By Susan Brown
The arena is practically icy with the unusually cold weather. Punkin, an orangish roan, is trotting around a circle pen in the center, her hooves making soft thudding noises in the dirt. Noelle, one of Courageous Connections volunteers, brings out Ari and walks around the arena with her, giving her a chance to warm up. The horse blankets are removed for the time being so that the young people coming today will have all of the horse in their awareness.
Sunday afternoons are dedicated to working with children, many of whom are on the autism spectrum. They range from being non-verbal to having quite passable social skills. Last year there was huge joy when one of the boys who hadn’t spoken at all for two years began murmuring to the horse he was brushing.
Today there are 10 children slated for half hour sessions, ranging in age from 5 to 17. Their needs vary and their ability to communicate varies as well. Today’s attendees range from two who are non-verbal and unable to focus for many minutes, through a teenager who has progressed to the point of being socially adept and able to work at effectively guiding a horse.
Depending on their age and confidence, the children either work with Ari, Punkin, or Remi, all full-size therapy horses, or with Willow a mini-horse about the same size as a large dog. Each child works with two volunteers, one who attends to the horse, and one who teaches and encourages the children. Shelley, the instructor and an elementary school teacher, is a master at listening to the children’s fears and helping them build confidence. Several times during the afternoon, I hear her say, “Would you be comfortable doing…?” holding the rope, standing nearer the horse, brushing dried mud from a horsey shoulder. Suggestions are always open. There is no pressure. The children gain confidence taking the steps most comfortable to them.
The sessions begin when Dillon, a tall 17-year-old, strides into the ring. He has been here many times before. He greets the volunteers and then listens intently as they describe what they hope to accomplish today. To an observer, what they accomplish seems magical. Dillon’s connection and confidence allow him to guide Punkin without a rope or touch. He holds his arms wide and calls out firm commands. Punkin begins to trot around the ring, slower, then faster, responding to his words and body language.
His commands are repeatedly punctuated with soft praises. “Good girl!” and “You’re really good at that!” and “Wow, she’s quick!”
Punkin is called back to center and Dillon selects a brush to begin working on her coat. His hands slide gently over her neck and flank and his words are too quiet to hear, unless you’re the horse he is connecting to.
Adrian is five and this is his first session. He’s a tiny boy, no bigger than a minute, wearing a blue knitted hat. While he looks around, he chatters. Shelley shows him where he can stand to get close to Ari, a big dark horse. Adrian hardly reaches the horse’s stomach.
“Always stay over here,” Shelley cautions. “Don’t get close to her hooves as she might not know you are there if she can’t see you.”
Noelle holds the halter rope and Adrian learns how to lift his half-closed hand way up to Ari’s nose – the horsey handshake. Then Adrian loses interest and wanders over to one of the sensory boards on the arena walls – large wooden caterpillars and crocodiles mounted with toys, ropes, bows, and miscellaneous objects. Shelley discusses how they feel under his fingers – soft, squishy, cold. His parents watch, concerned that he is wasting important horse time. But then, a third volunteer, Barb, brings out Willow, the mini-horse and Adrian happily returns his attention to the horses. Willow is more his size. The shaggy little horse comes up to Adrian’s chest. In a few minutes, he has taken a grooming brush and is chattering away to Willow as he inexpertly brushes her thick winter coat.
“I love how calm you’re being,” Shelley tells him, and a smile tugs at his lips.
Ten-year-old Gary is a big kid. He’s friendly and clearly trying to hide his nervousness in this first encounter with a horse that probably outweighs him by 800 pounds. He keeps one hand in his pocket. “I’ll stand here,” he says, positioning himself a safe several feet away from Ari.
“How do you feel?” Shelley asks.
“A bit nervous,” he admits, and then launches into a monologue about the big horses a friend has. He finishes with explaining that he has two dogs. He looks over at the horse. “I don’t know why they have such big eyes,” he says.
Ari’s head drops a little and she begins licking and chewing. “That shows that she’s relaxed,” Shelley tells Gary. “She likes you.”
Gary smiles and at Shelley’s invitation, cautiously touches Ari’s neck. When the horse remains calm under his hand, the boy’s eyes widen and his smile gets bigger. The volunteers give him a grooming brush and, with intense concentration, Gary begins to work clumps of dried mud from the horse’s mane. Whenever he gets out a particularly large lump of dirt, he holds it in front of Ari’s eyes so that she can see his progress. Sometimes he gets a bit too close. Ari flicks her ears and simply steps back. Shelley and Noelle guide Gary in a direction that keeps everyone happy.
When the session is over, Shelley asks Gary how he feels.
“Still nervous. But not as much.” He smiles. “I was kind of excited.”
More children come this afternoon – 7 more. Children who face unusual challenges in connecting with a bewildering world. For some it is the first time being near a horse, and they are scared; for some this is just one of the many steps they take in trying to negotiate who they are within the expectations of society. For any child that is an immense task. For a child with additional social or neurological challenges, it can be overwhelming.
But in the arena, guided by the instructors, children who have barely been able to connect with anyone, are able to be in the same space as a magnificent being who demands nothing from them, except to be.
“She likes you,” Shelley said. And the children know that the horses do like them. That they can brush the warm coats and become friends with the horses who wait patiently for them. When they touch the horse, they are enough.
By Susan Brown @ Susan Brown Writes
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