What A Horse Named Paragon Taught Me About My Ptsd

[BloomInWinter]

Yippee!!!! The person who owns the horses is back and we can get some rides in. Can't wait!

 

[Deleted member 6617]

That's great news Bloom. I am grinning ear to ear for you!

 

[BloomInWinter]

When I was riding my bike the other day, a beautiful spirited white horse was in one of the pastures I ride by. He was 'on alert'...nostrils flared, snorting....startled by me on my recumbent with my big flags rattling in the breeze.

I never get off my bike to pet animals (don't want to make the owners mad) but I did keep talking to him....and I was rewarded with him following along and a high pitched whistle back!

:)

*smug*. LOL. I still 'got it'...

 

[Deleted member 6617]

The picture you drew with your words warmed my heart and brought a big smile to my face....thank you for sharing!

 

[Sammy]

For me it was Toby - a big, old paint who had been rescued off a meat truck. He trusted no one but me. When it was time for the vet or farrier, I'd get a call, "Would you come catch Toby?" That old horse and I wandered all over through forests and creeks, down trails and through pastures. Some days, I'd put a halter on him, take him to a new pasture and he'd graze while I napped on his back. He wasn't a show horse and was probably someone's badly treated pet. Judging from his fears,life had not been kind to him. Until I came along and spent hours grooming him, talking to him, bathing him, playing with him. And I needed him as much as he needed me. He was my best friend through years of abuse. I could talk to Toby and knew he understood - if not the words, the feelings. His big head, pressed against my chest in love and kindness. The owners were neighbors of ours and were kind enough to let me spend as much time as I wanted with Toby because " That big old horse loves you. He deserves to be loved." and how I loved that horse.

Wow, I hadn't thought of that big old man in a long time.

 

[BloomInWinter]

(((((Sammy))))

How wonderful! Thank you for sharing that. He sounds magnificent.

I'm so happy for all of you sharing with us about your horses.

I can return to that time, now, in my memory and while there is pain elsewhere, I now have moved through enough that the memories in this thread bring me warmth and comfort.

It's so nice to know that though the life I had back then felt so lonely, I have friends who can go 'back there' with me now, and know how much that animal meant to me because you had that special healing in your life too.

 

[BloomInWinter]

I took my daughter for her ride this morning. I just didn't feel well enough to participate. But maybe in two weeks...

 

[BloomInWinter]

Am going to try to ride this weekend. I really miss it....and so does my daughter!

 

[BloomInWinter]

Missing riding. Am still too I'll physically...and no opportunity until next weekend, maybe. :(

 

[Iam]

Wow Bloom, what an incredible, incredible analogy. I so understand.....I just don't have the words (kind of unusual for me) to describe how it made me feel reading this. How blessed you were to have Paragon. I can just see the two of you in my mind.

I worked at an arabian farm when I was a teen too. Though my favorite was a dapple grey mare named Moon. She was my favorite because she was the outcast. Her feet were bad so she was never taken out by anyone but me. I understood her loneliness and she mine. My real soul mate however was my cow pony. A beautiful palomino quarter horse with just enough arab in him (1/4) to make him fast and athletic.

