“Get off my foot, Joe! GET OFF!” she screamed wildly.
Concerned about the hysterical human in front of him, Joey leaned forward, nudging her with his nose, his hoof still firmly planted.
“OWW!”
Lauren threw her arms around his neck and cried, begging him to move. Finally, she calmed down enough to release Joey’s neck. The horse eventually took a step back, scraping his hoof along Lauren’s brand-new boot, peeling back the leather and exposing her sock.
Joey munched on clover while Lauren gingerly removed her boot and sock. Her foot was red and throbbing, but she was able to move it around in a circle, flex it, and extend it. Other than being tremendously sore, the foot had survived being crushed by a nearly thousand-pound horse. The boot was a different story. She had recently splurged on these boots, the first new pair in years. A phrase floated through her mind: That’s why I can’t have nice things.
Carrying her destroyed boot in one hand and Joey’s lead line in the other, Lauren hobbled out the gate. As she left Joey in the paddock, she mumbled, “You need to learn the command ‘Back.’ And I need to get another pair of boots, preferably the steel-toed kind.”
After several days of staying off her foot, Lauren was ready to work with Joey again, with Sarah’s assistance. Sarah served on the newly formed horse care and wellness team and had expressed interest in Joey’s progress, knowing how much he connected with the children.
Getting Joey to cooperate with his new training schedule, though, was proving to be far more challenging than either Lauren or Sarah could have imagined. He had grown so used to Lauren’s visits, when the two of them just spent time together and he would fall asleep. Now, waking him up and convincing him to follow her out of his field felt like a chore. But after some carrot bribes and animated talking, the sleepyhead woke up enough to comply.
The threesome arrived at the round pen, and Joey eagerly went inside. But the moment he realized that Lauren had not led him there for a casual walk, he started to pull against the lead line, unsure of what was coming.
The past few days when Lauren was home, she had been researching various training methods to use with blind horses. The recent incident with Joey made it imperative to establish an effective way to communicate with him. Lauren knew that Joey was capable of so much more than they were asking of him. He was an intelligent horse—she had seen that firsthand when Joey had consoled her after Speckles died. Other trainers had successfully taught vocal commands to blind horses. Joey didn’t need those commands to participate in sessions, but Lauren was convinced he needed more mental stimulation.
She had discussed her thoughts with Kim and Sarah over coffee the day before.
“I think you are right,” Kim agreed. “We . . . actually I have been so scared of him getting hurt that I’ve been hesitant to push him too hard.”
“I think we all have, Kim,” Sarah clarified. “Joey was doing so well, and he has been through so much, that we all just wanted him to be happy.”
Lauren took a sip of her chai tea. “I’m just hoping that when Sarah and I work with him, teaching him and pushing him just a little, it will help him thrive and adjust to Speckles’ absence—even more than bonding with Spirit has done.”
Kim set her vanilla latte on the table and leaned forward. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys, but I am so thankful for you and your insight.” She looked at Lauren. “And as Joey’s head trainer, go for it! See what he’s capable of.”
That night, Lauren joked to Rick that she planned to become like Annie Sullivan to Joey’s Hellen Keller.
“Not a lofty goal at all,” Rick replied, smiling.
The YouTube videos made it look so easy, Lauren thought. But unfortunately, the horse standing before her now in the round pen was acting very much like a frustrated Hellen Keller.
Just wave the lead rope back and forth in large sweeping motions, and the horse will back up. Well, apparently not this horse. Lauren gently swung the rope. Nothing. She swung it a little harder. Nothing. She swung it in large arcs back and forth. Without warning, Joey reared, his front hooves coming dangerously close to Lauren’s head. She stopped and opened up some distance between her and Joey, so she could collect herself.
“He’s just scared, and probably a bit aggravated,” Sarah said. “But you’re doing a great job.”
Lauren gave a half-hearted laugh. “I don’t know about that, but I’m not giving up on him. He’ll get this. I just have to figure out how to teach him.”
If only I could talk to Annie Sullivan, Lauren thought.
