But before she subjected Speckles to the new training, she decided to implement natural horsemanship techniques on her two Welsh corgi dogs, much to the surprise of her husband, Rick.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” he asked her one afternoon as she stood in their backyard holding a leash—actually three leashes tied together—in her hand, while one of her dogs, Dunie, ran around her in big circles.
Lauren smiled sheepishly. “Can’t you tell? I’m lunging the dog. Gotta be ready for Speckles tomorrow, you know.”
Rick knew all too well how his wife of fifteen years poured herself into a project. He simply shook his head, deposited the bag of trash he was carrying into the container, and returned to the house. Lauren slowed Dunie down to a walk. Her dogs had done a great job lunging, but they were nothing like Speckles. Would it really be any different? Would a slower pace and the use of pressure and release really make any difference in the difficult horse?
Only time would tell.
The next day, Lauren arrived at Hope Reins late in the afternoon to begin Speckles’ new, slower-paced training. After retrieving a rope-style halter and lead, a long lunge line, and a training stick, she led Speckles to the round arena. A new training style required a new training atmosphere. The horse walked compliantly beside her. However, Joey did not seem too happy about the absence of his pasture-mate, crying and whinnying while he paced the fence line. The sounds nearly broke Lauren’s heart.
“I’m just borrowing him for a little while, Joe-Joe. I promise to bring him right back.”
The two Appaloosas had formed quite a bond over the past few weeks. Ever since Speckles had stopped bullying Joey at feeding time, the two had become inseparable. They grazed together, ran together, and nuzzled together. Anytime Joey lost track of Speckles, they began their own version of Marco Polo, neighing to each other until they were reunited. Lauren had even witnessed Speckles leading Joey around the paddock by nibbling at his rump, effectively directing the blind horse where he wanted him to go. In fact, in many ways Speckles seemed to have become Joey’s eyes. Lauren wondered if Joey really even needed the wind chimes anymore. He had definitely learned where the fencing and trees were.
Joey’s cries intensified as Lauren led Speckles into the round pen. Once she stopped, Speckles let loose an earsplitting whinny. Lauren rubbed her ears.
“What in the world was that?”
He bobbed his head as a quiet answering neigh came from paddock two. And then . . . silence. Lauren peered through the gate toward Joey, who was now standing in the corner of the paddock, as close as he could get to the round pen.
“Are you telling your friend where you are?” Lauren asked, amazed at the way the two horses had learned to communicate with one another. “You two are unbelievable, you know that? Okay,” she said, taking a step back, “let’s show your friend what you can do.”
Lauren was determined to spend the first few minutes of their session simply observing Speckles. If she detected he was in pain, she would ask nothing from him. First, she had him take a few steps forward. His legs seemed more relaxed today. His lips were loose and pliable, and his ears were forward and up. Hopefully, the medications were giving him some relief.
Lauren attached the lunge line and tapped gently on his shoulder with the training stick. She was still getting used to switching to the stick rather than flinging the attached rope at his feet to get him to move. That method was effective for some of the other horses, but obviously not for Speckles.
“Let’s just try a slow walk, okay, big boy?”
She steadied herself for a possible bad reaction. Speckles started walking. It was a slow and cautious walk, but it was a walk. Not wanting to push her luck, she stopped after two rotations. It didn’t seem like rocket science. She just used the training stick in a different way inviting him to walk rather than trying to force him.
“You did it, buddy! Good job!” Lauren fed him a carrot she had hidden in her pocket.
Speckles eagerly accepted the treat. Lauren unclipped his line in order to let him explore for a little while. I can’t push him too hard. As she walked toward the gate, she was startled to discover that Speckles was following her. Wanting to see if it was purposeful or not, she changed directions and walked toward the back of the arena. Within minutes, a slobbery chin was tapping her shoulder. Without thinking, she reached up and hugged the horse.
Startled, Speckles jerked his head back.
“Oh, bud, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Too much affection too soon.
