Tag: horses

Animal Therapy

Cohesive

Lola Michelin

What a special pleasure it was this week to work with friends Joan Ranquet and Ellie Laks to help Danara, a sweet mare living her best life at The Gentle Barn in Santa Clarita, California.

I met Danara during a class field trip with students.  Besides being stunned by her beauty, I was drawn to her proud and lively energy.  Despite the telltale signs of progressive weakening in her legs due to DSLD and a twisted front leg from a previous injury, Danara exudes the spirit of her Arabian heritage and the light that shines from her large black eyes is magnetic.  I knew instantly that I could offer her some help. Thanks to lessons I have learned from Jade and Greystoke and Raffi, former residents at our retirement farm who also required management for progressive DSLD, I had a trick or two up my sleeve. (https://thehorse.com/1124890/updates-on-dsld-in-horses/)

Ellie Laks is founder and the powerhouse behind The Gentle Barn, a network of sanctuaries that offer a safe sanctuary for animals of all kinds.  They create the opportunity for people to come and commune with cows, pigs, sheep, horses and others through their Cow Hug Therapy programs and interactive tours.  Ellie’s connection to the animals in her care is palpable and Danara was no exception.  So when I suggested I could come out to show her a kinesiology taping pattern that I developed to help my own horses with DSLD, she lit up like a neon sign.

Joan Ranquet, founder of the Communication With All Life University and animal communicator extraordinaire, hosted our Foundation Level Massage course at her farm that same week.  Joan’s friendship and mentorship has been influential to me personally for over 20 years and particularly in recent years, where her professional mentorship has helped to elevate my school and practice to new heights.  I am so grateful for her gentle encouragement in the direction of all things right for the planet and her enduring curiosity and readiness to explore anything and everything that makes animal’s lives better.  She pulled all the threads together, including securing tape (I had not travelled with any of my usual tools), arranging schedules and singing my praises to make sure that doors opened to bring all the right people together.  So here we are, three influential founders within the animal healthcare industry on a Saturday morning, in jeans and tshirts doing what we love most, kneeling in the dirt, sharing our thoughts and concerns and skills to try our best to care for this beautiful little gray mare, cast off by others once they had broken her down and she could no longer live up to their expectations.

Danara stood patiently as our team of 5 taped all four legs.  Joan had invited her student Audrey, who was kind enough to drive from an hour away to bring the needed tape and her enthusiasm.  Ellie had included Alfredo, who is responsible for the rehabilitation efforts at The Gentle Barn and who Danara clearly was enamored of.  I walked them through the proper tape handling and measuring skills and designed a taping protocol that they could use for her regularly.  I coached Alfredo as he practiced the taping on a few legs.  With each relaxing breath, blink of her eye and lowering of her head, Danara shared her appreciation and relief.

I count myself among the most fortunate people I know.  I spend my days doing work I love, sharing my passion with students and graduates and horselovers and pet owners. I get to learn from the most amazing people within my chosen industry…my first mentor and coach Jack Meagher, Equi-Tape founder Dr. Beverly Gordon and my instructor and co-teachers Lumi Michelle Rolley and James Ruder, and countless others who have shaped the way I work and teach.  To bring that collective knowledge together, to kneel on a Saturday afternoon at the feet of this creature, so deserving and so accepting of our help, with these kindred spirits who live their life in the service of animals…I simply cannot imagine anything more rewarding.  To be able to offer support, touch and knowledge and to receive in turn warm breath across my cheek, a soft kind eye turned thankfully in my direction, to see the visible softening in the muscles and tendons that work all day to hold her up.

Such a simple thing.  From our childhood desire to pet horses, each of us had carved out a life that included doing just that day in and day out.  One horse, one story of so many stories.  We were just a few people, sitting in the dirt, playing with tape. We weren’t inventing anything new or solving world problems or changing the world…or were we?

Uncategorized

Magnifica

Lola Michelin

Chapter One: The Long Walk

Enzo Oliveri walked with deliberation, despite a leg twisted from an accident in his youth, and the weight of his possessions slung on his back. The mare walked carefully by his side, her rhythmic steps in concert with his jagged gait, offering him the support of her muscled shoulder from time to time. They had walked this way together for days across a broken landscape, rarely meeting another person or meeting them in groups of a dozen or more, pushing carts or pulling bags along behind them. Wanderers like him moving from place to place, many with no clear idea of where the road ahead led them. And though his own direction was unclear, he knew his goal with certainly, to lead Magnifica to safety. So they continued on, stopping only to allow her time to graze when the shoulder yielded enough green grass or to lead her to water. Enzo took his cue from her when she needed to rest or drink. Knowing that a horse would turn away from tainted water, he filled his own cantenna and drank only when she did. While she grazed or stood quietly napping with her head lowered and one hindleg cocked, he admired her fine bone and refined head, the wave of her black mane and her strong back. Sometimes he knelt beside her and prayed for their safety. In the dark of night, they walked if the road was lit by the moon or moved off the road into thicket or trees to sleep. He waited while she rolled and settled herself, then curled his crooked body against her body and slept with his head against her shoulder, rocked by the rising and falling of her massive ribcage. Day after day they traveled this way together. He lost track of time and then would find himself again according to the bells of a church or the sounds of vespers, or the trail of people moving toward a synagogue. But it seemed to him that it had been a very long time indeed since the deep tonging swell of a bell had reached his ears, even longer since he had heard a voice raised in prayer other than his own.

