Page 11 of Wild Horses
Yet right now he seemed to have shed his guard. His voice had softened, and his eyes remained laser-focused on Lofty. Instead of slumping, his lanky frame was poised with quiet intensity. When Lofty’s ears flicked forwards, his curiosity winning over apprehension, Leo whispered encouragement.
‘See? He’s listening,’ said Clare.
Christy forgot to breathe. Time stood still as the human and horse engaged in a mutual assessment process. Finally, with a gentle nudge, Lofty’s velvet muzzle brushed against the boy’s palm. Leo turned to Clare, an expression of pure joy replacing his former sneer.
She nodded approvingly, her eyes twinkling with pride. ‘Well done. He feels safe with you. Now walk around the yard and see what happens.’
To Christy’s astonishment, Lofty followed Leo. Whenever Leo moved, so did Lofty. When Leo stopped, so did Lofty. He grinned and stroked the gelding’s shining black mane.
‘That’s enough for today,’ said Clare. ‘Give him that piece of carrot in your pocket. Tomorrow he’ll look forward to seeing you.’
Leo said goodbye to Lofty and reluctantly left the yard. He joined them for the walk back from the stables.
‘What just happened?’ asked Christy, mystified.
Clare indicated a bench seat outside the office, and they all sat down. ‘It’s called Join-Up, although I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly with an animal like Lofty.’
Leo’s eyes shone with interest.
‘It’s a trust exercise, inviting the horse to accept you as a leader,’ said Clare. ‘During Join-Up you listen to what the horse says by watching his body language. You respond accordingly, and then listen again. It won’t work if you don’t listen, and people aren’t generally very good at listening.
‘Horses, on the other hand, are great listeners. They are also great communicators. Everything about them – from their breath to their tail carriage to the expression in their eyes – is telling you something. If they slow down it tells you something: same thing if they speed up. If they flick their ears it tells you something. Your job, Leo, is to figure out what Lofty is saying. There’s no leadership without cooperation and communication.
If the human doesn’t listen, then the conversation can’t take place and Join-Up can’t work. ’
‘But it did work,’ said Leo, proudly.
‘It certainly did!’ Clare beamed. ‘You and Lofty were textbook perfect examples. Which is amazing, considering what Lofty’s been through in his racing life.
His trainer believed threats and whips were key to gaining his cooperation.
That might have worked on some horses, but not on one as spirited as Lofty.
By the time the trainer gave up and turned him over to us, Lofty was so damaged as to be dangerous.
It’s a miracle what you’ve accomplished in such a short time. ’
Leo swelled with pleasure. He seemed to be growing taller, standing there with squared shoulders and a straight back, exuding confidence and pride.
Christy marvelled at the change in him, and at the natural affinity that Leo shared with Lofty.
As far as she knew, he had no previous experience with horses.
There was something profound in the quiet triumph of gaining the trust of something so wild, so deeply scarred.
Lofty volunteering to sniff Leo’s hand might have looked like a small victory on the surface, but Christy now realised it had taken a monumental leap of faith.
This equine therapy gig clearly had plenty going for it.
Leo waved to a classmate and turned to leave.
‘Wait on,’ called Clare. ‘I want you to write an essay for me about your first session with Lofty.’
Leo’s old surliness returned – the pride in his eyes replaced by a familiar flash of defiance. ‘What for? I just did the work, didn’t I? Isn’t that enough?’
Clare didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms and met his gaze evenly. ‘Because reflection is part of the process, Leo. Writing it down helps you understand what you’ve achieved – and trust me, you’ve achieved something worth putting into words.’
‘Fine,’ he said, the edge in his voice softening. ‘I’ll write your stupid essay. Just don’t expect it to be any good.’
‘Thank you,’ said Clare. ‘And Leo?’
‘What is it now?’
‘It’s due by Friday.’
Later, as the sun dipped low, Christy came across Leo sitting outside the stables.
He was practising weaving a halter. She sat next to him and watched his nimble fingers work the rope, a look of careful concentration on his face.
A comfortable silence reigned between them until Christy ventured a question.
‘Leo, how do you do it?’ she asked. ‘Stay so patient with Lofty, I mean?’
Leo’s hands stilled, and he looked up, his green eyes distant. ‘Lofty’s like me,’ he said after a moment. ‘He’s been through stuff.’
‘And what have you been through?’
She didn’t really expect him to answer, but he did. ‘My mum ... she died when I was young. And Dad, well,’ he gave a hollow laugh, ‘he packed me off to boarding school. I’ve been alone all my life.’
Christy’s heart went out to him. ‘I’m sorry.’
Leo shrugged. ‘Life’s full of sorrys, full of regrets.
’ His voice rang strong and mature beyond his years.
‘But Lofty doesn’t care about any of that.
He just takes me for who I am in the moment.
I love him for it.’ Leo’s fingers resumed their work.
The tip of his tongue protruded slightly between his teeth as he concentrated.
It was as if he were weaving together more than just a rope – perhaps the threads of his own fractured trust.