Yet she was grateful to see a more playful and trusting side of him. She walked across the arena again. It took Speckles a few minutes, but he eventually followed. This time, she slowly reached out a hand and stroked his neck. Speckles turned his large head toward her in an awkward horse hug.
“I love you, you difficult, sweet bully,” Lauren said.
Lauren returned Speckles to the paddock where Joey waited anxiously. The two nuzzled each other as if they had been separated for years instead of mere minutes. Joey began nibbling Speckles’ back up and down as if he were giving him a rubdown following a strenuous workout. Lauren laughed out loud.
The difference in Speckles’ behavior was remarkable. Now that he was feeling better, he had become a much more cordial companion for Joey. In fact, if Lauren didn’t know better, she’d have sworn Speckles was starting to take care of Joey.
“You know, Speckles, you might not be able to be ridden,” she said aloud, “but it’s pretty clear that you have a purpose out here—just as much as each one of the other horses does.”
As if understanding exactly what the human in his field had just said, Speckles nickered. Lauren laughed at his response.
“In fact, maybe you have more than one purpose.”
She blew the horse a good-night kiss.
CHAPTER 9
BY LATE SPRING, the sessions were in full swing. The warm temperatures, the longer days, and the lighter school day schedules made it easier to offer late afternoon or early evening sessions. That flexibility also worked well for Sarah.
The day after the big event at Hope Reins with the foster kids, Sarah had gone by the office. She had forgotten to take her volunteer’s T-shirt the day before. Expecting an empty office, Sarah was startled to find Kim sitting inside. “Oh, sorry to interrupt,” Sarah said, about to turn around.
“No, please, come in and sit for a few minutes,” Kim said. The previous day had been nonstop and Kim had barely been able to catch her breath, let alone debrief with Sarah. But she certainly had heard about the interaction between her volunteer and Ethan.
“You are a natural, Sarah. I don’t know how you broke through his barrier, but everyone was impressed—including me.”
Sarah was a little uncomfortable with the unsolicited praise, and yet it made her hungry for more. “He’s a great kid and just needed somebody to listen to him.”
Kim looked intently at Sarah. “Would you consider becoming a session leader? Or at least come out and shadow a session? We desperately need more session leaders, and it’s like God just brought you to us when we needed you the most.”
Sarah’s stomach lurched. Ugh, why did she have to bring God into this? How would Kim feel if she knew the truth—knew who I really was? Would she take back her offer?
“Well?” Kim asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “What do you think?”
Whether it was Kim’s kind nature, her pleading eyes, or her own vulnerability, Sarah didn’t know. But whatever the reason, she had said yes.
She had been shadowing Barb for five sessions now. Although Barb kept insisting to Sarah that she was ready to lead a session on her own, her “student” made it clear she was just fine to keep things as they were. And then Barb got sick.
The two of them were doing cleanup chores around the ranch when Barb started coughing. “Hey, Sarah . . .” She cleared her throat and started again. “I thought I could make it through the entire day, but this cold is gett
ing worse. Would you mind covering my session for me? The little girl’s file is on the table in the office. She’ll be here at 6:00.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to,” Sarah replied, feigning confidence. “You go home and get some rest.”
Mouthing a grateful thank-you, Barb headed for her car. Sarah quickly checked the time on her phone. She’ll be here in twenty minutes. Sarah glanced around the feed shed. She loved the cozy little room and was tempted not to leave. Just shut the door and hide out until everyone is gone.
No, take a deep breath. You can do this. Sarah closed the shed door, secured the padlock, and headed to the office. The file was sitting on the table right where Barb said it would be.
She pulled out the referral sheet and scanned the information.
Child: Aly, age five.
Living situation: Adopted from foster care when she was two years old by Cindy, a single mom who lives in Durham.
Caregiver remarks: Aly is very shy and withdrawn. Doesn’t talk much. Won’t engage with other children. Very inward and hesitant in new situations.
