Thank you everyone for your condolences and for all the ways you have supported me and Maya over the past few months. When I got the call about her possibly being retired to me last spring, I told God, “Now is not a good time.” God said, “Here’s a place, here’s some money, here’s what you’re going to be dealing with, so you can go pick her up.” When God calls, I answer. Every horse that has ever come to me for retirement has been an act of God. They come with such clarity that I had never experienced anywhere else in my life, that I knew I was being called. A friend recently told me, “You aren’t just called. You are chosen.” When I look back on my life to this point and see all the ways God prepared me for what was to happen on Friday when Maya died, it blows my mind.
I learned from the last senior horse that died in my care that the learning doesn’t stop, nor does the relationship once they die. It is just no longer in physical form.
So I will be continuing to post about Maya and everything I learned from her, and what I am continuing to learn. My life’s work is to help more horse’s like her, and give them a little piece of heaven on earth before they go. I was in the process of forming a non-profit specifically for this purpose, but put it on hold because Maya’s needs were so great. I will let you know when its formation is complete.
For now, grief is front and center, as I’m sure it may be for others who knew her. I don’t enjoy the grief process, but I don’t shy away from it. It is a part of being alive. Here’s to Maya, and all she still has to teach.
At the end of September 2018, out latest rehab case, Maya, died. She has a facebook page documenting her retirement and rehab story. When she died then it became 6 months of research on death and dying. In the event that not everyone is on facebook, this next series of blogs will be the story of her greatest lessons to me: death, dying and grief in horses.
Maya 6/2018
Here is the day after Maya died, 9/29/18.
It is with great sadness that I share with you that Maya died yesterday. This last infection went septic over night, and there was no way to turn it around. Death was inevitable. I always knew this was a possibility, but I wasn’t going to cross that bridge until it actually happened. Yesterday, it happened. Her pain was increasing, and even pain killers did little to help, so I made the decision to euthanize her. She was a fighter, and fought right to the end to stay in this world. Her body was giving out, but her spirit was so strong and not ready to leave. I even had treatment plans and ideas in the event that she could pull out of this one. We were both very willing to keep fighting, but her body couldn’t do it. When the inevitable sunk in, I told her that there is only one place that is better than what you have right now, and that’s back with God who created you.
Maya, it’s been an honor to care for you these past few months, and give you a retirement where you were free to come and go as you pleased. As challenging as it’s been, I’d do it again in a second. I couldn’t have asked for a more tenacious partner in the twists and turns of your rehab. Your will to live is an inspiration to me. Rest in peace, dear Maya.
It’s been just over two months since Maya, a 21-year-old therapy horse, retired to us.
Maya came to me suffering from urinary incontinence, so health-wise, this summer has been touch-and-go: one week she had an allergic reaction, another week, a bloody discharge, followed by an infection.
While western veterinary medicine has no cure for Maya’s condition, I work with a holistic vet who has seen results from alternative therapies, including chiropractic care, which has helped clear the urine collected in Maya’s uterus.
The vet also ran blood work and discovered that Maya has significant kidney damage. Despite this, I believe we have turned a corner and I am committed to doing what I can for Maya and others like her.
Maya has a fire in her, and she has made it clear to me–on more than one occasion–that she only needs a little help and will do the rest herself. She loves people, and after many years of working as a therapy horse helping at-risk kids make healthy choices in their lives, it is our turn to help Maya in her time of need.
For me, this has been an intense summer: between working full-time and caring for Maya. I’ve had little time for much else besides eating and sleeping, but now I can provide this update and ask for support. I am in the process of forming a non-profit to help more senior horses like Maya.
Would you consider making a donation to help support Maya? A donation in any amount would be greatly appreciated. No donation is too small. I’ve set up a Go Fund Me page to accept donations.
Our immediate needs are:
1. $550 for the latest veterinary bill
2. $125 will buy a one month supply of hay
3. $30 will buy a one month supply of a probiotic (after being on antibiotics)
4. $15 will buy one bag of hay pellets (to help her gain weight)
5. $80 will cover the cost of one chiropractic appointment
6. $60 will cover the cost of the business license to finish the set-up of the non-profit to help more senior horses like Maya.
I recently heard someone say, “People can walk through three boundaries just to say hello to their horse in the morning and not even know it.” Having rehabbed senior horses for over 10 years in varying degrees of emotional shut-down, I knew exactly what she was talking about.
