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When I finally leapt out of my car, I laid eyes on my horse, Shadow, and was smacked with the overwhelming force of what was happening. I knew immediately that it was over. He was fearfully stumbling and sliding his way around a counter clockwise circle in a muddy pen, disoriented and lost. I could tell that he could sense a person had arrived and tried to find me, but could not. I reached out my hand to his nose as he passed, hoping he would recognize my touch, hoping that I could reach out and stop this sudden, brutal reality from continuing to spin out of control. I hoped that I could comfort him, but he started back suddenly the second he felt me. With all of his defenses up and engulfed by fear, his terror was so intense that it sat on the surface of his skin. I shrank back helplessly, knowing I could not comfort him or fix the situation, and anything I tried to do would likely amplify his fear and feelings of disorientation.
Without a human soul around, desperate and bleary eyed I stumbled like a lost child over to a large, fuzzy, chocolate brown horse. I threw my arms around his thick neck and sobbed into his this winter coat.
Too wounded to be concerned with the consequences of throwing myself at this strange animal, I continued to cry, lost in the trauma of what was happening. As I began to regain a sense for my surroundings I noticed the warmth of other horses around me. To my amazement, two additional horses had arrived.
With their warm, gentle, towering spirits, all together, they comforted me. The oldest one with the gravity of her wisdom, the big one with his calm, towering spirit and the youngest one with its tenderness, innocence and playfulness. He nuzzled my face and ears and after a while even got me to laugh by playfully tugging the hood of my coat with its teeth.
Of all the comfort others have lovingly offered me as I have forged through the shock and grief of losing my horse, those horses touched me in the most profound way.
