Equine Guided Coaching – Horses for the Soul

November 19, 2025November 20, 2025

A Little Magic

He stepped off the trailer after much encouragement and some grain in a bucket to lead the way. His eyes were wide, his head tipped to one side, his long legs trying to find a rhythm beneath him. One front hoof was a club foot – it looked like he was standing on a block instead of a hoof. The yearling was hesitant, awkward in his movements and trying hard to comprehend how his entire world and everything he had ever known had just shifted so radically. But even in the face of such dramatic change – leaving behind everything familiar and safe to him, riding in a trailer for the first time, landing somewhere foreign with horses he’d never seen before – this little horse was open, curious and steady in his thoughts.

The only familiar hands and faces and voices were those of the two women who brought him here – two women who had visited him periodically over the past several months whose hands and faces and voices had been things that made him feel better, not worse.

This Morgan colt had been born to be a working horse. Maybe pulling a cart, maybe a working ridden horse, but his breeding was intentional and he came from good, well-chosen stock. At four months of age, when it was time to give him his first deworming paste, he got scared. He panicked suddenly. And in an instant, the course of his life was altered. He flipped over and his head crashed into a barn aisle post, twisting and fracturing his first vertebra in multiple places.

It was a miracle he survived, much less survived without permanent neurological damage, given the extent of the injury. The farmer who owned him called vets, had multiple radiographs taken, held out hope that he might make a full recovery somehow – perhaps the amazing healing would continue and his head and neck would heal straight enough to allow him to become the promising work horse he was bred to be. The two women were able to help with some realignment; his jaw was adjusted so that he could chew properly, and he started to walk in more of a straight line instead of the bent-sideways position he had been stuck in.

But his head remained crooked on his neck, one eye slightly larger than the other, ears tipped off to the right, and unable to pivot his head at that first vertebra joint, the atlas. No one would purchase a colt in that condition, and no one would risk training him in tack since pulling back or sideways against pressure around his head might cause more damage. The farmer had done all he could do, winter was coming, options were few.

The women had introduced me to the youngster back in the spring, and I saw firsthand how an almost unhandled baby, with no halter or rope of any kind, allowed them to examine him and do bodywork adjustments. They were right when they described him as an “old soul” and wise beyond his years… or in this case, months. So, when he had nowhere to go, even though I technically did not have room for one more, he came to live with me and my existing herd of four. He would not need any tack to participate in equine guided coaching work, and I’d been studying Freedom Based Training with Elsa Sinclair, so I knew it was possible to train a horse without any equipment, even to ride.

He stepped off the trailer after I had agonized over all the reasons why I should say “no,” and there I was, pouring grain in a bucket to help lead the way.

That first day, he allowed me to touch him but he was not truly comfortable with it. Because the club foot was physically challenging, the farrier had to come right away to begin to reshape it. Likely the most difficult part of his transition, the yearling was fearful and resistant of his first farrier experience, but trusted one of the women who transported him enough to support him while he stood with the foot held up long enough for the trimming. Afterwards, she and a friend and I sat in chairs in the paddock, just being there with him until the sun went down, so he could be as close as he wanted, when he wanted. By the time the sun came up the next day, he seemed to know exactly who I was and that I was a friend.

The other four horses were, from the start, intensely curious about him. Always curious and wary of newcomers, the horses noticed right away that he was different, and they wanted to understand what that difference meant. In the wild, a horse who is sick or injured is likely a threat to the safety of the herd, so the yearling would need to prove that he could take care of himself and contribute value to the herd.

After several days on his own in the paddock next to the other horses, I began making one-on-one introductions. The horse who was always everyone’s friend, the one I expected to take him under her wing, wanted nothing to do with him… Daisy. Daisy has been with me since I started this work on my own; back in 2011 we began working with people together and developing Horses for the Soul. She has met so many different people and horses along the way, and is usually the first friend any newcomer has, but not this time. Bobbi, the matriarch of the herd, the only experienced mother among them, was nonplussed and uninterested in pursuing a further bond. Juno, the newest addition before the youngster, here for only 9 months upon his arrival, lunged at him fairly viciously, chasing him and testing his strength, speed and resilience. Chip, the youngest of the old group at ten years old, also tested him, often chasing him in what looked like an imitation of Juno, since Juno tended to chase him and lunge at him relentlessly as well. Concern for the little one welled up in me; what if he never passed their tests? What if he couldn’t integrate?

