Do Less

Nestled snugly in familiar surroundings, I find my breath and reflect upon the last few weeks. Four unexpected days in the hospital, terrified by words like cancer, my future went hazy and filled with uncertainty. Honestly, I went to a dark place for a while sitting in Baptist Memphis ER's waiting area. I imagined my husband and loved ones left behind, mourned all the things I wanted to accomplish with my Mustangs, unfinished writing projects, and a vanishing future.

Fast forward a few short weeks to today. Clean bill of health, home from an inspirational and challenging horse behavior clinic, Cappy's successful dental procedure accomplished this afternoon, and a future without limitation. Today, I cried tears of gratitude, overwhelmed as I pondered the journey that brought me to where I am now.

During the final day of the Rachael Draaisma clinic, I experienced a huge 'Aha!' when I heard her guide me to do less. Calming signals (horses offer these for multitudes of reasons and in an almost endless string of combinations) are so subtle sometimes, yet powerful and obvious to our horses: A blink of an eye, a turn of an ear, a shift in weight, a change in body stance, and more. 

"Do less, Kristine," Rachael advised after I successfully approached the horse we were observing. I'd only done a couple low key signals, but she'd noticed it was more than the mare required. I approached a second time, focusing on doing less. Less often. Less of a head turn. Less. It was better. Later, when I gathered the horse to return her to her paddock, I focused once again on doing even less...and smiled as I felt the horse's appreciation. From the gate, I heard Rachael. "THAT was lovely, Kristine." 

This idea of doing less, of really focusing on how little is necessary, has put a big spin on thinking about my horsemanship, and in a broader sense, my approach to many things. I only had a couple days to sit with this before today's vet appointment for Cappy's first ever dental procedure. I tried to relax and be low key when I went to play, aka, get him haltered and administer the tube of relaxant prior to the vet's arrival; but after seeing how difficult it was for him yesterday while chewing hay, I couldn't shake off the importance of this dental need.

Clearly, and unsurprisingly, Cappy was fully aware of the adrenaline I was oozing. He was a bit suspicious, but allowed me, finally, to do what was necessary. My vet is fabulous, and has been working with me over the past months to familiarize herself to Cappy. Today went better than I could have hoped, as Cappy stayed aware but unpanicky about each piece...the halter/speculum, the sounds of the equipment, the feel of the tickling on his tongue and inside his mouth. Afterward, I was even able to clean his sheath, something I had vowed I would never attempt.

An hour that took a lifetime to reach. Seven years or so as a feral stallion. Five in non ideal captivity. Only two with me trying my best to help him trust, of doing less in order to do more. Going slowly in order to go faster later. 

Doing less is not in my nature, but what a wonderful lesson to have refreshed in time for this benchmark. Even though I spent a huge amount of my 'bank' with Cappy today (it was a LOT, despite how he handled things), I know we will move forward and continue to build our relationship.

It will take as long as it takes, and I am good with this understanding. I will resist the natural urge to push, and focus on how little it takes to move forward. 

I can even acknowledge my need for a bit of a break, after adrenaline ebbed and reality set in today. This was a day I've dreamt about, but honestly wasn't sure would be possible, at least not in the way it unfolded. Once Cappy was solidly out from under the influence, he and Cinder were back in the pasture. I didn't 'make' him interact. I settled on a grassy spot, sat with Red, and simply watched, making sure Cappy was comfortable and interested in his hay. Tomorrow may 'only' be me sitting in the pasture reading my book or working on my writing. 

I will do less, but it will be just enough. Big changes don't have to be visible to be seen. They happen over time, in the smallest of increments, like a grand canyon eroded over centuries by the flow of water. I have a lifetime to build trust and learn from my horses, and I am awed by the tiniest gifts they share with me. They can't be forced, they must be given. I will savor this feeling of awe each time I remember this day. 

In the meantime, I will enjoy the company of my sweet Little Red, who stood by and shared my joy.