My Gentle Barn (24 page)

Escrow closed on both properties on the same day, which was both exciting and nerve-wracking. We had sixty animals to move thirty miles, and we had to do it
immediately
. We’d had no time to build enclosures, so we phoned a company called Fence Factory, who came out to our new place and, in one day, installed temporary fencing and shelters for all of our animals. It looked like a little refugee village, but it would keep the animals safe until we got the permanent structures in place.
Our first project would be to put in the corral so we could bring Blue and Sasha home.

We began with a trip to Home Depot to rent a weed whacker. As the kids ran around the property and rode their bikes and collected rocks, Jay and I got our first taste of the work that lay ahead. I had seen—and heard—people using weed whackers for years. It looked easy enough. You just hold a little stick in the weeds and let the machine do all the work. I was excited … for about the first fifteen minutes. But there were a lot of weeds on our new six acres. After the first hour of Jay and me trading off, my arms were shaking and my shoulders ached. By the end of the day, I had a new respect for gardeners everywhere.

The next day we went back to Home Depot to rent a posthole digger, which, as I found out, is a contraption that could double as a torture device—rattling the poor victim’s bones and jangling their nerves until they confess. It takes two people to operate this machine, so it can even be used to torture two people at once. We started it like a lawn mower, by pulling a cord, and the thing set off to vibrating like a dentist’s drill for a dinosaur. For hours on our second day, Jay held two handles on one side, I held two handles on the other, and together we pushed downward with all our might, drilling a large hole in the ground for the future fence post. It was so jarring and noisy that it was impossible to see while we were using it or hear anything the other person said.

I had expected this to be a two-day procedure: day 1—dig the holes; day 2—put up the fence. Until we were a few hours in, I had no idea how naïve that was. We found out in the process of drilling that although the soil was sandy it was also very compact and was filled with enormous rocks that we kept hitting with the machine. We’d have to stop the motor and manually dig out the boulders. Between the corral and the upper barnyard, we had about 125 postholes to dig. By the end of the day, we had dug ten. But my entire body ached like it had been hit by a truck. I couldn’t even open my hands without it hurting.

And digging was only the first stage.

As we rounded the bend from spring into summer, we got to experience firsthand the reason for the arid land out here. In Tarzana we had had one mountain range between us and the ocean. Now we were two mountain ranges removed, with no hint whatsoever of coastal moisture or onshore breezes. This heat and the distance from civilization scared off most of our prior collection of volunteers. Aside from the occasional drop-in volunteer or day laborer from the Bible Tabernacle down the road from us—as well as one delightful visit from a couple from Hawaii, who lent us a hand for a full week—most days, Jay and I worked alone under the blazing sun, developing strong backs, sunburned arms, and lots of calluses.

It took us the entire summer to finish the expansive horse corral. We still had to put in stalls, but we had temporary roofs to shelter the horses from sun and rain. It was finally time to bring Blue and Sasha home. We hooked up the trailer to my truck and, with great excitement, went to bring the horses to the last home they would ever need.

Once back, we led Sasha and Blue into their beautiful new corral. We had not cut down the weeds in the center, leaving the long grasses for the horses to graze on. The reunited friends ran through the pasture and rolled in the dirt, and finally settled in to graze together. It seemed to me they understood the words we’d spoken to them. “You’ll never have to move again. You’re safe here, together, for the rest of your lives.” That night we double-checked that their water troughs were clean and topped off and that they had plenty of food to graze on. As we kissed them good night, I was filled with a deep sense of peace—an important mission brought to a close.

Our bedroom window looked out from the second floor over the full expanse of our land. The next morning I went straight to the window
so I could see the horses in their pasture. There was Sasha, standing tall, but Blue was lying on the ground.
Maybe she’s just resting
, I thought, but I felt uneasy. “Jay, I’m going down to feed and check on the horses,” I said.

When I got to the pasture, I saw that Blue was definitely not resting. Clearly in distress, she was now rolling on the ground and trying to bite at her sides, and her eyes were filled with fear. “No,” I said, and I tried to push the dreaded word from my mind, but it wouldn’t budge.
Colic
. In horses, colic could be anything from a tummy ache to a fatal twist in the intestines. My mind flitted to Jesse; it was his first day of kindergarten. I called up to the house from my cell phone, and until I spoke, I didn’t know which words would come tumbling out of my mouth.
Will you take Jesse to kindergarten?
Or:
You’re going to have to call the vet for Blue; I’m taking Jesse
. I was torn, as I’d always been torn ever since I’d brought my beautiful son into this world. I knew he needed me, but so did my animals. “Jay,” I said, “call the vet. I think Blue’s colicking. We’re going to have to tag team.… I have to be there for Jesse’s first day.”