For me, the eyes of a horse have become one of the biggest clues about their personal state of affairs. If their eyes are fixed, that is a “no”. If a horse looks at you with one eye and has its head held high in avoidance, it is experiencing fear. (Horses process fear on one side of their brain, so they look at the fearful object/person with the other eye). If the eyes are soft and blinking, that is a “yes”. If horses look at you with both eyes, they are giving you their complete attention.
Fixed eye. “no”
Two eyes. “yes”
When I say hello to the herd when I arrive, I let them know I’m there, but I leave it to them to approach me if they so choose. It got me thinking, “What do I do when I say goodbye and leave? Are there any body language cues the horses are giving me that I could honor more rather than go in for one more hug or pet?”
The next time I was out with the horses, I tried my experiment. I was ready to leave and was going to make the rounds to say goodbye. The pasture mate of my horse was itching for attention. She had soft, blinking eyes when I approached her. She tipped her nose toward me, breathed on me and looked at me with both of her eyes. All of those were “yes” cues to me. I gave her a scratch in her favorite places.
I then went to say goodbye to my horse. He was relaxing, facing out of the shelter when I approached. I noticed his fixed eye. I slowed my pace, but his eye did not change, so I stopped. Rather than over-ride his “no” about me approaching, I stopped and copied his body language. He was facing out, so I faced out. He was relaxing, so I closed my eyes and relaxed. Without even trying, I started to yawn. It felt great to just do nothing for a moment and breathe. (Yawning is a wonderful way to release stress). My horse started licking and chewing (a relaxation response). I kept yawning (my own relaxation response).
This went on for quite some time. No agenda on my part other than to experience what my horse was already doing and see what it was like. Before long, the other horse joined us, facing out of the shelter, relaxing.
I experimented with where was the sweet spot for the most comfortable way for me to stand and breathe. It was so relaxing that at one point, I did not want my horse to approach me lest it interrupt this profound sense of peace and well-being.
At the end of what must have been at least 30 minutes, I felt great. It all began with me honoring my horse’s “no” and becoming curious about what he was doing.
Afterwards, I thought to myself, “I need to do this more often.”
Yes, hugs, pets and kisses are fun, but breathing and relaxing in each other’s presence, that was peaceful and invigorating.
I challenge you the next time you say hello or goodbye to your pet, spend time just being in their presence, breathing and relaxing. I’d love to know what you discover.
It’s a regular ritual to take my horse, Chaco, for a walk and to bring his pasture mate, Elsie along with him. Sometimes, though, when I show up with halters in hand and ask who wants to go, it’s Elsie that stops eating and turns and walks over to me at the gate to get her halter on so she can go.
Once she has her halter on, I ask Chaco if he’s going to come with us. Sometimes he comes over immediately, other times it’s after some coaxing. If we actually start to leave, he is at the gate ready to go, not wanting to be left behind by himself.
However, it’s not always clear if he really wants to go, or if he just doesn’t want to be left behind, or if he’d prefer to go by himself. It is probably all of those things and many others that I have yet to discover.
It was with this on my mind that one afternoon I walked out into the field with both halters in hand. My plan was to only ask Chaco and Elsie if they wanted to go. If they did, then they needed to put their head in their halters all by themselves. If they didn’t, then I would take that as they didn’t want to go.
I approached Chaco first. He stopped eating, facing straight ahead, with wide eyes and no blinking. There were no white of the eyes, but they weren’t blinking. (I interpret whites of the eyes as fear or high stress, while blinking is a relaxed response). I came within 10 feet and stopped, waiting to see if his body language would change. It didn’t. In my humanness, just to be sure, I held the halter out parallel to him. He just stood there, not changing his body language.
“Ok, I’ll take that as a no,” I thought to myself.
I set his halter aside and approached Elsie. She kept eating, then lifted her head, looked at me and put it in the halter all while she continued to chew grass.
“Ok, I’ll take that as a yes,” I thought to myself.
I started to leave with Elsie walking behind me with slack in the lead rope and picked up Chaco’s halter on the way out. As Elsie and I walked across the pasture, I glanced over my shoulder and there was Chaco picking up the most elegant, relaxed, healthy horse looking walk I had ever seen. His expression was bright, his body moved in freedom and swayed with ease, and he had curiosity, choosing to follow Elsie just off her hip. It really was beautiful to see.
When we reached the gate I offered the halter to Chaco again, but he just looked straight ahead, with the fixed eyes and didn’t move. In my mind I did not want to walk down the road with 2 horses without halters, so I interpreted his body language as he did not really want to go.
So I left with Elsie and walked up the driveway leaving Chaco behind alone. Knowing horses are herd animals I knew deep down he did not want to be left alone. As Elsie and I neared the top of the driveway, Chaco picked up a trot along the fence line following us, clearly wanting to come with us.
