarplum was the lead mare of the herd, and today I was supposed to show her, all two thousand pounds of her, who was boss.
Bobbi has worked with these horses for decades. Her fifty acre farm sits on the outskirts of Whitefish, Montana, where real cowboys, the kind that show up to the airport in their cowboy hats, boots and seriously large belt buckles live. She is a horse whisperer, although I never heard her call herself that. She stands, barely five feet tall, with short, greyish hair and thin, strong body always confidently postured. The arthritis in her hands doesn’t prevent her from maneuvering the halters or wands with ease. She is kind and an excellent teacher, never once making me feel stupid for doing something incorrectly.
“Now see what she did to you there?” Bobbi calls to me from across the arena. You mean how she totally ignored my request to turn and went in the other direction, yes, yes I noticed that, I thought. It takes some balls to work with an animal ten times your size and have any sort of hope of gaining their respect in a two hour time frame. But it happened.
I spent an hour taking deep breaths, consciously calming myself, paying serious attention to my energy, and attempting to drive Sugarplum around the arena and in and out of the obstacles that we set up. She continued to speed up and move ahead, just enough to make Bobbi say, “Eh! She’s too far ahead of you again, she is taking over. You have to stay at her throat latch!”
You can try and try and try to do the movements you are being taught, to gesture your hand and shoulders in the right way, to direct your breath at the right moment, to stay present to your position and the horses’ but if you do not claim your power, demand respect and stand inside of that kind of energy with a horse, it will mow you over, even if you are doing everything else “right.”
“AH!” I couldn’t help but make a small shout in triumph when for once in the hour, I stood in that power and stopped Sugar Plum. It wasn’t my perfect hand signal. It was my energy. I was done being ignored, and she knew it. I stopped, she stopped, and a connection was born. I looked up, tippy toed to peer over Sugar Plum’s back to check to see if Bobbi saw, but she hadn’t witnessed my victory. It didn’t matter though. The feeling inside me never left after that. I knew what she was talking about because I felt it.
I have spent decades of my life unable to stand in my own power, speak up or demand respect. With my recent understanding of some of these issues and my ability to work with and through them, I am starting to claim my place in the world. “She recognizes your leadership,” Bobbi says and I look around to see who she is talking about, realizing it is me. A leader? Okay, maybe it is time to claim that label.
The equine assisted learning that Bobbi does is a totally phenomenal way of holding up a mirror for people, to show you what is holding you back, to show you the truth. The only way it will transform you is if you are awake to what is right in front of your face.
“Yes! Great job Laura!” I hear Bobbi hollering from across the arena again and my smile is big. I can feel what she is praising me for, and it is not because I have forced this two thousand pound animal into any kind of submission. All I have done is shown her that I will take over for a bit. Give her a break. I have shown her that I am able to take the lead so she can follow and relax a bit. We both sigh at the same time and it makes me laugh out loud which spooks her a tiny bit and I have to regroup my energy again.
I realize that what I am practicing with Sugarplum can be translated to any human. It is about reading the subtle, unspoken language in a person’s body. It’s about seeing what you normally would ignore. It’s about staying so present that you don’t miss those quiet cues. When you do it with a horse, communication becomes easy. A fast trust can develop and you can respond to their cues in the now, keeping your environment safe and peaceful. When you do it with a human, it’s very similar. You are feeling for the same subtle cues, which allow you to be in the interaction from a place of awareness, and that breeds trust, and love.
“Now watch what happens here,” Bobbi says later that day when we move out into the herd to feed them. She explains the herd hierarchy and dynamics as we watch them move in and out, in a musical chairs dance around the feeder. I remember to take some full, deep breaths of the cold Montana air and the bliss of standing among the herd as they approach is breathtaking for me.
Bobbi and I watch a few deer run across the field and later spy three big turkeys come in to feed on the corn she has put out for them. I stand there and wonder if I will have this kind of life before I die. This kind of open air, manual labor, nature driven life that I have seemed to long for more and more over the last few years. I feel my eyes fill a little bit but I can’t let the tears flow. I don’t want Bobbi to see how much I long for this. Not because I don’t think she can handle my tears, but because something tells me it is silly.
I let that voice suck my tears dry and I listen to Bobbi’s story about the mountain lion she saw, twice. The winters would suck, I try to talk myself out of the wanting. Yes, the winters would suck, but the simple, raw, nature-filled life would keep me whole and fiercely alive. It’s what I see in Bobbi, in her kick-ass, cowgirl, been through more shit than you, way.
I spend the next several days imagining how I can bring some of the Montana ranch home with me, and how I will find a few two thousand pound mirrors there to keep me whole and alive. I hear Bobbi’s words, “You are a leader” and decide to believe her.
