Chandler...

I met Chandler on a tour of Medicine Horse Program, an equine-assisted therapy center in Boulder, Colorado.  They had a speaker one night, and I took the bus out to hear him and see the place, thinking it might be interesting to volunteer there.

Chandler was one of the Hope Foals, foals that were born of the pharmaceutical industry's need to have pregnant mares so they could produce premarin for hormone replacement therapy. The offspring like Chandler, were not only unnecessary, they prevented the mares from getting pregnant again, so the lucky ones were sold, the others slaughtered.

Chandler, out grazing

At Medicine Horse Program, the Hope Foal program paired up these babies taken from their mothers too young to have much in the way of manners, with young girls who had suffered abuse. The girls helped the foals learn to trust humans and work with them, the foals helped the girls heal and find inner strength and confidence.  Adults, of course, had to work with the foals as well, to make sure the girls would be able to safely approach them.

On the tour, we visited the foal barn. I took one look at Chandler and knew I wanted to work with him.  I can't tell you what it was, I just felt an energy from him that told me we were meant to work together. So I talked with the volunteer coordinator about doing that and some other work. There was a little bit of a problem with Chandler, though. He had a tendency to try to kick people. He wasn't exactly afraid, though he was a bit on the wild side. It's just he had a mind of his own and didn't want to be pushed around.

I was told to stay outside of his run until Kathy, who ran MHP, had worked with me and felt safe letting me go in alone.  So I swept out the foal barn, helped feed the foals, and talked to Chandler all the time, so he'd get used to my voice and presence. I brought a chair over outside his run and sat there reading a couple of times. He'd skitter to the end of the run and look to see if I'd noticed. When I didn't react, he eventually came back and ate his hay, one eye on me the whole time.

Kathy did spend some time working with both Chandler and me, and after about a month, she gave me the okay to go in on my own. I didn't do much, that first time. I stood inside the gate, near his feed trough, and put a few broken up horse cubes on his hay.

Next time I leaned on the trough. He fled to the end of the run, and when I stayed where I was and didn't move, he slowly made his way back to his hay and let me stay while he ate. He also took a couple of cubes from my hand. The next week, I rested one hand on his neck while he ate, not petting him, just being with him.

That was the first time he acted a little annoyed. When he shifted his rear end my way I said in a concerned voice, "Chandler, what's up?" He swung his head around to look at me. Maybe no one had ever asked him what was bothering him.  I continued to talk to him, telling him I wouldn't do anything he didn't want. The business end shifted back to where it had been. He went back to eating. The next week, he didn't even flinch when I put my hand on  his neck, he just focused on his food.

Week by week, he got more and more comfortable with me. He would follow me as I walked to get the horse cubes, let me lead him by the halter, and always, when he got tired of being good, he'd shift that rear end around and I'd say, "Chandler, what's up, buddy?" His curiosity and interest in what I was saying ensured that he never lifted a hoof against me.

One day I brought a bucket into the middle of his run, sat down on it, and did nothing. He was eating hay at the time. I heard his hay chomping slow, then stop. My back was to him, but I could feel him looking at me, as if wondering, what is she doing now? The crunch of his hooves slowly made their way toward me. He walked around in front of me and looked. I sat there, looking back, smiling. He nosed my pockets, looking for horse cubes, but I didn't have any. I just wanted to be there with the two of us, no food, no expectation, just us.

He circled me once, nosing me every so often to see if any horse cubes might be hiding. Because the bucket was lower than his feed trough, my head was lower than his. He must have thought my hair looked like hay, because he tried to chew it. He didn't like it. Finally he stopped trying to figure it out, and he plopped down in the dust of his run and rolled around to scratch his back.

From that day on,  Chandler followed me around like a dog. He still had a mind of his own, but I was able to take him to another pen where many of the older horses went for exercise and training. I'd pull grass for him that he couldn't reach himself and feed it to him.  Eventually, the time came for him to move on. The Hope Foals stayed for one year, then they had to find new homes so the next crew could come in.

Kathy told me the woman who'd paid for him and the other foals to come into the program, wanted to buy him, send him up to Wyoming for the winter, and then start training him. She was a little concerned, because he'd been one of the wildest of the foals when it came to getting on and off the trailer. He was good to lead now, but even calm horse can freak out getting on to a trailer.

It would be hard to see him go, though I knew he'd love running around those pastures in Wyoming, free all day and all night. And I thought maybe I could help him out with the trailer thing.

I started telling him about his upcoming trip to Wyoming, how much fun it would be, all the grass he'd get to eat. And I told him about the trailer, described to him how it worked, how the ramp wouldn't hurt him, and it would be noise and bumpy, but it would take him to this great place.

We had about ten days before he left, and I came out three times to be with him and tell him about the trailer. They say horses are telepathic, and that much of their communication is in mental pictures, so I talked and at the same time created mental pictures of what I was talking about. Who knew if it would work, but I knew it couldn't hurt.

He always watched me leave, and that last time was tough. But it was so worth it, when Kathy told me with surprise that he'd handled the trailer like a pro. Chandler was safely in Wyoming, and a few years later I saw some video of him being ridden. He was good as gold, and clearly happy in the life that could have ended so differently.

We never know when or how we will fall in love, or with whom. We never know when a teacher will show up and open our eyes to a whole new world. We never know.

Take care,

Doc

The ever-curious Chandler, out with his buddies.