Elsie and I turned around and went back to the gate where Chaco planted himself. I held out the halter again, and this time he tipped his nose into it. I also got the sense that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to go, but rather, he didn’t want a halter. I told him, “I get that. I wouldn’t want one either. Unfortunately, this is the best I have right now.”
We had a great walk, found all sorts of plants to browse, and I found some blackberries to pick. But it stuck with me that he didn’t want the halter, but given his options, he was willing to acquiesce.
The next day all three of us attempted another walk. I appeared with the halters. Elsie lined up to get hers, ready to go, and then Chaco positioned himself in a way I had never noticed until then. He was pointed toward the gate like he wanted to go, but he put me on his right side, 45 degrees off his head. From that place there was no way to easily put his halter on since halters fasten on the left side of a horse. For a moment, I almost considered repositioning him or myself so I could be in a better position for haltering, but I stopped myself and waited to see what would happen.
Horses are so spatially oriented, that where and how they position themselves is never an accident. Their primary language is body language. With this in mind, I waited. Nothing happened, except with a relaxed demeanor, Chaco quietly maintained his position.
And then, the realization hit me, and I had to smile.
“You want to go, but you don’t want a halter on,” I said to myself.
I thought a moment. What could I do to let him know that I heard his request? I’m still not ready to take two horses down the road without halters, but I could change our plans and just walk across the property to a lightly wooded area they enjoyed and had some great plants they could browse.
I opened the gate and led out with Elsie in hand, and Chaco happily followed right behind, sans halter. We walked straight to their special place, and I threw the lead rope over Elsie’s back, and both Elsie and Chaco got down to business eating their favorite plants.
To me, that was success. Chaco made a request. I heard it, and was able to let him know that I heard it and could honor it.
It’s these simple two-way communications with horses that are so fascinating to me. Chaco’s been teaching me his language for over 10 years now, and ever so slowly, I’m starting to catch on. I’m sure there is more to learn. Sometimes I wonder what it must be like for Chaco trying to train a human.
There are moments with him where I exclaim, “Yeah! This new thing I’ve been trying in his rehab is working!” I’m sure he has moments where he exclaims, “Yeah! She hears me and gets it.”
One thing I know for sure: “Chaco, it’s an honor to be your student.”
The other day, my horse, Chaco, got a scrape on his lower leg and back of his hoof. It was superficial, but it did bleed. So I cleaned it up, and as I was doing so, I noticed that the back of the hoof by the frog had some superficial abrasions. I wasn’t sure how to be sure it was cleaned out, so I decided to give it an Epsom salt soak in a boot.
Chaco was loose and let me put the boot on, and then he just stood there for some time while I did some chores. After a while I went over to where he was standing and asked him to pick his leg up so I could take the boot off. His response was to just stand there and not pick up his foot. I asked two more times, but to no avail. It was then I realized he was trying to tell me something.
I let go of my agenda of taking the boot off. I stood up, looked at him and said, “Let me know when you want me to take it off.” (I assumed he would “tell” me, but I didn’t know what that would look like. I was also curious to know what he would come up with when he did want me to take the boot off).
I walked away and went back to doing chores. Meanwhile, Chaco remained in his chosen place to stand, not moving an inch. Several minutes later as I finished picking up the last manure pile and was about to carry the bucket away, I heard the shifting of pea gravel in the paddock. I looked over in Chaco’s direction and noticed him starting to fidget.
“Oh, I think you want the boot off,” I thought to myself.
I wasn’t sure that was what he meant, but I knew if I asked for his foot and it came easily, then that was what he wanted.
Sure enough, when I walked over to him and bent down to pick up his foot, he picked it up freely of his own accord. I just went with his idea and removed the boot.
When this whole episode started, my concern was trying to make sure the little crevices that got scraped in the back of his foot got clean. The idea of an Epsom salt foot soak popped into my head. I wasn’t sure how long to soak, but that’s where Chaco came in with his own input. I didn’t have to figure it out on my own, he let me know.
I could have labeled Chaco stubborn when he wouldn’t pick his foot up initially for me to take the boot off. However, I would have completely missed what he was trying to communicate. Instead, when I went with what he was offering me, something much more meaningful happened. He had something relevant to say about the situation, and this human happened to figure it out.
It’s these simple two-way, cross-species communications that fascinate me. I’m always curious to know what will Chaco have to say next?
I’m beginning to recognize that look from my horse, Chaco. That look that says, “Can we go over there?”