Then came the night when I went out to check on the youngster after dark. He was lying down in his paddock, about 5 yards from the fence. Chip was standing watch, right up against the fence, the moonlight shimmering along his back. Something in that moment showed me that Chip had found a sense of purpose.

Every time since then, when the little guy is lying down, Chip stands watch over him. He has become like a big brother – still testing him, and pushing on him at times, but sharing hay, sharing space, watching over him when he’s resting. And the yearling runs after him, follows his lead, and finds security being near him. It is a symbiotic relationship, nourishing both of them.

By this time, everyone was asking, “What is his name?” and he didn’t have one. Believing that names help shape a being’s future, I wanted to find the right name for him. I’d been calling him Little Man, since he seemed to have a man’s wisdom in a boy’s form, but that didn’t feel quite right. There was something mystical about him, and unexplained about his survival of a severe traumatic injury, so I wondered if he needed the name of a mythical creature or a wizard.

Meanwhile, he was growing stronger every day. He began to run faster, and carry himself straighter all the time. We began working on basic tasks together, and in no time he loved being groomed, and could stand for all four hooves to be picked out. I remember reading somewhere that one should never try doing something with a horse tied that the horse can’t do untied, and have lived by that principle, often to the confusion and amazement of horses coming into my care. In this case, it was simply a natural progression for him of things we learned to do together in the paddock.

My fears about him not being able to join the herd began to fall away, as did my fears about having one too many horses. He was giving Chip confidence, and he was not so afraid of Juno that he wouldn’t keep coming back when chased away. Juno appreciated this fact; he wanted more of a sparring partner than a horse who stayed out of his way. The mares began to accept him more as well, and they seemed to relax into their elevated status of trusted royal sages.

A friend helped remind me that the thing horses make me feel when I close my eyes and conjure up their presence is… magic. There is something unexplained and precious about them and what they offer us, no matter how much science and study is able to illuminate. This little horse, defying odds and my best efforts to say no, is offering something unexplained and precious. No longer “Little Man,” he is named Little Magic, as it has taken a little magic to get this far, and each day a little magic happens.

May 27, 2025

Being a Friend First

When it’s cold and the sky is spitting a nasty blend of rain and snow down on you, and you are excited to come out and see a horse anyway… that is where the magic starts.

Juno came to the farm in mid-December, when his recently acquired safe home fell through and the person who wanted the best for him trusted me to offer him a good life. Being plucked from all that is familiar and taken away from the friends and family you know isn’t easy on anyone, and Juno was no exception – but he was impressively open to trusting new people from the start. It has been imperative for us not to break that trust – to be slow and patient, to begin every new relationship and activity with sacred introduction, and no matter what he may have been like or done in the past, we have made choices based on how he feels and responds each moment, as opposed to acting on assumptions or expectations.

Equine Guided Education and Coaching is a way of working with horses to teach and coach people… and the same way that every session helps me learn and grow as a person while I facilitate, it can also benefit the horses and enrich their lives. Beyond giving them the opportunity to express their opinions, and giving them a job that is not competitive or physically demanding, this work can be done in a way that helps horses heal from past trauma or anxiety much the same way it can help people.

Fortunately for me, and for Juno, we have amazing people who come to us, like this girl we’ll call Kate. From her first time meeting Juno, she has been open-hearted, present and thoughtful. Our goal in working together has been to give Kate a safe place to open up about anything she’s challenged by in her life, to help understand and regulate emotion as it inevitably flows into what we are doing with a horse as well as life elsewhere, and to build her confidence and presence through learning to care for, communicate with, and do basic activities with horses.