As I ran up to the house, Jay ran down to the horses. I stayed with Jesse and Molli as Jay called the vet out. I got the kids dressed and got their hair and teeth brushed. Then Jay called me from the pasture. The vet had come and told him to get Blue to the hospital immediately; the closest equine hospital was an hour away. “You have to take Sasha too,” I said. “We promised never to separate them.” As I made the kids breakfast and packed special lunches, I had to rein my mind in, to pull myself away from Blue and whether Jay was having trouble getting her up and into the trailer; I had to focus on these children, on my son, who would have one and only one first day of kindergarten.
Listen to Jesse
, I told myself.
You made a choice; commit to it with all your being
. As the kids ate breakfast, Jesse told me how excited he was to go to school. I marveled at how brave he was and how big and handsome he’d become. Before we went out the door, I slid Jesse’s brand-new backpack
over his shoulder, and I buckled the kids into the backseat. Again, as I drove, my mind tried to pull away from me, and I had to use every ounce of my willpower to bring myself back to the car and the present moment.
You can think about Blue later. Now is Jesse’s time
. I took Molli to her first-grade class and then met Jesse’s new teacher. I walked him to his desk and then hugged and kissed him over and over. “I’m so proud of you, Jess.” I didn’t leave until the teacher finally kicked all the parents out of the classroom.

Outside in the fresh air, my heart started to pound and adrenaline shot up through my solar plexus. It was now, finally, time to switch gears. I punched Jay’s number into my phone, but he didn’t pick up. I tried again from my car. No answer. Five minutes later, he called me as I was pulling onto the highway.

“What’s happening?” I said.

“Are you driving?”

“Yes.”

“Pull over.”

When I’d pulled back off the highway and parked the car, Jay said, “She didn’t make it.”

“What do you mean she didn’t make it?” She’d been reunited with her best friend and was ecstatically happy. It didn’t compute.

“I’m so sorry, Ellie. They opened her up and there was a tumor wrapped around her intestines. They said they knew right away they couldn’t save her.” Many feet of intestine had already died off because of the constriction. Sasha had gone along to the hospital and was in a stall down the hall from the operating room. Before they had led Blue in to surgery, Blue had visited Sasha and they’d rubbed noses and breathed each other in. Now, with Blue gone, Sasha had gone off the deep end, bucking and rearing and banging her head against the ceiling. They’d had to sedate her to keep her from hurting herself. I felt just like Sasha as I sat sobbing uncontrollably, unable to drive my car.

For the next three weeks we had to keep Sasha sedated to keep her safe, and we asked our neighbors if we could board her with their horses. Because they’re herd animals, horses are much more comfortable around others of their species than alone. Right away we began looking for another rescue horse to keep Sasha company.

I puzzled daily over Blue’s death. I had thought the whole purpose of finding Sasha was to heal Blue from her sadness. But here was Sasha now alone, and it was becoming clear that Sasha needed more healing than Blue had. Even once Sasha had calmed down and we’d found another horse to keep her company, we noticed that she was uneasy if anyone got too close to her without warning; and if a saddle came into view even ten feet away, she would rear up and grind her teeth, showing an extreme level of anxiety.

I hired a trainer and the two of us worked daily with Sasha. Horses tell their stories by how they respond to being handled and ridden. If they were abused under saddle, they need to be lovingly saddled and ridden in order to give them a chance to express and free their body of the emotion, as well as to be convinced that the abuse is finally over. If you skip this part and simply set them free to retire in a pasture, the unhealed trauma will be held in their bodies and cause stress and behavioral issues and even cancer. They have to be taken gently back to the “scene of the crime” in order to have a new experience and to heal, so that when they are turned loose in the pasture, they can truly be free. This type of work gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “Get back on the horse.”

Sasha slowly told us everything. Her extreme reaction to simply
seeing
a saddle told us she’d been terribly damaged by an impatient and abusive owner—maybe more than one—and it took us days to get anywhere near her with the saddle. Each day I’d bring it a couple of feet closer. At the first sign of anxiety I’d put the saddle away and we were done for that day. After a couple of weeks, I was able to bring the saddle close enough for her to sniff it. Ears would go back, teeth would grind, saddle removed from the premises. By the end of October, I could hold
the saddle up over her back before the anxiety would kick in. Each and every time, the moment any sign of anxiety arose, I’d remove the item or stop the activity that had triggered the fear, proving to Sasha little by little that nothing bad was going to happen to her. Working in this way, in incremental phases over many weeks, I finally got the saddle onto Sasha’s back, and then even got myself up into the saddle—first for a minute, then three, then five. Sitting on her back, I would simply gather my energy together, shift my weight forward ever so slightly, bring aliveness into my hips, and wait for her to respond. When she finally stepped forward, I’d say, “That’s it, Sasha. Good girl.”

Once we got forward movement down, the trainer stopped coming, and on my own I advanced to asking Sasha to turn. After she’d taken a few steps forward, I shifted my attention and my shoulders slightly to the left, and then—with the rein collected in my left hand—I gently turned my pinky outward, drawing the tiniest bit of tautness into the left rein. Sasha’s immediate reaction was to throw her body into a defensive stance, splaying her front legs as though bracing herself, her whole body saying,
Oh no, don’t hurt me!

“I’m not going to hit you, girl,” I cooed to her, and I simply sat there calmly in the saddle, maintaining the slight tautness in the left rein and giving her plenty of time to figure it out. Eventually she turned her head and took a step to the left, and I said, “Good girl. That’s it.”

A couple of sessions later, I asked her to turn in the other direction, and she braced again for the expected beating.

“It’s OK, sweetheart,” I told her. “You have all the time in the world to figure it out.” And eventually she took a step in the other direction. “That’s it, Sasha.”