She clucked her tongue to get Joey’s attention and asked him to follow her as she pulled forward slightly on his rope. He followed. After finishing a circuit around the pen, Lauren began gently swinging the lead rope again, commanding Joey to back up. She had seen firsthand with Speckles how a horse could be trained to move away from motion or pressure. Surely Joey had been taught all of this before, Lauren realized, thinking of his prestigious background. So why was he fighting it so much? Actually, since Joey was defiantly resisting by standing like a statue, fight was probably not the right word.
“I don’t get it,” Lauren called out to Sarah. “He’s rearing up one minute and freezing in place the next. What am I doing wrong?”
“Would you like a break? I can give it a try,” Sarah said. Joey didn’t respond positively to any of her attempts either.
Nearly an hour passed, and Sarah’s patience began wearing thin. “This isn’t working, Lauren.”
Lauren took the lead rope from Sarah.
“Well, considering Joey’s not trying to kick our heads off any longer, I’d say we’re doing pretty well.”
“True, but he doesn’t seem to be getting it at all. I wonder if he ever will.” A moment later she whispered, “Maybe he just can’t.”
When Lauren swung the lead line this time, she also tapped it with a flexible fiberglass training stick—a technique she had remembered watching in one of the many YouTube videos.
“Move back, Joey,” she pleaded. “Just take one little step back.” She increased the pressure of the tapping while continuing to swing the rope. “It’s not that hard. Just step backward.”
She stood nose to nose with the horse. “Move back! Just take one step . . .”
Joey’s back leg moved.
Lauren stopped. She dropped her arm to her side, instantly ceasing all motion. She even stopped talking. Aware he had just done something right—something that caused the movements to stop—Joey twitched his ears forward. Lauren reached into her pocket and pulled out a carrot chunk. Her student scooped the treat off her hand with his top lip. Lauren raised her arm again and began swinging the line. Joey stood frozen, until Lauren began tapping the line with the training stick.
Joey stepped back, and his ears flew forward as once again Lauren lowered her arm. Joey stood alertly, as if awaiting further instructions. His determined trainer repeated the exercise again. This time, as soon as Joey moved his leg, she reinforced his response with “Joey, back,” and a tasty reward. Joey moved back four times more before the training session was over. He had gotten it!
Lauren felt like she could do anything at that moment. As she began to lead him out of the round pen, Joey backed right into the wooden wall of the enclosure.
“Okay, you big show-off,” Lauren said, laughing. “Let’s save some of those skills for another day.”
After they walked Joey back to his paddock, Lauren and Sarah couldn’t help but giggle like little girls.
“He did it!” Sarah said excitedly.
Lauren smiled, too emotional for words. He had done it. They had done it. He had actually understood what she needed from him.
As she bent over to scratch the back of her knee, a sharp pain radiated up her back, creating a knot in her neck. Ugh. Hopefully, future communication won’t cause me as much pain!
Lauren and Sarah watched Joey search for Spirit, stopping every few feet to listen for him. He finally honed
in on Spirit’s location near the adjoining pasture. Joey casually approached his companion, but didn’t get too close. It made Lauren long for Speckles. How many times had she found the two Appaloosas standing side by side, their tails intertwined as they grazed?
Joey was certainly making progress, and things were indeed getting better, but loss was loss. No matter how much changed, someone very special would always be missing and greatly missed.
The next week, Sarah found herself training Joey solo. Lauren had called, saying she was in too much pain to work with Joey. Lauren had been doing so well for so long that Sarah had almost forgotten that she suffered from several different painful conditions. Her pain often went hidden behind a smile. Sarah knew that a smile could only hide so much, and sometimes a smile just wasn’t enough.
Somewhat intimidated to train Joey on her own, Sarah had briefly entertained the idea of skipping a training day. But she knew Lauren would feel responsible for delaying Joey’s progress, and Sarah couldn’t let that happen.
