Relative Something

Yesterday afternoon, Cyndie took me along on a visit to the stables where she has been helping a friend look after horses. It was an absolutely beautiful autumn day that defied the month of October with temperatures in the 80s. The unseasonable heat seemed to put the horses in a bit of an ornery mood. The dryness of the fall minimizes the amount of green turf available for grazing, so they have plenty of excuse to feel ornery.

I quickly became reminded of my limited experience around horses, especially groups of them. Our visit served to be a very clear demonstration for me of the simple lesson that is the cornerstone of the process Cyndie is learning: being fully conscious of yourself when interacting with horses, and being fully aware of the present moment. Horses are not satisfied with anything less.

I was describing to Cyndie how awkward I felt, trying to temper my normal quirkiness. I tend to react spontaneously, often with quick movements. I even used the word, “unconscious” to describe my usual mode of behavior. I didn’t want to startle the horses, so I had to control my urge to make unintentional movements. It is a great exercise for me, both mentally and physically.

We tossed out some hay and filled water troughs. Then Cyndie moved two horses out of the hot sun and into the coolness of the stable. Twice I witnessed how the animals approach Cyndie and make themselves heard. She said one horse was angry there wasn’t anything to eat. Even I could read his message. His direct approach. The way he stomped his feet. He was definitely telling her how he felt.

The second time was just as we were getting back in the car to leave. A horse made a very obvious and deliberate effort to hustle up to the fence by the car. I asked Cyndie if he wanted to tell her something. She walked over to the fence. I saw Cyndie bend over and look at his legs. It was quite something to witness, because it really did look like a conversation. And then, as soon as it was clear she got the message, he headed off to whatever he was doing before, leaving her standing alone at the fence.

Cyndie said that he had a sore on his leg. I asked how she knew to look at his leg and she said, “Because he showed it to me. He pointed at it with his other foot.” I don’t know what I was looking at, but I missed that message altogether. It did look very much like a conversation, as a whole, however.

Her stint in Boston is going to feel like a very long time to me, I think.