Everything starts at liberty – just being free around each other, and focusing on building a relationship. There is play, there is sharing of thoughts and feelings, and there is curiosity and there is mystery. Learning how to just be around each other comfortably is a benefit for the nervous systems of both horse and human. Social animals feel good about making friends. The first time Kate invited Juno to follow her on a walk around the paddock, the weather was miserable, but the feelings were of pure comfort and joy in connection, as he eagerly walked alongside her and she beamed with excitement.

Sometimes we have fun with inventing new activities or games… like asking the horse to carry her jacket around the paddock. Every step of the way, Kate is attentive to how Juno is feeling about what is being asked of him. She never rushes him for the sake of accomplishing a task, and has been learning to recognize when and how impatience and frustration can sneak up on us and get in our way.

When the goal is for the horse to be comfortable and happy, every small step can be a resounding victory. At first, when Kate introduced the halter and lead rope into our activities together, Juno was inclined to shake his head a lot and walk too quickly for her to stay next to him, especially when something was introduced for him to carry on his back. We explored what being asked for too much too quickly feels like for us as people, too. We came up with options, like taking a break and doing something fun or easy together for a while and then trying the more challenging thing again in a different way.

When Kate walked Juno around the paddock with his saddle on and he was finally relaxed and enjoying the walk as much as the ones they had done together at liberty, it was the look on Kate’s face that said it all: she was happy, comfortable and proud of herself and the horse.

The day that Kate’s mother told me that she was having a hard time when other girls her age taking riding lessons were asking her questions like, “Can you canter?” and “Have you jumped yet?” filled me with sadness. What this girl is learning with a horse is genuine relationship, sensitivity to his feelings and her own, and a solid foundation for anything she may want to do in the future, with or without horses. It’s hard to quantify depth as opposed to scope of accomplishments. I hope she can respond with, “Do you take walks with your horse with an invisible lead rope?” and “Have you helped a worried horse feel safe in a new home yet?”

When Kate does get on the horse, she spends time with Juno on the ground first, making sure they are both comfortable. She talks to him – about how she is feeling and how she hopes he will feel if she rides him. If he tosses his head or pulls away, she knows how to listen, to care, to patiently try a different approach. She knows how to check in with her own feelings and determine whether she is ready or if she needs to take a break and reset.

The kindness and the trust these two are sharing is beautiful. He sees her arrive and hangs his head over the gate in anticipation of a friend. She is always happy to see him, and it is in the being together, not the doing together, that she is finding joy.

April 25, 2025

Beyond Words

My first vinyl collection was a beloved assortment of stories, handed down from older cousins, uncles and maybe even my mother. The records were well-loved with a few skips and scratches by the time they came to me. Among the favorites were Dr. Dolittle, The Jungle Book, and Ferdinand the Bull. It’s no wonder that I grew up understanding that animals were friends and allies, with hearts and minds and voices of their own. I had conversations with dogs and chickens and horses on the regular, as they were all very good listeners, and quite capable of making me feel better on a bad day and not-so-alone any time.

Somewhere along the line of growing up, I lost faith that I could really understand them. I wasn’t entirely sure they could understand me any more either; maybe they could pick up some basic or obvious sentiments, but I began to doubt the level of communication I had once believed in devoutly. The record collection shifted… folk and rock music began shaping the way I related to being human, focusing on lyrics and words and how they resonate with people.

It has taken one very persistent horse to reconnect me with believing in different ways of communicating again. Daisy joined me fourteen years ago, as I set out to learn and practice and explore the field of Equine Guided Education and Coaching. She and I have always made valiant efforts to speak to each other – sometimes her frustration at my lack of understanding resulting in her boycotting everything I ask of her until I finally “get it.”

In general, we have a decent level of understanding one another, which I would expect from being together through three states, nine different farms of residence, five different equine family members, and hundreds of people of all ages coming to sessions. What I did not expect was the way she is able to clearly communicate with people she has just met.