Recently, I took him and his pasture mate for a walk and they both moved out well. About 100 feet into our walk down the road, Chaco casually came to a stop.
Back in the days when I learned how to train horses, I would want the horse to keep moving. But these days, I’m curious about what they would like to do. So when Chaco stopped I turned around to see what he wanted. With a relaxed head and soft eyes, he just looked at me, and then turned his head 90 degrees to the left and looked in that direction for several seconds before looking back at me again.
“Oh, you want to go over there,” I said out loud.
I looked around and thought to myself, “Is there any point to walking all the way down the road except that it was my original idea?”
We were out on a walk, and that was my primary goal. Where we actually went wasn’t so important. So I switched gears, and honored Chaco’s request.
“Ok. Let’s go,” I said to him.
I put the lead rope over his back so he was free to make his own choices, and I walked by myself in the direction he indicated encouraging him to go where he wanted. I was also curious to see what he would do, and if in fact I had read his request correctly.
He waited a moment and watched me walk past him. And then, sure enough, he decided to make a left turn to the shoulder and start browsing the array of plants.
It was a quiet and peaceful evening. No cars were around, both horses were “loose” on the shoulder of the road happily munching away with their lead ropes over their backs. What more could I want?
I’m getting better at understanding what Chaco is saying to me when he initiates with his own idea. It is that conversation that fascinates me, and I’m sure he will continue to teach me his language. I never dreamed that I’d be learning “horse” from a horse, but I have the best teacher, and I’m not about to pass this opportunity up.
Chaco communicating his request.Chaco browsing the plants.
My first horse and my first rehab case is Chaco. (He is the horse on the home page of my website). I’ve learned so much from him over the years about what it means to be a horse. He’s still going at 35 years old. This post is in honor of him.
If Chaco could talk, here’s the top 10 things he’d say me:
1. Unconditional Love. This is the way to go. By the way, love and loss go together.
2. Just be, don’t fix.
3. Rest your head on the softest, most luxurious pillow you will ever experience, my coat.
4. This is what works for me. It may not work for anyone else.
5. It’s not that bad. I’ve been through worse and lived to tell about it.
6. How to listen: Turn off the head, open the heart.
7. Stop doing. Nothing fun happens in doing. Try just being. That’s where all the magic is.
8. What schedule? Throw out the clock (except when you take my pulse). Slow down and experience the natural rhythm of the day. I’ll show you how, but you have to be with me for at least half a day. Full day is preferable. You could even try overnight. Now that would be an experience.
9. Mary, you’re just fine how you are. In fact, you’re more that fine. You’re great and the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Not only did you save my life, you brought me back to life. You love me just the way I am.
10. Do for yourself what you’ve done and are doing for me.
Here’s to Chaco and many more years of learning from him. Thank you, Chaco!
Having spent years learning to ride and then learning to train horses, all of the focus was on training the horse to do what I asked. I learned a lot about horses and how to train them and how to ride them, however, I didn’t really know them.
When I took in my first senior horse to rehab several years ago, my focus was different. It was no longer about me, but rather about the horse and what could I do to help facilitate bringing him back to full health. The only question I asked of the horse was, “What can I do to help you be fully alive?”
What I have learned over the past several years rehabbing senior horses is that every moment of every day horses are speaking through their body language. Much of it we miss and don’t understand.
Just the other day I went out to see my horse, Chaco. I missed him, and as much as I wanted to go up to him and give him a big hug, I held back and simply took a meandering walk in his direction to see if he was okay with me approaching him.
He was standing, taking a nap, and I stopped and waited several feet away from him. Eventually I slowly approached his shoulder. He seemed okay if I put my hand on his shoulder, and he would close his eyes in certain places where I placed my hand, but the look in his eye alternated between going to sleep and being fixed.
I searched for how could I touch where his ears did not go back in the slightest way and where his eyes started to close. It was a tricky dance to dance that day. I couldn’t quite find the perfect spot for very long. I really wanted to give him a hug, but because I was having difficulty finding just the right spot to place my hands, I knew he was already tolerating me touching him, and a hug was not what he wanted.
So I took a step back and went around to the front of him. When I stood there looking at him his expression and eyes and ears were softer and more accepting so I stayed there.
Looking at him, I asked out loud, “How can I help you?”
I had no answer myself, and I wondered if he felt o.k. I just watched him and his body language, hopeful that he might enlighten me.
After a few minutes of me breathing, relaxing and just observing him while I asked that question, he eventually turned his head 90 degrees to his left and looked at the field on the other side of the fence.
