The perfect match with the perfect horse May 18, 2010

It was six years ago this spring when I slipped on the ice and twisted my back. I herniated a disc which then fragmented, pressing up against my sciatic nerve and leaving me crippled and in unbearable pain. Two weeks later, I had the first of two surgeries, and by the time it was all over, I could walk again, but I had lost most of my ability to feel my right leg from the knee down.

It was a while before I could get back on a horse, and when I did, I realized I was in trouble. I had almost no control of my right leg, and riding really does require a lot of strength and the ability to apply pressure. I wasn’t sure how to go about addressing the situation, but my young horse Bea, who was only two at the time, would hold the answer.

Bea was always quiet and gentle and loved me as only a soul sister could, so I decided to trust her and we struggled through her training process together. Since my leg was so unpredictable, I carried a crop in my right hand and instead of applying pressure with my calf I pressed the crop against her shoulder. I barely used the reins, and trained her to steer with a twist of my body. She responded to voice commands and the gentlest of touches, yet to build my leg strength I trotted her without stirrups and let the irons flop at her side, bopping her with every step; she understood that wasn’t one of my signals and ignored them. While she is a wonderful horse for anyone to ride, she was especially wonderful for me.

A few weeks ago I got a call from a woman who we will call Tina only because I forgot to ask her if she would mind me writing about her. She used to ride horses, but was now a double amputee, missing her left leg below the knee, and her right leg above it. She had also lost parts of her hands. She wanted to ride again, but had several concerns. Would she be able to control the horse with so little help from her right leg (prosthetics are not very reliable on horseback – you need to be able to “feel” what you’re doing.) What if her feet flopped against the horse, would he interpret it as a sign to canter? And even more important, would she be able to stay on?

I thought about her needs – a horse that didn’t need a lot of direction from her right leg, was easy to steer, patient and gentle, with a quiet trot and who didn’t care if the stirrups bumped her belly. “Have I got the horse for you,” I said.

Tina came to the barn today and we tacked Bea up with the “stickiest” saddle I have, the one I use on Captain, the King of All Spooky Horses. Tina mounted her and I gave her instructions on the many different ways Beatrice was trained to respond to her rider, which included voice and movement of her seat. If she rode Bea enough, using her voice in conjunction with moving her seat, Bea would quickly figure out Tina’s own special way of signaling her and would respond accordingly – or at least that was the system we had worked out between the horse and me. But my confidence was high and with good reason; Bea is an angel.

Within minutes, Tina was able to steer Bea with just a small turn of her shoulders, and she walked and stopped on command. A few minutes later, I asked if she wanted to try a trot. She said yes, but she wasn’t sure how it would turn out.

“Won’t know until we try,” I said, and we hooked Bea to a lunge line for a little security, but I doubted we really needed it.

It took a few tries to get Bea trotting. She stopped and looked at me and said, “Mama, I know what she wants but I can tell there’s something different. Is she sure?”

I explained that Tina was sure, and she should do what she asked. So, Bea trotted, nice and even, and  . . . Tina stuck. She looked like any other rider, trotting along, moving with her horse, only occasionally bumping her feet on Bea’s belly, which didn’t bother the horse at all. A minute later, when Tina brought her back down to a walk, I could tell Bea had worked her magic and given something back to a woman who had thought she’d lost a precious gift – her ability to ride a horse. Tears streamed down Tina’s face, and she was trembling, but smiling.

“How’s it feel?” I asked.

“Good,” she said, simply, “it’s OK.”

“Ready to go again?”

“Yes,” she replied, and she and Bea trotted for another ten minutes.

There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t marvel at the magic. Who knew when I slipped on the ice all those years ago I would begin the process of training a horse to understand the special needs of an amputee or paraplegic?  I had no idea at the time we would even become involved in therapeutic riding, and yet her we are, and there she is, The Divine Miss Bea, who responds to the tiniest of nudges and ignores the most annoying banging around her middle – it’s not only training, but a special sort of sixth sense that makes her such an amazing being.  

I am regularly stunned by the brilliance of animals and what they can do for humans, if they are treated kindly and given the opportunity to give back. I am the luckiest “mama” in the world, and blessed that I have the opportunity to see magic happen every single day of my life.

In fact, I can’t wait to see which one of my special “children” is going to touch someone’s life tomorrow . . . it’s so exciting, I can hardly wait . . .

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