What a difference a week makes. Last Sunday, Chicago threw a temper tantrum that left me flat out on a path in the middle of a state park. Friday, he won the heart of a frightened little girl, and provided a few quiet moments of concentrated effort for a frenetic one.
A ten year old and her parents visited the farm to meet the me and my animals, in consideration of coming out for some reading skills coaching. The horses were in their stalls and though she was intrigued by them, the child was also scared – barely able to hold the bucket from which she offered treats. Only with her dad’s hand under hers for support, and the distraction of Chicago with a peppermint, was she willing to touch his oh-so-soft muzzle.
We walked outside toward the Teeter-Totter tree, and she spotted the usually shy barn cat Basil, who worked a little magic by leaving a toasty napping spot on the grass compost when the little girl knelt and snapped her fingers. The little cat lover cradled Basil just right, and the two connected in a quiet bond that may have sealed the feline’s fate as an animal assistant in the Pawsitive Steps reading program.
Probably building on some cat-inspired confidence, the girl returned to the barn, where the Big Red Horse turned on the charm and enticed her to bring the stepstool to his stall front, stand on it and stroke away. She was hooked.
Next up, a younger girl who comes out to practice her reading skills. She has a nearly non-existent attention span, and our activities are rapid-fire, peppered with a steady stream of questions, comments and the search for the next fun thing. She had asked to braid Chicago’s tail, so our letter review game was built around his long sorrel hair, some colored elastic binders and a couple sheets of adhesive alphabet.
She combed, sectioned, twisted and bound the hair with focus and silence. Brief periods mind you, but a marked difference in the frantic flurry of our previous session. We moved up to the mane for pony tails and then used Chicago’s stomach as our sticker board for a last few sounds and letters. All the while he stood calmly in the cross-ties, quiet and cooperative, with not a shred of the bucking bronc I rode (or, didn’t ride) a few days earlier.
How can I not love this horse, who will let little kids brush and braid and paint and polish and poke stickers on all his “Basic Horse Anatomy” parts, without an ounce of objection? A horse who offers assurance to the anxious and calm to the chaotic. A horse who seems to understand that there are people he could mess with, but many that he shouldn’t. The only fool he won’t suffer gladly is me, but I can live with that.
As long as I have bubble bath and ibuprofen.
From Four Sticks Farm 