Relationships

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

The eye of a horse is an in-the-moment reflection of its being. Read a soft gentle eye as expressing an easygoing, affable mood, while an active, nervous eye raises questions about how best to handle. The most gentle and willing horses will have nervous eye moments, and of course, body language also signals mood and intent. A person spending time with an equine constantly watches eyes and body to sense the inner horse.

My donkey has moments, too, but are noticed differently. She’s by nature a very cautious creature, her worries often less evident than a horse’s. When I took her for a first walk around the neighborhood, what seemed her stubborn behavior was concern over painted lines on the pavement. Never having seen such lines, she stopped before each, needing encouragement to step over. The same as we approached mailboxes. I gave her time to see, process, and then walk on.

Pimmy’s style has become recognizable. Infrequent handling difficulties emerge as stubbornness, with the solution being time for her to adjust. Typically, she’s an expert on herd behavior, stays close to the horses, reads the “tea leaves”, takes care of herself.

Recently, when the equines entered the barn for their hay, I saw a missing patch of hair on Pimmy’s withers, exposing two inches of bare skin to the bitter cold. One of the horses must have bit her–most unusual, because Pimmy always has escaped damages from herd bossiness.

Had she been kicked and couldn’t get away quickly? I watched closely and saw another oddity. She ate less, left more hay than usual, but didn’t appear colicky–like wanting to roll around to escape stomach pain. I’m ready to call for veterinary help when an animal refuses to eat.

As the trio left the barn, was Pimmy moving more slowly, stepping differently than usual? Did her head hang more heavily? Did she want to be near to or distant from the horses?

Whatever was wrong didn’t seem an emergency. The exposed skin was in a spot impossible to keep warm. Maybe her slow movements were because of almost-icy terrain. I gave her an anti-inflammatory in case she’d been kicked. If she didn’t appear better soon, I’d call for help.

The next morning, Pimmy ate all her hay. That evening and again, she consumed all her hay, seemed in a better mood, and came looking for a chunk of apple (in which I’d buried another anti-inflammatory). Our daytime temperatures had risen dramatically and her exposed skin was shedding a damaged layer.

The movement of an eye, the twitch of a limb, a sense of low or high energy–none of these are species-dependent; it’s about relationships, in which all living beings share amazing depths of perception and abilities to communicate.

Dear Friends, Have a lovely day! Diana