The first time I remember Daisy taking the lead in a client session was about seven years ago. She was often overshadowed by my elder mare, Taj, who held a commanding presence and was rarely subtle, so it was easy to follow her lead. I, myself, thought of Daisy as the young, friendly ambassador who was able to disarm people who had resistance and tended to make everyone feel welcome. It was in the round pen with an independent-minded woman with whom my co-facilitator and I were working hard to find a way to connect that Daisy took over. Ignoring the ample green grass, the mare stood stock still next to her, appearing to go inward in a reflective, self-focused, resting stance. Neither of them moved, the woman assuming a similar pose, and to any onlooker, it might have appeared that nothing was happening.

As the minutes ticked by, it was at first a challenge to be patient and allow the ongoing silence and stillness. After a while, it became easier to stand and observe, and clearer that something was, indeed, happening between the woman and the horse. After what must have been at least twenty minutes, Daisy finally began moving her lips, licking and chewing and shifting her weight, eventually moving from that spot towards us onlookers on the outside of the pen. The woman thanked her and came over to explain her experience; Daisy had taken her through a range of thoughts and emotions, had helped her cut through to the core of her angst and indecision, and to recognize the next steps she wanted to take in her life.

For some time, I attributed the experience to the woman finding a way to quiet her mind enough to process her own issues and recognize her intuitive guidance. Fundamentally, I was trained to ground my reflections, insights and thoughts in observations of the horse’s and the person’s behavior and body language, and most sessions were heavily focused on movement, interpretation and helping people uncover their own relevance to what transpired. So what kind of grounding was there in someone reporting that one of the horses just told them some things they needed to hear?

Through the years, I noticed that Daisy would often volunteer more interaction with people than just welcoming them upon arrival. She would find ways to get their attention and work to help them stay present. One method she finds particularly successful is to lie down next to them. Sometimes she will roll, rise up and shake off, sometimes she will relax into a sleep state, and sometimes she will stretch flat out into REM sleep and dreaming. Daisy’s act of communicating through lying down has been contagious. Not only have many people been moved to be on the ground with her, but the other horses have begun to do the same thing with more precise timing.

People have reported feeling strong waves of emotion, immense gratitude, specific visual images, and sometimes entire messages that felt like direct conversation from them. The horses do not have to be lying down for this to happen, but sometimes it seems to be how they find “a way in” with people. Let me be very transparent here… I am extremely skeptical of most people with the title “Animal Communicator.” I have had some unfortunate experiences involving self-professed animal communicators with the horses. What I am witnessing here feels like a different way of sharing feelings and insight. Perhaps it is simply that the horses are creating time and space for people to relax enough to feel their own inner knowing with more clarity. Perhaps it is a non-verbal way to communicate that is beyond body language. Perhaps it is a combination of both.

What I can ground in observation is that more relaxation and more sleep results in healthier horses and healthier people. In addition, the profound experience of a horse choosing to stand with, or lie down with a person creates a remarkable space of openness to trust and connection to the thoughts and feelings that arise. There is something fertile in the space of allowing thoughts and feelings to arise without striving for the “right words” right away. If and when we need the words, they will come.

March 16, 2025

Speaking Horse

There has been a lack of words, a lack of writing in my life these last couple of years. I am starting to find words again, as the horses seem to be speaking up – in their own, nonverbal way. Is it just me? Have I rounded some corner in my relationship with them? Or is the way they are speaking up with everyone who comes to work with them shifting? Perhaps, a little of each. Perhaps, I have learned how to listen better, and perhaps they have learned to trust more that we humans are listening.

***

The morning sun was finally out in full force. Chickens were busy bustling around the paddock, looking for goodies in fresh manure. The sounds of Saturday echoed around us through the trees, with a tractor humming and clanking, a chainsaw in the distance, people making the most of weekend work outside in the country.