There were some similarities with Ethan—“withdrawn,” “doesn’t talk much,” “won’t engage with other children”—but until she met this little girl, Sarah wasn’t sure what to do. How would Barb help the little girl feel at ease? Her thoughts were interrupted by a car door slamming, followed by another. That must be them. She slipped the referral sheet back in the folder, wiped her hands on the front of her jeans, and went out to meet them.
Shading her eyes from the sun, Sarah was able to make out a thin, athletic-looking woman leading a petite little girl toward the Hope Reins office. The girl looked fragile, as if the slightest gust of wind could knock her over. Her thick brown curls were pulled into a ponytail that bounced when she walked. Her eyes were fixed on the stuffed bunny she was clutching.
“Hi,” Sarah said, waving. “Are you Cindy and Aly?”
The woman nodded. “That’s us.”
“It’s so nice to meet you both,” Sarah said, extending her hand first to Cindy and then to Aly.
The girl’s knuckles whitened as she dug her fingers into the bunny.
“I like your bunny,” Sarah said, pretending to shake the bunny’s hand. “I’m Sarah, and I get to hang out with you today.”
Deep brown eyes momentarily glanced up at her—eyes full of fear and distrust. Aly’s bottom lip turned in slightly, evidence that she was chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Aly and I are happy to meet you, Sarah. Aren’t we, Aly?” Cindy nodded, as if willing her daughter to mimic the movement. She did not.
Sarah wondered how she was going to connect with the stoic girl. “Well, Aly,” she said, “the first thing you get to do is pick out a horse that you would like to spend some special time with. Would you like to go meet my horse friends?”
Aly’s slight nod indicated she had heard Sarah’s question, but she didn’t move.
“Sweetie, why don’t you let me hold Mr. Bunny? We don’t want the horses to think he’s a toy and try to eat him,” Cindy said softly. Aly’s eyes briefly filled with horror, and she quickly passed the sand-colored bunny to her mother.
“Have fun, sweetie,” Cindy whispered to Aly. “Listen to Miss Sarah and tell those horses hi for me, okay?”
Aly’s eyes never left the ground. And then there were two, Sarah thought, as Cindy made her way to the picnic tables, where PJ began talking with her. Hope Reins had special volunteers trained to be a listening ear for the caregivers of the children in sessions.
“Okay, Miss Aly. Are you ready to go find a horse?”
Sarah smiled when the girl nodded again. Sarah started walking, expecting Aly to follow, but she didn’t. On a whim, Sarah held out her hand toward the child and was surprised when a tiny hand touched her palm. Closing her fingers around Aly’s cold hand, she led her toward the paddock where Shiloh was standing near the fence.
“This is Shiloh,” Sarah said, crouching down to Aly’s eye level. The girl smelled like peanut butter. “She’s a sweet pony who was given to us by a nice family who couldn’t keep her anymore. She loves rainstorms and playing in mud puddles.”
Aly just stared at the ground. Sarah tried again.
“Shiloh was moved to this paddock because it doesn’t have any grass, just dirt. She was eating too much grass and getting bad stomachaches. We feed her hay instead. But I think she’s happy.”
Nothing. Okay, she thought, changing tactics.
“And that,” she said, pointing to the brownish-black mare in the middle of the field, “is Cadence. We don’t know much about where she came from. We got her from a group that rescues horses that are being treated badly.”
No reaction.
Shiloh reached under the fence to get to a particularly tempting clump of grass in front of Aly.
Aly took a step back to put more distance between her and the horse.
Sarah kept talking. “Shiloh and Cadence are good friends because they both get a little nervous and shy around new people and new things. They help each other feel brave.”
Aly did not seem impressed or interested in either horse.
Okay, strike one.
Still clasping Aly’s hand, Sarah moved to the paddock that Essie, a donated chestnut Morgan horse with a white strip down her muzzle, now shared with Jesse, a rescued mare. The small bay-colored quarter horse had come to the ranch broken and in need of gentle care and understanding. The poor creature had been saved from horrific conditions by the equine rescue league. When they found her, she was 150 pounds underweight, mysteriously missing half her tongue, and terrified of people. Desperate to give Jesse the opportunity to trust again, Kim and Barb had visited her several times at the foster ranch.