Before heading to paddock two, Sarah had met with Kim to give her a progress report on the horse care and wellness team she was putting together. She had been recruiting volunteers to oversee one to three horses each, working directly with the trainers and vet to formulate and implement a care plan. Her position carried more responsibility and a lot more work than feeding and leading sessions did, but knowing she was helping care for the horses brought her a deep sense of fulfillment. Still, she feared that Kim or someone else would find out about her past, and that everyone would reject her if they knew who she really was.
And yet, she couldn’t stay away. She needed to be at Hope Reins, for reasons she still didn’t fully understand. And so every day she showed up, she could only pray that they wouldn’t find out about her past. The irony of praying that her deception would not be revealed was not lost on her.
Sarah reviewed the list of commands she and Lauren had created for Joey to learn—useful things for him to know, such as walking forward, lunging, and lifting a foot. The list was ambitious, but Lauren believed the blind horse could achieve each and every goal.
“Joey’s only limited by the limits we place on him.” The comment Lauren made a few days ago had stayed with Sarah.
It was true. True for Joey, true for the kids they worked with, and maybe even true for her.
She shook her head to clear her mind. This was not the time for an emotional excavation. She had a job to do. Sarah decided to start with the easiest command: “Walk.” Since Joey already followed them on a lead line, Sarah hoped assigning a word to the action would be picked up intuitively by Joey. She took Joey to the round pen, following the same route as always. Once she directed Joey to the middle of the circular enclosure, he proceeded to back up. Sarah chuckled, admiring his memory recall.
“Way to go, Joey, but today we’re going to move forward instead of backward.”
Holding the lead line knot just under his freckled chin, Sarah gave Joey the signal with her tongue and tugged slightly as she moved forward. Like a star pupil, he instantly followed. The moment his hooves left the ground, Sarah said, “Walk.” Joey’s ears flicked, but she knew better than to think he understood what she meant.
As she led him around the enclosure, she repeated the word over and over again. Was it working? Was Joey getting it? Maybe I should stop and start over. Maybe I should teach him “Let’s go” to signal it’s time to walk and then say “Walk” when he is actually doing so. Deciding to regroup, Sarah closed her eyes and stopped walking. Joey kept going. Since Sarah was holding the lead line loosely, Joey pulled it free as he passed by.
“Wait!” she called. “Joey, stop.”
Ugh. He didn’t know that command. Sarah retrieved the lead line, pulled back, and eventually brought Joey to a stop.
“Okay, Joey, that wasn’t the best start. Totally my fault,” she admitted. “Let’s try again. And this time, let’s begin with ‘Stop.’”
For the next thirty minutes, school was in session. At first, Joey wasn’t too happy when Sarah held the fiberglass training stick against his chest to signal him to stop. He lifted his front hooves off the ground in protest, startling her.
Sarah mulled over the situation. Surely, back in his competitive years, Joey would have trained for hours and been taught many commands. But everything must seem different without the benefit of sight. She clucked her tongue and pulled slightly on his lead rope to get him to walk again. After he advanced several steps, she placed the training stick against his chest and said, “Whoa.” He kicked against the pressure and let out an intimidating whinny.
“Joey, I just want you to stop,” Sarah lamented. “You know how to do this. I know you do.” Sarah tamped down her frustration. Training him to stop in the normal way just wasn’t working. She needed a new approach. One that signaled to him that it was time to stop, but wasn’t jarring to him. She rolled her neck to release a kink, then began again. This time after signaling for him to walk, Sarah started slowing her pace in anticipation of stopping. She then applied gentle, but building, pressure against Joey’s lead line while counting, “One, two, three.” After “three,” she said, “Whoa” and halted. Joey did too.
She repeated the exercise several more times. Eventually Joey connected the dots between slowing, pressure, counting, and stopping. Feeling emboldened by his progress, Sarah added “Let’s go” and “Walk” to his vocabulary, pronouncing each word clearly and loudly. Knowing he would need several more training sessions to cement the commands but curious to see how much he had retained, she attempted to put all of his skills together.
“Joey, back,” she directed the horse.