Here in the paddock with the horses, nine-year-old Elizabeth was learning how to talk to horses. She was focused on her effort to befriend Daisy, a quarter horse mare who happens to be the most seasoned equine guided coaching horse in the group. Daisy seemed very content to stand quietly alone in the field, unfazed by the surrounding noise and activity. Elizabeth, in turn, was unfazed by the din, and was exploring how to silently speak to the horse with her movements, and let her know she wanted to spend time together. How close could she could walk toward Daisy before Daisy turned even an ear towards her, acknowledging her approach? Several yards away, Daisy swung her whole head towards the girl, who immediately stopped in her tracks in order to show the horse clearly she was paying attention.

Elizabeth continued, very focused, very patiently… when Daisy looked forward again, she would walk carefully toward her, until she swung her head around again, as if to ask, “what do you want?” On the third approach, Elizabeth was no more than 2 or 3 feet from the mare, and she diligently stopped when Daisy turned toward her again. She stood still, waiting for the horse to look forward again.

Instead of looking forward, refocusing on the environment in the distance, Daisy sighed and lowered her head. Then she picked up one hind foot after the other, folded herself in on her front knees, and dropped to the ground at Elizabeth’s feet. The girl was stunned and thrilled all at once. I asked what she felt in her body that she wanted to do, and she said, “I want to get down on the ground with her.”

A girl who about twenty minutes prior had said she had trouble standing still was now sitting on the ground with Daisy, quietly and easily tuning in to this moment they were sharing. Her attention focused on feeling the sense of togetherness with a horse, she was fully present, open to the entirety of the experience, and connected to herself and this horse in a new way.

Meditation, mindfulness, present moment awareness… these practices can take a lot of effort, trying and trying again, to even feel slightly successful. Yet a horse can help someone take leaps and bounds in, literally, one sitting.

I used to think that I had to make children’s sessions different from adults because they tend to have much shorter attention spans and I thought they might get bored easily. Here was Daisy, proving me wrong. I’ve since begun treating youth equine guided sessions very much the same as sessions for adults. The horses will meet them where they are, and find ways to help them learn whatever seems to need to be addressed in the moment.

I used to think that Daisy was tired of children, because after years of being the star children’s horse in sessions, she started to head for the far end of the field when she saw a child approaching. Now I realize, she was tired of not being able to do the work she knows how to do with them, as I was teaching primarily fundamentals of care and groundwork and very basic riding. Guess who was getting bored easily.

April 21, 2020April 23, 2020

The Energy of Empathy

The small but sturdy paint mare stood stock still in the cross ties. Her breathing was somewhat shallow, her eyes and ears wary. The girl was brushing her. The brush swept across her flank in a manner that felt methodical and distant. Every day, girls of various ages would halter her, walk her into the cross ties, groom her and tack her up for their riding lessons. Sometimes the girls were happily chatting to her, their words lighthearted and friendly. Sometimes the girls whispered their sadness to her, trusting her with their most sacred feelings. Sometimes, like today, the girls were silent, tense, biting their lips as they powered through the mechanics of what they were there to do.

It was these times that worried the mare. She was an experienced lesson horse, and she knew that when the girls were quiet and tense, there was little chance that they were thinking about what they were doing, or truly considering her or themselves at all. It usually meant that the riding lesson would be a struggle. The mare tried hard to understand what they were asking her to do, and she knew they were trying to understand what the instructor was asking them to do, but it was very often forty-five minutes of feeling their frustration increase, their hands jerk the reins harder on the bit in her mouth, and their kicks to her sides become increasingly more desperate and painful.

She was bracing herself as the girl hoisted the saddle up onto her back. Her nine-year-old fingers were fumbling to get the billets into the buckles to secure the girth when the instructor’s voice boomed through the barn, “You are late and this is no time to dawdle! Get that tack on and get out here now!”

The mare could feel the girl holding her breath, using all her might to tighten the girth. By now the mare had begun to pin her ears, trying to show the girl she was worried and did not feel safe. She began to side-step with her hind feet in some attempt to move away from the girl who felt like she might explode. “Don’t let that mare walk all over you,” the instructor sounded angry now, “Tighten that girth and get to the bridle!”