Eventually Jesse softened toward them and began to show a strength of will and determination that had deeply moved both women. Jesse was still a work in progress, but she had found a home at Hope Reins, and, given time, Kim believed she would become a favorite among the children.
Sarah introduced the two mares to Aly, giving her a little bit of their backstory. Aly seemed mesmerized by Jesse, but when Sarah asked her if she wanted to spend time with these two horses, there was no response.
Strike two.
On to paddock two.
“And these boys are Joey and Speckles,” Sarah said. “Joey is the one by the hay box, and Speckles is way over there in the back of the field.”
Joey lifted his head at the sound of visitors. “Joey is blind, so he can’t see you, but he can definitely hear us. He knows we’re here.” Aly’s eyes grew wide.
Joey began to saunter in their direction, stopping near the fence.
“Hi, Joey,” Sarah said, extending her hand. “This is my friend Aly.”
The little girl raised her head and tilted it almost all the way back to take in the large horse standing before her. He must look like a giant to her. He certainly makes her look tiny.
Aly couldn’t take her eyes off the horse.
Joey’s nostrils widened and twitched, and he lowered his head in search of something. He sniffed at the ground, extended his head under the fence, then pulled it back again. He repeated this several times before finally zeroing in on what he was hunting for—Aly.
His nose bumped her leg.
The girl didn’t move.
Joey’s lips became animated in his classic “there’s a treat hiding somewhere, and I’m gonna find it” way.
The peanut butter! Sarah had smelled it on Aly, so Joey certainly would too. Not wanting Joey to frighten the little girl, Sarah retrieved a treat from her pocket, clucked her tongue to get Joey’s attention, and then handed it to him.
“Joey and his friend Speckles came to Hope Reins a few months ago,” Sarah explained, watching Aly observe Joey’s every move.
Joey made quick work of the treat, then stuck his head back through the fence in search of the delicious-smelling girl. Aly’s shoulders flinched, but then she leaned forward ever so slightly, oblivious to ever
ything except Joey. Sarah couldn’t believe it.
“Joey used to be a champion jumper,” Sarah said, sitting down on the grass beside the young girl. “He won lots of pretty ribbons, but then he got hurt and couldn’t jump anymore.”
Aly sat down beside her and looked at Sarah—in the eye. Sarah was caught off guard for a moment.
“Joey’s owners couldn’t keep him anymore, so he was sold a couple of times. The last owner didn’t take very good care of him, and Joey almost died. But Ms. Kim, the woman who started this ranch, believes that God has a plan for Joey’s life, and so she brought him here to live.”
Aly had been staring at Sarah the entire time she was relating Joey’s story. Sarah could hear children laughing across the ranch, obviously enjoying their sessions with the horses. Would Aly ever get to that point? The volunteer and the little girl sat quietly by the fence. When Aly raised her eyebrows with an unspoken question, Sarah answered instinctively with her own question.
“Aly, do you want to touch Joey?”
Aly nodded. The two of them stood up, and once again, Sarah clucked her tongue to get Joey’s attention.
“Joey, put your head up here so Aly can say hi.”
Joey responded as if he had known that command his entire life, stepping closer to the fence and holding his head still. Sarah directed Aly’s hand to Joey’s shoulder, showing her how to gently pet him. Aly followed her instructions perfectly, and Sarah rewarded Joey with another treat.
“Great job, Aly. Joey really likes you,” she said, encouragingly. Sarah paused, then added, “Would you like to go meet some other horses?”
Aly shook her head. A slight shake, but an unmistakable one. She had found her horse.
Sarah smiled. “Well, then, would you like to learn how to brush him?”
Aly’s bobbing ponytail spoke volumes. Sarah led the girl to the tack shed, where they collected supplies—a halter and lead line, a grooming bucket full of brushes, and a hoof pick. Then they walked back to Joey’s paddock.
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