This year I have the chance to re-connect with Talana, one of the two horses I grew up with. Talana is a little bay Arabian mare. She is twenty nine years old. In some ways, I know Talana very well, and in other ways I would say that I don't know her at all.
On one hand, I trust Talana almost completely. I have led her and sat on her and groomed her since I was very small. I recall how tiny my hand was compared to her nostrils when I fed her clover, fingers held out flat so she could lip up the food easily. Talana also trusts me a great deal; she has always allowed me to handle her feet despite her arthritis, for instance.
On the other hand, Talana and I have some big gaps in our shared history. When she was living with my sister, Talana had all kinds of new and different experiences that I doubt I am aware of. At that time I was deepening my relationship with Mark, who was still at home. Mark became softer and softer in my hands while Talana was away, but both of us missed her terribly. When she returned, Talana appeared to have shut out the world. For the first six months, she wore a perpetual glare no matter what I did. For at least part of the time she was "in training," I know that she was yanked around roughly. I can't help but think that she was tired of trying so hard when the person on the other end of the rope punished her for being confused, uncertain, or uncomfortable.
So I didn't ask anything much of her. I did my best to find her itchy places and scratch them, to find out what was bothering her and soothe it, to spend time with her without asking her to do anything at all. No one had taught me how to rehabilitate a horse from this condition. All I was doing for Talana was the same thing I did for Mark. It did work, and Talana regained her soft eye and mischievous personality with time. I was not allowed to ride her, so everything I did was from the ground. I was not allowed the opportunity to learn any technique to work with her, so I relied on gentle hands, patience, and hope to find my way.
And then I left home. I went off to college with a whispered promise for Talana and Mark: If I can, when I have the chance I will take you with me and do better by you than I can now. I was not sure if this would even be possible, but I thought if the opportunity came along I must try. My parents were not interested in working with the horses, and thus gave them little attention while I was gone. Each time I returned, they recognized me immediately when I got out of the car and galloped up to see me.
Mark was always more delicate than Talana. He would get a runny nose, and she would not. He would lose weight in the winter, and she would not. He would get himself into spaces he should not have, and hurt himself - when Talana would come in after him and have not a scratch on her. In the end, I could not bring Mark with me to my new home: he had grown old, and ill, and he has since passed on. But Talana is still there in my parents' fields.
What has changed? My mother is willing to give Talana over to my care now. She hears how I talk about Fable and the things I am learning, and she recognizes that I can give Talana more than she herself can. Now it is up to me to find a way to trailer an arthritic mare from Virginia to Maine (while not owning a trailer) and find a way to keep her when she gets here. I am hoping to keep her right nearby, but I would need to build a fence and a shelter for her. If not, I will need to board her somewhere. I really don't know how it will work out yet.
But somehow I am going to do this. And I feel capable, at last. I am still not experienced - there is so much to learn, so many things I don't even have intermediate skill at! But I trust Talana. I know that I still have gentle hands, patience, and hope, and I can learn the techniques I was missing to show her that things are different now. I want to ride her without putting a bit in her mouth, so that she has a chance to relax without fear of my hands. I want to show her that we can play games on the ground without punishment or anger. Yes, Talana is nearly thirty years old. She's not going to jump big jumps, or race around barrels, or do various other intensely athletic things at this age. I don't care. Talana and I have a chance to spend however many years we have left, together - and that could be quite a few!
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