I am currently reading a powerful book devoted to the ability of horses and humans to communicate with and, when necessary, heal each other. It lays strong emphasis on the human raising her level of awareness around the horse in order to be open to what the horse has to say to her.
I thought of that this evening when I went out to administer Jack's antibiotics. (Ten pills twice daily for seven days after losing part of an incisor during last week's dental.) To take the edge off the pill/sludge, which I aim into the corner of his mouth using a giant syringe, I first give him a large molasses horse treat. I make sure to always mix the sludge with applesauce so the other horses have something tasty to lick off Jack's head when I am done shooting the medicine all over his face.
Jack, pre-treatment
Anyway, for every treat I give Jack, I must give Julian the same. (I'd like to see anyone try to do otherwise.) Accordingly, Julian has come to look forward to Jack's nightly nursing visits.
This evening, however, I was all about my consciousness. I was aware. I was ready to hear what my horses had to say to me. I approached them with focused eyes and ears, and Julian was the first to extend his enormous black profile over the barn's half-wall. I smiled and exhaled slowly. We were already becoming one.
"Julian," I asked quietly, "what do you have to tell me tonight?" His tremendous black eyes could have swallowed me, so overwhelming did their bottomlessness appear. Julian did not hesitate to respond.
Reaching down and forward, he took the edge of my coat pocket in his teeth and tugged with all the gentleness a draft horse could maintain, saying, "Give me the goddamned cookie or I'll take your fucking arm off."
I can only imagine where the sequel to this amazing book on communication will take me. Assuming, that is, I live long enough to read it.
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