We Have Nothing to Fear, But Fear Itself.

I am a recluse by nature. It's true.

An introvert.

I often play the part of "extrovert," but when it comes right down to it, I'm simply not that outgoing. I am, in fact, deep down, merely scared.

It took me a long time to recognize that basic emotion that churned in my gut as FEAR because it was always so cleverly masked with ideas about rejection and approval, disappointment and success. But when you pull away all the layers, what you are left with is FEAR.

When I realized my entire life was based around my own personal FEARS, I was suddenly able to better understand my horses.

That's what a horse's life is about, after all: FEAR

Horses are prey animals, and as such, their lives are naturally based in fear. The red bucket that wasn't sitting by the side of the barn yesterday poses a grave threat to the intelligent equine. Anything out of the ordinary or anything out of place = threat.

I worked with Adonis today--my first time since breaking my wrist. I was unsure whether or not I could adequately hold the lead line in my left hand, if the pressure would be too much for my broken wrist, even in the cast. But fortunately, leading Adonis was effortless.

He sniffed my cast all over (it was new, after all) to make sure I didn't happen to have a hand grenade taped to my arm. Once he was satisfied that the bright lime green cast wasn't going to hurt him, he fell into his normal behavior pattern.

I took him to the round pen and let him loose. My only goal was to share the space with him and not have him infringe on my personal space unless I invited him to do so.

So he stared at me. (He's an extroverted horse. He lives for attention.)

But he surprised me by respecting my space. If I looked at him and with my body language suggested he come forward to meet me, he would walk up to me. But if I didn't look at him, and stood relaxed, he didn't approach me. He stayed close, but not in my space.

So just as the realization of my own fears helped me understand my horses, the reaction of my equine companion gave me an equally important realization.

Our connections with other human beings is up to us. It's in how we LOOK at other people. If we are aloof in our body language or reserved with our visual contact, the people around us are going to stand back. It's only when we open ourselves to other people that we have the opportunity to form friendships. We must first "suggest" with our body language that we are approachable, that we aren't a threat.

I will probably always be "scared." It's my nature. I have a tender heart, and I don't like having it hurt. But maybe, for us introverts, fear isn't all we have to look forward to.

Maybe we can learn from our equine friends that sometimes all it takes is a desire for connection and a bit of confidence in those around us. We realize that the red bucket is just that: a red bucket. And we begin to trust. And through trust, we experience freedom.

The Ground Hurts-- or--Reasons I Don't Belong in the Rodeo, But My Horse Does

This past Thursday, I had a marvelous day with my ponies. I trailered Adonis over to Double P Farm in the morning and had a fantastic trailer-loading lesson with Mirka. Our two-hour lesson turned into three as Mirka worked to teach me how to load Adonis the natural way. (I have to say, the three hours felt like 30 minutes. The woman has a gift.)

When we accomplished the task, with Adonis actually more relaxed than when we started, I was flying high on pony love.

I got back to the ranch and practiced a few more times getting Adonis in and out, as Mirka suggested. Then I cleaned up my lovely Arabian boy and put him back in his stall with fresh hay.

That's when I looked at my watch.

4:02.

I had to pick up the boys from school before 5:00. They were in aftercare. I had promised we would stop by Krispy Kreme on the way home, so I really needed to leave. (And I really should have left.)

But I wasn't ready to give it up.

I went to Naysa's stall and kissed her nose. She and I had experienced a fantastic session together the day before. I had taken her out to an empty pasture, removed her halter, and began to work with her at liberty. She responded so wonderfully to my leading her that I was surprised.

So as I stood there loving on her, I thought, "Let's go for a ride."

"I think I'm just going to hop on bareback," I told Leslie.

I hadn't planned to ride for an extended period. I only wanted to hop on, take a stroll around the barn, and just "be" with her. I hadn't ridden her in quite some time because she had developed a breathing problem during the heat of the summer, but now that she seemed to have recovered, I wanted to start working with her again.

"You saddled her after all!" said Leslie as I walked Naysa over to retrieve my helmet.

"She was good girl, too!" I replied.

Naysa didn't even shift her weight when I put on her saddle, and she didn't even blink when I tightened the girth. She practically put the bridle on by herself.

When I walked her to the mounting block, she stood perfectly still and square. I put weight in the stirrup to make sure she was okay. She had cocked her back leg, so I wasn't all that worried.

WRONG!

"You still there, Leslie?" I called. Leslie stepped out of the barn with Christine at her side. "Just wanted to make sure you were close by," I said. "so you can call 911 if she bucks me off."

I was TEASING. (Note to self: Don't ever say that again.)

Once I sat down in the saddle, Naysa went into full-blown rodeo mode. She got her head down and, according to Leslie, all four feet came off the ground. At some point she tossed me down and I hit the ground hard. (I should have hopped on bareback. I might have stayed on!)

I knew when I hit that it was bad. I couldn't breathe. I struggled to get up, but I couldn't. Leslie was at my side in an instant. So was Naysa.

"The way she was standing there," Leslie said later when we were in the ER, "it looked like she was saying NEXT!" Her words were tinged with laughter. "Naysa was fine after she got you off her back."

"She must hurt somewhere," I replied. "I must have hurt her."

After I hit the ground, I tried to stand up, but I couldn't put weight on my left wrist. My wrist didn't concern me, though. My lower abdomen was hurting and felt increasingly warm. When I attempted to stand, everything would start to go black and I would sink back to the ground. I began to worry that the impact had caused internal bleeding.

I asked Leslie to drive me to the ER, and I called my mom to pick up the kids. Allen was still teaching class.

Leslie took wonderful care of me. She even fed me a Krispy Kreme donut on our way to the hospital. Now THAT'S a good friend!

When I entered Triage, my blood pressure was 80/50. I told the nurse about my abdominal pain, but she didn't seem concerned with my case--or with anything for that matter. A robot would have paid more attention to me. She sent me to "Fast Track." When the fast track nurse evaluated me, he rolled me straight down to the main ER after rolling his eyes in disgust that I had been mis-placed.

Apparently any fall from a horse is considered a trauma alert.

So they did all the X-rays and CT-scans. The nurse scared both me and Leslie by suggesting that I had probably fractured my pelvis.

"We see that all the time, "She said. "It's the most common horse fall injury."

Thankfully, only my left wrist was broken. They set it in a temporary cast, to be replaced by a "real" cast next week after the swelling is under control.

The rest of me just hurts. Bad.

"Don't you remember what I told you?" said Alexis. "Don't fall off next time!"

Alexis has requested I get a tie-dyed cast. (I didn't realize there was such a thing.) Regardless what color I choose for the cast, I'll definitely have people sign it! I mean, there have to be some perks since I'm going to be one-handed for a while!

It's funny, I have had several people tell me "I'm sorry she hurt you."

I find that a ridiculous notion. Horses don't set out to hurt us. We hurt ourselves. We are responsible. We get hurt because we don't listen to our equine companions, because we don't build the bond on the ground before we get in the saddle, and simply because we don't pay attention to our environment and what we are doing.

It was my fault that Naysa bucked me off, not hers. She needed more from me, more preparation and more consideration, in order to accept me on her back once again. I didn't give her what she needed. And it's certainly possible that she has back pain. I owe it to her, to us, to get her back checked out.

What's NICE to know is that horses have an amazing capacity to forgive. If any horse has taught us that, it's Naysa. When I feed her treats tomorrow and scratch her ears, I'll tell her I'm sorry, and she'll understand, because while she might not comprehend the words, she will no doubt sense the emotion.