When I gazed into the serene, round eyes of the auburn-coloured quarter-horse, I thought of all the men and women who ask me,”Do animals have souls?’ Miss Tanya snuffled as I rubbed the bottom of her mind, and I imagined her saying,”This human is fine. Incidentally, do you have an apple ?” The racehorse’s owners wanted my buddy Brian, a creature acupuncturist, to treat Miss Tanya’s skittishness, and Brian had asked me to accompany him, so that I could link with this gorgeous horse’s soul and attempt to learn why Miss Tanya was so frenzied if she stepped on a race track.
Carlotta, one of the horse’s owners, cocked a skeptical eyebrow when Brian asked about bringing mebut she shrugged and said she would try anything. Horse racing is an expensive game, and after spending thousands of dollars on training and maintenance, Miss Tanya was not living up to her potential
Brian and I arrived at the stables to find six horses around their stalls. Brian pointed out his favorite mare, Saladin, a jet-black Arabian that looked like he spent his life posing for figurines. His neck was the magnitude of an armload of baseball bats.
In her booth, calmly munching hay was Miss Tanya. She stood 15 hands high, and her well defined muscles stood out under her glossy brown coat. When we approached her, she lifted her head and snorted, then chuffed twice and dunked her head to her water trough.
Carlotta regarded me with a grin. She gestured with her chin at Miss Tanya and said,”She is just letting you know who is boss.”
They are such wonderful, loving, wise animals, and so attuned to their feelings. Miss Tanya appeared to nod, then nuzzled my hands.
Keeping my eyes closed on the horse, I said,”She does not feel like she is being listened to.”
“She is not the only one. Honestly, sometimes, I believe none of those horses give a fig about anything that I do for them.”
I quietly asked Miss Tanya.
I am tired, appeared to be the answer. I wish to run around outside.
I don’t know how much time passed, but since I got a sense that Miss Tanya enjoyed running, but did not like racing. Whenever she lined up in the starting gates, all of the other horses were in bad moods, or hell-bent on competing. They were focused on winning, they unnerved her. Because of this, she wanted them to hurry up and get out of her space. Which explained why she generally came in last.
You enjoy jogging, I mentally told Miss Tanya. Consider a race as only another method of running. Just have fun going quickly.
Miss Tanya snorted after – if she had been human, she’d have gone”Hmph!”
By this time, Brian and Carlotta were in a different stall, tending to Bucky, a Bergeron with a limp. It was strange seeing the enormous horse standing still, seeming to delight in acupuncture with different thin needles in its flank.
“If you wish to help Miss Tanya,” I said,”put blinders on her eyes until the next race. Seeing another horses freaks her out.”
Carlotta nodded, taking into consideration the idea.
During the next few hours, Brian and I spent time with all the other horses. Cinnamon told me she was pregnant, and was excited about getting ready to foal. Rockefeller adored Carlotta for caring for him when he was ill, and thought of his owner as”Mother” And Bucky wanted people would brush him more frequently. Carlotta seemed intrigued when I told her feelings.
Two days later, I saw Miss Tanya race at Woodbine and the poor woman came in sixth out of seven. In the stands, I noticed that she wasn’t wearing blinders. Oh, well…
I talked with Brian last night, who told me Carlotta had confessed that after my trip, her horses appeared to be listening to her more. But she still could not understand why Miss Tanya ran so well when she was by herself.