Equine Therapy

Dudley`s a rum lad at the best of times.  Yesterday he tripped over his water bucket soaking half of his bed as it trickled under the aubiose.  Today he attempted to retune the radio.  Always he is a character, sometimes strong, sometimes in a huff, always amusing.  Today I`d woken up with the issues of work hanging heavily on my mind.  I`d awakened from a dream in which I`d felt the abiding sadness and weight of so many things surrounding me like a smothering fog which dulls the way forward and in which all sounds of life are muted and voices muffled as though in another room.  I feel so often that others are in another room into which I merely peer through the darkened panes of a cold exterior.

Dudley though, aw, Dudley.  He is like a balm applied directly to a wound which soothes and cools and heals as it is absorbed through layers of roughened skin.  His beautiful big brown eyes soften the soul and reach to where the heart hurts most.  His muzzle, warm and tender with smooth little hairs, invites the weariness to leave with the offering of a gentle kiss.  He is equine therapy, all in one.  Priceless.

Today I decided we would have our inaugural hack around the block, bored as we were with trotting round the school on the end of a lunge line.  We could have gone out with Deana and Sam but that would have meant an hour of hanging around so we went on our own instead.  Besides, I wanted him all to myself!  We will enjoy the company another day.

It feels good to be back where I started, the familiarity of the route returning to me as we sauntered along.  I told a disinterested Duds about Scottie and the cross country course and how we used to hack down to the beach.  I told him that this was where it all started for me and how I`d come full circle.  I remembered when I first had Dudley and how difficult it all was and of how much I`d subconsciously resented him for not being Scottie.  I realised, eventually, that I held back from loving him and was disappointed because he was so different.  I remembered, too, when all that changed and in a moment as soft as a whisper this beautiful, big, gentle maverick made the silent transition from resented to utterly loved, just for being him.  I wish I hadn`t wasted so much time wishing he wasn`t himself.  Yet those lost years were so formative and so often punctuated with little moments of intense intimacy and understanding, such as the evening when he quietly sensed my distress as I peered into the distance of the Bay and gently moved to stand beside me with his head resting against mine.  No words were needed even if he could speak.  Time and again he has correctly sensed my unspoken affect and articulated a response that transcends any words.  He is more than Scottie to me for Scottie was never mine.

It was good to be in the saddle again and good to see the interest in Dudley`s eyes and ears.  We spooked twice, he at a duck that suddenly came in to land on a puddle on the other side of the hedge and me on the same stretch when  a cyclist that he`d already heard, suddenly spoke out a greeting.  He was such a very good boy on unfamiliar territory and so calm when first the double-decker bus and then the concrete lorry came trundling up behind us.  Steady as a rock, my Dudley.