More than the ride

Sometimes it’s the interaction between a horse and a rider on the ground that has the biggest therapeutic effect. Horses aren’t machines that we hop onto and ride; they have emotions as well and perhaps a deeper understanding of some things than their human handlers.

Two weeks ago I snuck into the arena to ride Cash, my horse, before class started. I had him in the cross ties after, brushing him down as the first class came in. One girl in particular, K, was walking past us to get her horse ready. Before her father or I were prepared she darted over to Cash and began petting him on the nose. Cash is a gentle old man but like any horse he does not take kindly to fast movements or strangers near his face. However he just dropped his head and let her pet him. She gave him a hug around his whole head and he just stood there. Finally, she went to kiss him on the nose and he flapped his lips, “kissing” her back.

K had to walk past Cash every time she needed to get a blanket, pad or reins for her horse, and every time she would stop to give him his kiss. Her father and I were astounded, he at her fast bonding with Cash, and I at Cash’s gentle reaction and unending patience. He watched her as she walked back and forth and waited for her to come back.

I was curious, so the next week I brought him out again before class for her to pet him. He was anxious and dancing outside the arena because he knew we were going into the barn, but once she came over he calmed right down. She petted him again, kissed his nose (and got kissed back twice as much) and hugged his chest. He stood still for everything she did, and nickered for her when she walked away to go to class and ride her therapy horse. He even head-butted me a few times when he thought I was about to interfere.

It’s these kinds of sweet, surprising and selfless things—from the riders and the horses—that keep me addicted to therapeutic riding.

Lessons from Y

Sometimes a rider is advanced in ways a volunteer might not understand. They take their time saddling their horse, in no hurry to ride like the average rider. They are more than happy to lead their horse around the arena a few times before mounting up; their gentle grip on the lead seems to give them a stronger connection with their horse.

Once on the horse, they understand that their movement around the arena is not destined to bring them to a specific destination, rather, it is a journey.

This is Y. She is a very special rider who has a solid seat and hands, and an understanding of what it means to ride. As we make our way around the arena she is unconcerned about the position of other riders or volunteers—she is focused on her horse alone.

As we were working one session, we began to move out on the rail. I was leading her horse and she was working on balance with a fast walk. We passed another rider and horse leader, and I turned to her and joked, “Hey look! We’re winning!”

She looked down at me very seriously and replied, “It’s not a race, you know.”

She couldn’t have been more right. It’s not a race. It’s a journey.

A week later I was working with M, a less enthusiastic rider with severe difficulty communicating verbally and remaining balanced. Usually less-than-interested in the tacking-up process, we finally got him from his wheelchair and onto the horse’s back. As soon as he hit the saddle he broke into a big grin and began chattering, “Horse! Horse!” Feet in the stirrups and ready to go, he gladly said “Walk on, please” and we began moving.

The entire class followed with just as much enthusiasm, and his stiff legs began to work themselves loose; his stiff back was allowed to sway with the horse’s gait. He was still all smiles when he dismounted.

We’re winning.

All In Stride

Riding is hard.

It is hard to get up on a horse. It is hard to stay on a horse. It is hard to keep going, day after day through the good rides and the bad rides.

But that is why we stick with it.

It is even harder for those whose bodies don’t always cooperate, who might not be able to sit up straight, or talk, or see. But there is something about riding a horse, finally being in control and on top of the world that just can’t be denied.

And that is why they stick with it.

Therapeutic riding is a journey for the mind and the body, for both the volunteer and the rider. The changes we as volunteers see from ride to ride are beyond incredible, beyond amazing. Sometimes they are downright miraculous.

For some riders, even wearing a helmet is an achievement. Holding a brush, walking up to the horse, touching his neck—these are all giant leaps when considered from a different perspective. To watch a therapy rider go from refusing to go near a stall to riding a gentle trot on a patient horse is the opportunity of a lifetime.

And that is what this is about. We can’t all walk on at every class. We can’t all be in the arena watching every step to success. But we can all bear witness to change as these riders take it all in stride.