All the girl’s desperation and anxiety came through in one swing. The riding crop landed with a resounding smack on her hindquarters, and in less than a fraction of a second, the horse defended herself. In an immediate reaction to the perceived attack, she kicked out at the girl, landing a hoof squarely on her thigh and sending her reeling against the barn wall.

Healing happens when we experience somatic empathy. When another person – or another being – is fully present to us and how we are feeling, we experience something more than just being understood on a cognitive level. We experience a resonance and a relief that is beyond words, beyond thinking, and that is truly curative.

Horses live every moment being fully present. When we are interacting with them, or even just near them, they are taking in our somatic cues and the energy of our true feelings. We can opt to try to power through, to force our agenda, to ignore both what they are feeling and what we are feeling. Or, we can take every opportunity with a horse to learn more and more self-awareness, to become adaptable and resilient, and to heal the parts of ourselves that have not been acknowledged, soothed or allowed to release the past tension, grief, anger, fear or frustration they are still holding onto.

The girl is now an adult, returning to horses for a new experience; for healing and for changing old patterns in her life. One day, as she was beginning to brush a horse in the field, she felt something constrict in her chest and her solar plexus, at the same moment the horse pinned his ears and side-stepped away from her.

A memory was welling up in her body. Often we block some or all of the cognitive portion of a traumatic memory; rather than feel the pain of it, it seems easier to try to suppress it, or to make it go away. But the body remembers, and all it takes is a situation that reminds the body just enough of that past experience to bring it back.

With the horses, an opening is created for somatic empathy. Instead of powering through and continuing to try to make the horse accept the brushing, she stood next to him, breathing deeply and regularly, and talked to him about the memory that was emerging.

Her mother had been running late that day, as usual. She snapped at Angie to move faster, to get her riding gear and get into the car. Angie could feel the tension in her mother as she turned the key in the ignition and unclenched her teeth just long enough to take a drag of her cigarette. “Goddam it!” her mother swore as a warning light flickered on in the dashboard. “We’re going to have to stop for gas.” Angie shrank deep into the back seat, hoping that it wasn’t somehow her fault that there wasn’t enough gas in the car.

She was pretty sure it was her fault that her parents yelled at each other all the time. And she knew that she had to try harder not to talk too much around her father. She loved his attention when she started a story and it seemed like he wanted to hear it. But she would always take too long, and he would cut her off and be done with her, sending her to her room.

When she got to the barn, the other girls in her lesson class were already taking their horses and ponies to the mounting block to get on. She held her breath, waiting for her instructor’s angry words, admonishing her for taking too long. Angie loved this horse. She loved all the horses. She wished she could stand and pet them and talk to them and love them for the whole lesson. But she had to learn how to be stronger, be a better boss. “Horses need to know who’s boss,” the instructor would say.

Angie didn’t feel like a boss. She felt like a nervous little girl who was trying hard all the time not to make anyone angrier or more upset than they already were. She was worrying about not being a good boss when she was hurrying to brush the mare. And she was worrying that she wasn’t strong enough to get the girth tight enough… not just because the leather would slip through her small fingers when she tried to pull on it, but because she didn’t want to hurt the horse. It seemed cruel the way she saw the instructor pound her knee into her belly and yank the girth to make it so tight so quickly.

When the yelling started, she felt hot tears behind her eyes. She was trying so hard to be good, to be on time, but she was way behind and now the horse was stepping away from her, making the job of tacking up even harder. She knew she had to show her she was the boss. She bit her lip even harder and tried to emulate the instructor… or maybe what her father would do, be tough… and she picked up the riding crop and whacked the horse with it to make her behave.

The hot tears that she held back over forty years ago came back. They leaked out of her eyes on behalf of her love for that mare, her shame over hitting her. And for her fear of disappointing her parents and her instructors, but not knowing how to be true to herself back then, how to love herself the way she loved others. My gelding sighed deeply, yawned, and cocked one of his hind feet – settling in to relax next to Angie for as long as she needed him.