On one of these timeless wandering days, he couldn’t have said which, they came upon a young boy, standing squarely in the road, staring at some far-off place down the rutted road ahead. Enzo called out to the boy who turned startled and quickly made to move off. When he saw the bent man with his heavy pack and more so, the weary horse beside him, he skidded to a halt. They tried greeting one another, but neither knew the other’s language and so they gradually fell into step with one another silently. The boy was tired and didn’t mind the odd fashion that the old man walked and he was lulled by the steady clip-clop of the bare-footed mare. For days they continued this way, happy for each other’s company. They fed off food they found in the packs and wagons they found along the way, whose owners either lay dead in the streets beside them or had fled and abandoned possessions when marauders came upon them savagely. They rarely saw the enemy themselves and only occasionally were affronted by people they met. Perhaps they saw the crippled old man and felt sympathy or the fact that he traveled with a young boy who was pale and gaunt caused them to look away. Enzo often worried that someone would try to steal the mare from him, for transport or for food. He kept her covered in dirt and dust, and though her belly and back were protected by a layer of fat and muscle, he would lick his thumb and trace lines along her ribs in the dirt on her coat to make her look thin. To look at her as a stranger, she was unremarkable. Enzo liked it that way and encouraged her to carry her head lowered, take lumbering steps, and allowed her mane to be unkempt, hiding her neck and face. In fact, she was magnificent, as her name implied. Her legs were refined and her back coupled smoothly into strong flanks and hindquarter. She had large eyes and a wide brow and nostrils that tapered to soft lips. She was bred well and could move like the wind when called for. She was no more than five years, though Enzo feared that she no longer carried the foal that had been growing inside her when they first took to the road in his war-torn land. The entire landscape was ravaged by wars now, every country he could name was under siege, its people one moving mass of humanity, headed to some unknown place of peace. His only direction was ahead and if the road turned, so did he. He only knew to keep moving, to keep seeking, and to keep a close eye on the horse. If she showed signs of fretting, they hid quickly. When she raised her head and sniffed the wind, he looked around and then hurried both into the bushes and hid his pack. When she was restful, he breathed easier. He thought how lucky he was to have her with him, how clever she was and how well she protected them. They were never set up by surprise and it was not uncommon for them to watch from behind branches as small groups of soldiers or bandits passed by without a glance in their direction.

The wagons grew fewer and fewer and food was harder to come by. Water was everywhere and when they found clean water, they drank until their bellies felt full for it. They tried the grass and weeds that the mare sustained herself on. On rare occasions, Enzo would dig deep into his pack and pull out a tin of tea leaves and warm water over a tiny fire of leaves and twigs. He never let the fire run long, afraid it would be seen but also afraid of taking too much comfort from it and lingering in one place too long. But tea served not only as a meal but as medicine. The boy wrinkled his nose at its bitterness but drank it deeply and with gratitude. They shared only a few words…tea, rest, and her name. Enzo called her Magi, the boy called her Maggie.

