[Note: This post isn’t specifically related to horses, but it is very much about relationships, trust, and learning about each other’s strengths and abilities. That’s exactly what Galahad and I have been working on for all these years, so I’m cross-posting this here from It’s an Alchemical Life. Enjoy!]

Our Maise is quite the dog. From what I’ve learned, Border collies (and especially the smooth-coated, prick-eared variety) were specifically bred to work independently at a pretty good distance from the handler. That’s our girl, for sure. I had a chance to see her instincts in action this morning.

We went on our normal outing in the woods behind the house, with Maise and her buddy Little Bear the Cat running ahead and exploring together. Maise, as always these mornings, was off leash. The ratty, overgrown wooded area is pretty private and inaccessible except by crossing a steep-banked creek or a railroad track, so there are rarely any people around. It’s pretty safe to let her run there.

For a little while she stayed close by, waiting for me to catch up as we meandered down the path cut through the honeysuckle and downed trees. But then she disappeared down into the creek someplace.

That could be worrisome. We’ve tried to train her to stay right near us, and tried to teach her to come when called. I will freely admit that her recall sucks. Nothing wrong with her hearing. When I call, she’ll usually look up, cock her head, and go on with whatever it is that she’s doing. I’ve tried using my sweetest voice, my best baby talk, the tastiest treats, and even a dog whistle. Yeah, she hears them, thinks about it, and then, once in a while, comes back…or not. Not good. It’s that independence that’s in her blood and bones.

So why do I let her go, you ask? Because we both love the woods so much, and it is impossible to walk a leashed dog along narrow, brush-infested trails. I tried many times, and it was a disaster. Neither of us had any fun at all, but the desire to be outside was strong. After some work in a little temporary pen I built in the yard, and some tentative and mostly successful efforts in the common area near the house, I decided it was worth the risk. And mostly, in those early days, things worked fine. Mostly, but not always. There were days when she’d shoot off alone, chasing a squirrel or an irresistible smell. No amount of yelling would prevent it, or bring her back.

Used to be that I’d go crashing through the underbrush after her, shouting (and yes, cursing occasionally). It never did any good. When she did return, all happy and wiggly, it would invariably be from the opposite direction to where I’d been looking. Then I’d clip on her lead and angrily drag her back to the deck, close the gate, and leave her there to ponder her misbehavior.

After a couple of months of this, I read or watched something that gave me an idea. This trainer said she always watched to see if the dog, off lead, paid attention when the owner turned and went the other way. Maise, I knew, did pay attention. So I tried an experiment: When she took off, I took off in the opposite direction, and went back into the house. I was pretty darn nervous about it, but nothing else was working.

To my huge surprise, not five minutes later a worried-looking little dog came racing onto the deck and peered in the door. Well, interesting! I waited until my heart rate went back down, then let her in.

The next time she took off, she didn’t reappear for quite some time, so I went looking, and found her on the front porch, lying calmly in the sunshine and surveying the street. No telling how long she’d been there.

Over the last month or two, things have continued to evolve. This morning’s adventure shows where we are right now: When Maise disappeared into the creek, I walked a few yards back down the trail toward the house, and waited silently. Maybe a minute later, I saw a black-and-white missile streaking through the cleared area near the house and up onto the deck. The air this morning was damp and perfectly still, so she hadn’t caught my scent, and I had been motionless, so her sharp eyes hadn’t spotted me, either.

I laughed and called out to her. Up came her head, and a second later she was racing to me, full-speed, and slid to a stop just in front of me. We enjoyed a few minutes of laughing and rolling and playing while I told her what a wonderful and amazing dog she is. And she is!

I’m no dog trainer. But what I am good at is relationships. Finally, after many months, Maise’s strengths and abilities have become clear to me. I’ve moved from trying to dominate her to being in a stronger and stronger relationship with her, so that there’s growing mutual trust between us.

Wow. She and Galahad the Horse are both teaching me so much about life and flow and love without conditions. I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail because of my own history, but thank goodness for such wonderful teachers, and for the opportunity for learning. Amazing!

This is one of those posts where “nothing much happens.” (That’s a great podcast, BTW, for helping the listener fall asleep. Check it out.)

Galahad was eager to leave the pasture, though I’m not sure why—they have lots to eat this summer. They are locked in the west pasture, though, and maybe he doesn’t like that. The grass is not as good on that side, with a TON of yellow foxtail (Pennisetum glaucum), which they don’t like to eat once it blooms (and I’m not sure about even before that).

I was following him over toward the fence, but stopped to read a text message (which I almost never do out there). He came over and gently and politely nuzzled me and demanded my full and complete attention. So I put the phone down and talked to him for a minute. Then he walked around me, close but again very politely and not touching me, and suggested that I might want to walk with him toward the gate. Not bad herding behavior, for a cow pony! Politeness isn’t always their strong suit.

When we got to the west end of the pasture, I put his halter on and swung the gate partially open. He walked out and started grazing right there. But just as I went to close the gate and put the chain back on, his best buddy Dancer started scratching his always-itchy butt on the bars. There is NO WAY I could counteract a thousand pounds of itchy horse, so of course the gate swung open and banged poor Galahad in the side. He jumped but didn’t spook, just moved a few feet and went back to grazing.