Somatic empathy happens without physical contact. It is simply one body feeling something that another body is experiencing. A person may want physical contact, and the horse may accept that, but touching is not necessary for the horse and the human to be connected in somatic experience. In this time of limited physical contact, of social distancing and self-isolation, I find it intriguing and helpful to explore the way in which matter and energy are interchangeable. How far apart can two bodies be and still experience what is happening in the other? If horses are any indicator, it’s a lot farther than six feet.

November 27, 2016November 27, 2016

Getting Productive With Horses

It’s a Sunday. It’s a Sunday after a long holiday weekend and I am predictably launching myself into a day of what is intended to be productive enough to atone for all that I did not accomplish over the course of the last three days. I’ve spent the early morning hours replying to Friday’s business emails, scrubbing the toilet, reorganizing a drawer, addressing invitations and ultimately growing older rapidly while on hold with an internet service company. Now it’s time to get productive with the horses.

After tidying the tack room, filling water buckets and feeding the barn cat, I bring the horses into the barn for their grain and supplements. They don’t seem particularly remarkable in mood, not straying from their typical behavior in any way. The two mares get a bit pushy on the way through the barn door and wind up changing the typical order of things, but then they all eat and drink merrily as usual. I set about grooming and practicing the fine art of tick removal, about which the horses are quite pleased, since that is accompanied by a thorough, customized neck scratching, unparalleled by anything they can find to rub up against in the barn or field.

Nearly methodically, I gather all three horses from their stalls and walk them around to the flat, sunny pasture behind the barn. I find myself forcing my mind to stay present with them, and not allow it to wander back to how frustrated I am with the internet service company who failed to send me a sim card last week, and who clearly has not hired enough customer service representatives to answer the phones.

The horses safely in the pasture, happily greeting the goats in the neighboring paddock, I pause only to warm my face in the sun while reviewing my mental checklist of chores. I glance at the time and it’s nearing 1:00 pm, but I imagine I can still make it to town to return an ill-fitting horse blanket and purchase a sorely-needed drill so I can check yet more tasks off of the list. First I grab the pitchfork and muck bucket to squeeze in a quick clean up in the area near the gate where manure accumulates with ever-amazing alacrity.

No sooner do I step inside the gate, mucking tools in hand, than my younger mare, Daisy, steps toward me and promptly lies down at my feet, literally blocking my way. It has been nearly twelve weeks since we left Petaluma, California and journeyed east together to make our home in Maryland. It was common practice for the horses and me to lie down together in our arena out west, but this was the first time I had the opportunity to lie down with a horse here.

Or was it? What had I been overlooking? For Daisy to make such a definitive and emphatic invitation, I realized that perhaps she recognized the need for an intervention. The muck bucket and pitchfork are immediately cast aside and I get down and lay with her in the midday sun of late autumn. Zorro is standing watch over the two of us while Taj stands watch over the goats, one of whom is also lying down.

I let my breath begin to synchronize with Daisy’s. She is breathing heavily, deeply, slowly. I start to feel the earth and the tufts of soft, dying grass beneath me. A vulture floats by overhead, teetering ever so slightly side to side. What have I been overlooking? Exactly this opportunity.

With the transcontinental trip, the search for a home together, the adjustments we are all making to this climate and community, I had neglected my work and my practice with the horses as I fell into the rut of organizing my time by checklists, of working on my business through planning and restructuring, by prioritizing everything from light bulbs to life insurance in order to try to get settled. Here, now, is my smart and sensitive horse, reminding me of the fundamental premise in my own life’s work: to stay present to what is here, now, and find spirit and well-being in connection to it.

Taj soon decides to join us on the welcoming ground, both goats napping in the adjacent paddock now, and Zorro alternating between casually patrolling the perimeter and standing guard, half dozing. The simplicity of animals at peace with each other and their surroundings washes over me like a salve for the endless busyness that creeps into life in the guise of “things that need to be done.”

I’ll get to those. Eventually.

For now, now is much more necessary.