I had seen that look in his eyes before. (It was when we took a walk down the road and he just meandered to a stop at a neighboring driveway, turned his head 90 degrees and looked down the driveway and then back at me. I knew there was a grass patch at the end of that driveway that he liked to graze, so we took a detour to the grass patch, and I let him graze).
So standing in the field with him this particular day and seeing that familiar look in his eyes, I took a chance and took off his halter, grabbed the grooming bucket I had brought out with me and walked over to the gate while telling him, “Come on, Chaco, let’s get out of here and you can have some goodies (i.e., the green grass).”
“Would he come with me?” I wondered to myself.
Since the gate was only 25 feet away, it didn’t take me long to get there, but knowing that a horse’s resting heart rate is half the rate of a human’s, I knew it might take him several minutes to stroll over to the gate. I also still wasn’t even sure he was asking me to let him out.
Sure enough though, not far behind me, he came. Of course, his pasture mate perked up when she saw that he was going to get out.
In my mind I’m thinking, “Come on, Chaco, let’s go before she gets up here.”
Chaco almost picked up a trot, got to the gate, and I was just able to close it in time so only he got out.
We proceeded to have a lovely afternoon. He grazed for a few minutes, and then we went for a walk down the road and brought his pasture mate along. He moved out well, navigated a tight spot through the trees and bushes on a trail and found some sword ferns to nibble on in the process.
All of this happened because I refrained from hugging him, and instead stopped and observed him to try and figure out what he wanted.
The glare in his eyes and the ears slightly back were a “no” to my hands touching him. The 90 degree turn of his head to the left in the direction of the neighboring pasture was a request.
These are fixed eyes and ears very slightly back. He is tolerating me being in his space taking his picture.Chaco’s 90-degree turn of his head. Here he’s focusing on something he sees. Notice his ears pointed forward.
When we slow down and take time to register every little movement a horse makes and ask ourselves what that might mean, we start to discover that they are communicating all the time.
I’m sure I’m just on the tip of the iceberg of what he is communicating to me. The more I listen, the more he teaches me the body language of horses, and the more I discover who he is. For me, that is why I rehab senior horses.
Chaco being himself on a grazing walk through the woods.
When I got back into horses as an adult, I volunteered for several years at an equine therapy program for at-risk youth and teens in drug and alcohol recovery. The horses did a great job helping these kids learn how to make positive, healthy choices in their lives.
The horses were so good at it that I didn’t realize they had emotional needs themselves. Yes, they had their basic physical needs met, like shelter, food and water, and they had some emotional needs met in that they lived in a herd and were not confined to a stall. But I had no idea they had an emotional life of just being a horse that had nothing to do with the people they were helping.
When I took in Chaco, my first senior horse retiring from therapy work, he was burned out. How did I know he was burned out? He had always been a hard keeper, but it started to get even more difficult for him to maintain his weight. But even more than that, he was also a docile horse that never bit or kicked. When he started a pattern of biting people, that is when we knew he was burned out.
Knowing that physical and emotional needs are intertwined, I began with revamping his diet to optimize his nutrition on the physical side. To attend to his emotional needs, I put him on acreage with space to move day and night in a herd.
As he became healthy and his curiosity returned, I realized that there was much more to his emotional life. In his state of new health, I now had something to compare to when he had an off day. If his demeanor was different on a particular day, I could look around and consider what changed in his environment that might affect him.
When one of his pasture mates died a few years later, his demeanor was visibly different for 2 weeks. It was then that I realized this was an emotional issue, and it was on a scale I had never witnessed before in a horse.
I tried to think of who might be able to lift his spirits. My sister came to mind. The first time they had met, they instantly hit it off.
When she came and spent the day with him, his eyes brightened and his curiosity returned. It was a positive turning point for him in processing the loss of his horse friend.
The emotional lives of horses. If it still seems outside your experience, spend time watching them and being around them where they are free to be themselves and you are not asking anything of them.
After years of observing and comparing different experiences, I can say that I have seen JOY in Chaco. I have seen GRIEF in Chaco. I have seen SADNESS in Chaco. I have seen EXCITEMENT in Chaco. I have seen FEAR in Chaco. I have seen PANIC in Chaco. I have seen ASTONISHMENT in Chaco. I have seen APPRECIATION in Chaco. I have seen CONTENTMENT in Chaco.
Today, if someone asked me if horses have emotional lives, I would say “Yes, absolutely, and it has much more depth than we realize.”
I’m sure there is still more to Chaco’s life as a horse that I will come to understand over time. It’s like a great mystery novel. I can’t put this book down. It keeps getting better with every page turn.
