10d • General discussion
A Horse Named Rod
A Horse Named Rod
By Kathleen Tonn
Friendships can be immediate or not at all. In the case of Rod and myself, it was the former.
The Dallas Equestrian Center backed their horse trailer up to the front door of Trevor's barn. I stood at the back of the trailer as two young men exited the cab of the pickup. Both wore caps bearing the logo of the shelter.
"He's ready for a new home. Thank you for taking him," said the driver as he unlocked the door of the horse trailer. As the door swung wide, the chestnut's hind quarters reflected the afternoon sun light. The shifting of his hooves clattered on the trailer's wooden slats.
I stood to the side as the handler stepped inside to walk the horse backwards down the off-loading ramp. Carefully, he coaxed the chestnut out of the dark and into the light. The steady breeze ruffled the stallion's mane as he snorted.
The driver handed me a clip board saying, "Please sign this receipt of acknowledgment that Rod was delivered. His medical records are in this envelope. The fire was a bad one, and he hasn't fully recovered from the trauma. The vet will be out to see him next Tuesday. Thank you again for taking him," with those words the driver climbed back into the cab and drove out of the yard.
I held the rope tied around Rod's strong neck. Softly, I spoke to the injured animal. "I have apple slices for you," Trevor said, as he pulled them from his jacket pocket. He placed them on the flat of his hand beneath Rod's mouth. The scent of the apples reached the horse's nostrils. In moments, Rod was tasting their sweetness.
I stroked his muzzle as he chewed. So soft and sensitive is a horse's nose. Quietly, we stood together in the sunlight. I made no demands on Rod. And, I determined I wouldn't make any demands on Rod until he wanted me to. A wounded, traumatized horse needs healing just as a wounded, traumatized human does.
As Rod took in the scenery and scents around him, the Evergreens clover and barley in the nearby fields, I brushed him. I was in no rush, nor was he. Bonding occurs on many levels, and it's all built on trust and time.
After I curried Rod, we slowly walked around my yard. I showed him my garden, my cabin, the creek that runs behind the barn near the Willows. Then, I took Rod to my corral, where hay and water were ready for him. I took the rope from his neck. He neighed with pleasure at being free. I, then, sat on the wooden fence as I watched my new friend trot around the enclosure. Before long, Rod discovered the hay. His tail swishing from side to side as he dined on the alfalfa.
I sat, for perhaps an hour, on my corral fence just admiring the stallion. He was very like myself, I thought. Wounded, traumatized by life, but in recovery. Together, we will heal. I from my divorce. You, Rod, from a fire.
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A Horse Named Rod
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