I actually think that the gate business was less about scratching an itch and more about fly spray; Dancer soon moved away, stuck his head through the fence, looked at me, and whickered. Since he and I both knew that it wasn’t yet carrot time, I got out the fly spray—and he thanked me profusely, with looks and nuzzles, after I soaked him down with it. It doesn’t do much, and only for a few minutes at best, but it must give him at least some relief.

Galahad and I practiced his basic manners for just a bit—we do that about once a month. Move your hind end, move your front end, back up, walk nicely on the lead line. That’s the extent of our Natural Horsemanship work these days. He needs to be good with those things and be willing to do them when asked, since he lives in a public boarding barn and there are lots of others around. He doesn’t seem to mind a bit—I swear he even enjoys it. Maybe it feels like a game to him, and he does love games. Whatever his reason, he’s super good at it (especially considering it’s not something we work on very much!) and I’m always proud when he’ll step over, or back up between obstacles,  with just a look from me. “Sure, Mom. I can do that.”

Most of the rest of the morning was just wandering around and finding good spots to graze. I did ask him to step over to a picnic table to let me get on his back. He did it the first time; I put nearly all my weight on him for a minute, then got down again. Next time I asked, he wasn’t especially interested. That’s OK—it’s his body, and I’d much prefer to have him willing and happy to oblige, considering that he weights 1100 pounds to my 140. I do hope to ride him just a little one of these days, even if it’s just to sit on his back while he nibbles grass.

An hour or so later I put him back out into the pasture and fed him his carrots. When I turned away, he cantered over to his buddies. I love that he’s happy to be with me but also happy to be in the pasture. Best life I can possibly find for him, and that pleases me no end. Love that big, cheerful guy!

It’s been months since I wrote anything at all—really, not since Midnight died back at the end of March, and quite a long time before that. The chronic pain has been acting up worse than it ever has, since just before Christmas last year. That’s a long siege, and the medication I finally tried in desperation saps what energy the pain doesn’t, and leaves me a bit muddled and foggy. Very difficult, under those circumstances, to write anything coherent even if something does occur to me.

The last month or two, though, things have been looking up. I’m learning so much about the pain and how to have some influence over it—definitely not control, but influence. It’s a complicated beast, for sure, and tied in to both physical and psychological factors that will still take a lot of study and empathy to figure out. But I am hopeful, most days.

So, my dear readers (and I have heard from more than a few who actually miss my posts!), there will be more coming very soon. I have three in the works at the moment, and hope to get at least a short one up tomorrow.

Thanks for reading—your support really helps in the dark days.

.

[Cross-posted on It’s an Alchemical Life.]

On the 31st of March, a phone call, the kind you never want to get, roused me from the comfort of my Saturday-morning coffee in bed. Midnight was down in his paddock and couldn’t get up.

The day before he had been prancing around like a youngster, and the evening before he had eaten his dinner with relish, as he always did. He had a great time enjoying one of the first spring-like days we’d had—sunny, warm, windy, cool.

As near as we can tell from the timing, that cold Saturday morning he had gone out to roll in the dirt like he always did before breakfast, but his body just wouldn’t cooperate to get him back up. The staff found him when they went to feed him.

In part the problem was his elbow, the one that was broken several years ago. That leg never regained its full strength. But it wasn’t just that. His swayback had been getting noticeably worse in the past year, and I think he just didn’t have the muscle power there, either, to get himself up off the ground.

By the time I got the message (I’m not Midnight’s actual owner) it had been about an hour since they found him and realized he was in trouble. By the time I got to the barn, they had been pushing him, pulling him, dragging him around, turning him over, and fighting to save him for nearly two.

Midders, though he had been working with the vet, barn staff, and his owners, was exhausted—it was clear from his eyes. He was glad to see me, and gently lipped the end of my scarf and sniffed my hand. He and I go way back, and I’ve nursed him through many an illness and injury. But this one felt different.

After a couple more tries, Midnight just quit. There was discussion of bringing in the local, wonderful large-animal rescue team, which has an a-frame and a winch; but in the end, the decision all of us came to was to let this old guy go with some dignity. I stayed with him to the end, hoping to offer some comfort. He passed so peacefully….

It’s always such a terrible and awe-full decision to put an animal down. This one was no different. But to all of us, it felt right somehow.

Midnight had a warrior’s spirit. We might have gotten him up on his feet that morning, and he could have overcome this incident. But then what? What would have happened the next cold morning when he tried to roll? And the next? Though no healthy animal ever dies willingly, I believe in my heart that this valiant fellow, like any warrior, would rather have gone out in battle, whole and fighting, than have crept off into death toothless and frail from some forgotten spot by the hearth….. This was the end he would have preferred.

He has visited me since his passing, and all I can feel from him is joy….

Bless you, Midders. You are sorely missed, but everyone who knew you is grateful for your presence in their life.