I pastured him on 100 acres just up from the back of our house in the foothills of Mt Diablo in California. It was there that I would head to get away from the chaos and pain at home. There where I could shed the chiding and rejection of my schoolmates. He'd always be up the hill in the north corner......I'd hike up the deer trails that ran back and forth up the steep hill. There was a huge great horned owl that was usually on his branch in an old oak tree half way up. I'd sit there and watch the owl. His big eyes would watch me back. He never made a sound, never flew away. We'd just sit there looking at and accepting each other's presence. Once I caught my breath, I'd finish hiking up to the north corner. I'd call to my best friend before I could see the herd. I'd hear his whinny and the thundering hooves coming towards me. He'd always give me a push in my chest with his soft velvety, muzzle when he reached me and then turn and whinny as he ran off bucking. He'd do that 2 or three times. It was our game and it would make me laugh. Then he'd come and lower his head and I'd jump on his back. No saddle, no bridle, no halter. Just me and him. He knew the way and would safely take me down the long steep foothill to the barn. Though I had a bridle that I put on him when riding with others, I frequently rode him with no tack up the mountain, just the two of us We were so in tune with each other it was like we were one. Complete and total trust. He always went where I wanted to go, knew when I wanted to gallop or walk. We'd race through dry fields, chasing cattle and jumping sage brush. We'd stop in the shade of oak trees, resting as we looked out over one of the many canyons. Red tailed hawks soaring far below us. On the hot dusty days we'd stop and go for a swim in a grungy pond half way up our ride. I'd hold onto his mane and float above his body as he swam out and back.

He was my best friend. The one I could go to, bury my face in his mane and let my silent tears fall. He knew me, he took care of me, he was the one I could trust.

I dreamed of him for 20 years. I'd always be in the hills looking for him in my dreams. I'd see a herd of horses and there he'd be, my Chroy. I'd wake up feeling peaceful, but with a sense of mourning.

Now I have 2 horses and a pony. I love my "boys" and am so thankful for them. Pine is my baby, but he's not Chroy. There will never be another like him. He will always have my heart and soul because he gave me his.

Thanks for starting this thread Bloom. Such a friendship, being one in spirit is a gift beyond measure. One we were blessed to have shared with our horse.

 

[kimberley dawn]

So beautiful. So glad you had each other. Gosh, this opened something here. thanks,

 

[maddog]

Oh man...

Have only just stumbled on this thread and was quite unprepared for it, or for its impact. I know that so many others have responded with their thoughts and feelings, perhaps one more response may seem a little lost and lame now, but truly, your story Bloom, and those of others of you who have responded, touched me somewhere really really deep. This was beautiful, moving, aching...

I too grew up with horses and their simple, modest beauty and peace were the only examples of these qualities that I knew in the world. They were my safety, both literally and figuratively. As a small child I would flee my father's wrath and sometimes find safety and sleep only in their close physical presence, curled up on one of their backs or lying on the ground amidst their group.

There were many special ones. Lucy was the thoroughbred x-racehorse with a visible scarr of unknown origin on the top of her head, and an invisible scarr of the same origin right through the centre of her soul. Lucy and I understood each other. We understood how it was to be afraid of people, afraid of being touched, afraid of our personal space being invaded... we understood that closeness wasn't about talking or touching, and trust wasn't about outward displays of it. I spent a lifetime of lonely days hiding from the world in the quiet presence of that timid frightened animal, sometimes sitting for hours at a time on the ground in her presence while a trust grew between us based on nothing other than the fact that we asked nothing of each other. One day I went to her with a halter and she lowered her head and allowed me to put it on. No fuss, no fanfare, just acceptance. It was somehow always like that, an unspoken bond that had no origin, it just "was".

We were mates for a while after that, until she met an untimely death in a manner that has no place in this discussion thread. Lucy taught me about trust, in the only way that a broken child could understand.

Hank was my big, butch, bloeky quarterhorse. He was gentle and sweet, like an oversized puppy dog, but bore a special love of his special person that would see him come to me at a gallop whenever he saw me approaching his paddock, and allowed me to ride him without rope or restraint of any sort, just because he was so sensitive to my touch and my voice that we never needed such artificial bonds of communication. Hank carried me through the teenage turbulence that I almost didn't survive, and gave me hope to keep living when nothing else could. He even soaked up the blood of my self hatred on more than one occasion, when burying my hands in his mane was the only way I could keep them from the knife that was slowly tearing me to shreds.

There are a lot of memories, but they hurt tonight, and somehow I can't do justice to them in words. It's not often that I copy and keep a post, but Bloom, yours is going in my special file, because it's something I want to remember.

Thanks everyone.

Maddog