He tilted his head and chewed in concentration.
“Joey, back,” she repeated, pushing slightly against his chest.
The horse took a step back.
“Okay, Joey, let’s go,” she commanded.
He moved.
“Joey, walk,” she added quickly, as the horse walked around the round pen.
“Joey, one, two, three, whoa.”
Joey had stopped on “three”!
“You did it, Joey! You did it,” she cheered.
She scratched his back and patted his rear before leading him along the well-traveled route back to his paddock. She couldn’t wait to tell Lauren that he had learned three more commands.
Four weeks later, as a breeze gave temporary relief from the late July heat, Lauren sat on Joey’s back in the middle of the rectangular riding arena. Am I crazy for riding a blind horse untethered from a lead line? Maybe the new medication she had recently started was affecting her in more ways than intended.
Last night, this all seemed like such a great idea. Last night while lying in bed and listening to the gentle snores of her husband, the thought of riding Joey seemed inspired—a way to challenge the intelligent horse as well as help him connect even more deeply with hurting children.
But this morning, sitting in a saddle, the idea just seemed downright ridiculous. Still, she was committed. Or maybe she should be committed. Too late now. She had climbed on Joey’s back and was determined to see what he could do.
He had learned so many commands in such a short amount of time. He had learned that “easy” meant to slow down, while “get up there” meant to speed up. He had figured out that “it’s good” meant the way was clear with no obstacles. Joey had even learned that “easy up” meant he was facing a slight incline and needed to lift his hooves and head a little higher, while “easy down” implied the opposite. But Lauren’s favorite commands were “Foot” (when she needed him to give her his hoof), “Come here, bud” (when she wanted him to move his head close to hers for a kiss), and “I gotcha” (to let him know that he was not alone in his fear). It truly was remarkable what he had learned.
As Lauren had watched him in a session the previous week, she started to wonder if maybe Joey’s blindness had been God’s gift to Hope Reins. She had seen a different side to Joey during their intensive train
ing sessions. She had seen a glimpse of “show Joey” and “performance Joey.” It was obvious that he must have been a strong-willed horse in his early days. He would have had to be. The schedule, the demands of that life, would have required such a temperament. That and his intelligence were great qualities, but most likely qualities that would have made him more horse than a therapy ranch could have handled.
To Lauren’s surprise, she found herself thanking God for Joey’s blindness. Not that God would have caused his blindness, but he certainly had turned something bad into something extremely good. It reminded her of the story of Joseph in the Bible—his brothers sold him into slavery, and soon after that he was falsely accused of a crime and thrown in jail. But God did not abandon Joseph and eventually used all the negatives in Joseph’s life for his good purposes.
That night the week before as she walked to her car, it occurred to her for the first time that Joey was a nickname for Joseph! How fitting!
Now it was time to put her trust in Joey and for him to put his trust in her.
Lauren was determined not to let him down.
“You sure?” Sarah asked one last time.
“As sure as I can be. Unhook him.”
And just like that, Joey was freed from the lead line. As if knowing his security line was gone, he froze. Lauren did too. Then she inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly, trying to mimic a horse. If I sound like a relaxed horse, maybe Joey will relax.
“Okay, Joey, you’ve got this,” she said. Taking the reins loosely in her hands, she said clearly and confidently, “Joey, walk.”
And he did—taking exactly four steps. Then he froze.
Lauren squeezed her legs against Joey’s sides. “Joey, walk.”
The horse’s head nodded, and his ears twitched. He wanted to comply and yet didn’t—couldn’t.
Sarah rubbed his chin. “Come on, bud. I gotcha; you can do this. Walk.”
She took several steps forward, hoping Joey would follow. He did not. Sarah clucked her tongue and clapped her hands. Joey stepped toward her. She repeated the actions while taking several more steps, Joey slowly following behind. Lauren patted him on the shoulder. It was not the ride she had anticipated, but she was still upright and he was moving. When Sarah stopped clapping and clucking, Joey stopped.
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