As the days passed, the boy grew weaker. He was still growing and the bits of food they could find or scavenge from the land were not enough for his body. It was surprising to see the old man grow in his vigor while the younger grew less so. Enzo took great strength in his mission and it fueled him. The boy had no idea of passions or desires and only knew survival. At times, it seemed even that was of little interest to him. They walked as the sun grew high in the sky, the dust from the road stirred beneath their feet and irritated their eyes. The mare occasionally blew a great gust of air from her nostrils to clear them and her eyes were half-mast behind long lashes. Enzo held her rope in one hand and the boys in his other. Both felt thin and frail. He was deep in thought about what he should do, where they were even headed and when they would know they had arrived. He had no specific destination, barely a sense of where he was and certainly no plan that included a young child. Thankfully, he thought, it was a male child and not a young girl. Suddenly, the boy fell, jerking Enzo’s arm roughly and bringing him out of his contemplation. The boy stood with difficulty and slowly began to let out a wail, barely audible at first and rising to a dangerous pitch. Enzo saw the skin below the shorts the boy wore start to pimple up with tiny beads of blood where the dirt road had skinned it. He had no clean water with which to cleanse it and no wraps to bind the roughened skin. Had he, he would have chosen not to anyway, lest he trap an infection that would run out of control. Instead, he knelt beside the boy and used the clean inside of the cuff of his blouse to wipe a streak from his cheek. He took the boy’s face in his hands in the first gesture of affection that had passed between them and looked into crystal blue eyes damp with tears. You will be all right, he told the boy and though he knew he could not understand the words, he felt he was heard. And with that, he reached under the boys arms and lifted him up off the ground. He cooed to the mare and he laid the boy across her shoulder and with his other arm, deftly swung his back leg over her haunch. The boy had little time to be startled before he was settled on her back and looking down into Enzo’s face. The mare stood perfectly still though her ears flicked back and forth and her eye was trained on Enzo for assurance. He kept one hand on her neck and one hand on the boy’s thigh and eased her forward a step. The boy lurched and a timid yelp burst from his lips. Enzo took a length of the mare’s mane and tied it into a loop that he then handed to the boy and motioned him to hold. “Faeries stirrup” he said aloud to nobody in particular. Enzo had tried hard not to think about where he had left, to not see in his mind the cobblestone courtyard of the stud farm where he had grown from a boy to a stable hand to head groom under his father’s direction and the tutelage of the couple that owned the farm. But as he saw the boy curl his fingers around the mane, he remembered his own father doing the same and explaining to him that the tangles they found in the manes of the horse’s each morning as they came in from the field for their oats and apples were fashioned by faeries who rode them about the field in the night. As he allowed himself to get lost for a moment in the memory of his father’s face, the boy was forming his own memory. Never before had he viewed the world from such a position, to look through the ears of the mare at the world as she saw it. To feel her shoulders rise and fall under his knees and her hind feet coming solidly under her body to strike the ground. Magi felt the keen responsibility that had now been bestowed upon her. She had only had someone on her back a few times in her young years and none of them of recent. She gathered herself and despite her misgiving, carried herself as if she had been a riding horse all of her days. She felt the shifting wait of the little man aboard her and angled her body underneath him as she walked, cradling him as only a horse can.

Enzo meanwhile was struggling to keep the pleasant memory of his own boyhood from mixing with the images of his last hours at the farm. He had seen the soldiers driving toward the farm from the back of the horse he was riding that day, he was in the high field and knew he would have to gallop to reach the farm ahead of them. Even as he careened into the courtyard, the staff were running toward the stables frantically to throw open the stall doors before they desended. The gunfire started almost instantly and Enzo felt the horse whose reins he still held sink to the ground. He fled through the barn, stopping only for a moment in the tackroom to grab several files from a tall cabinet. He rifled through them for a moment and selected ten. Then he dashed out a side door from a washstall and ran in the direction of the mare’s field. Magnifica was there at the gate, whirling in panic and stomping the ground. It took him a moment to quiet her and lash a lead line around her neck. He led her as quickly as he could uphill into the trees so to be unseen. It was the long way around to a foaling shed that was located at the back of the pasture, near the skeleton of an old barn that had been the original stallion barn. There he tucked her away in a stall and threw hay down from the loft above to keep her occupied. And prayed she would not call out to the other horses. He stashed the files in the loft as well, under some old horse blankets and hay. Then he went to hayloft window and dared to look outside. The soldiers were standing about in the courtyard, there were two bodies on the ground, one human and one equine. From his viewpoint, he could not determine the one but he knew the other to be the horse he had rode in from the field on, a faithful and gentle old stallion long past his breeding years. Shots echoed from within the barn and a group of soldiers separated from the rest and headed toward the pasture. Enzo did the only thing he could think to do and hid. Only hours later did he emerge and sneak down to check on the mare. She lay on her sternum, nose in the hay, eyes closed. He watched her breath for a few minutes while he thought about what to do next. When he was confident that the silence outside could only mean that the soldiers had moved on, he went back to the loft and sought out the files. Gazing across the farmland from the hayloft, his heart sunk. Mares with their bellies slit end to end littered the pasture. There came no sound or movement from the great brick barn. His steps were heavy as he walked back to his apartment at the end of the barn aisle and gathered the few things he would need for the road. He buried the files in a pocket at the back of a knapsack along with a few clothes, a tin of tea, his best flensing knife and then headed for the feedroom. There he found his employers, draped across one another in death. With a few bandages, some medicine and what money he could find, he headed back to retrieve Magnifica. Ten stallions, each in their own stalls, laid dead. The foundation sires for the breed, gone forever. Enzo could not bear to look into the last stall, where the stupendous Greco was kept. Enzo had been at his birth, been the first to sit astride him, had shown Greco in the grand salons before the accident that left him with a leg that refused to straighten properly. He couldn’t bear to see his fate and could not leave without knowing if he could be saved. The stallion’s eyes stared skyward, cold and empty. Enzo’s hand went to his mouth and his heart locked in rage. He stumbled back to the pasture shed, past the mares who would never bear their fruit. He slumped onto the ground next to Magnifica and wept into her neck. And he prayed that the spirit of Greco was alive in her belly.