Crazyhorseladycx has a small spread in New Mexico. She loves her surroundings, and when she isn't busy doing many farm tasks she is also a compulsive writer.
Facing many challenges, the harshest are her health battles, which are considerable. But, there's something special that drives her on. It's called horsepower!
She has a number of mustangs, her delight in life. In this article, crazyhorseladycx explains how their love for her and hers for them becomes her therapy.
Horse sense and sensibilities
It’s been known fer a long time that horse’s ’re great therapy fer folks with disabilities, be it physical, mental, or both. I also believe they’re wonderful fer helpin’ mend broken hearts. An extraordinary peace envelopes me when I’m in the company of my equine friends.
I’ve been privileged to have many in my life time, some mine, some that belonged to others ‘n here fer trainin’. They’ve taught me more ‘bout compassion ‘n listenin’ than any teacher or other life experiences.
A gentle nature, a knowin’ kind eye, they can tell when all’s not right. They seem to know what I need, when the human’s in my life walked away. They’ve been a shoulder to cry on, intense listeners as one pours out their pain.
My First Wild Mustang
That bay colt was skinny, all the hair gone off one side of his face. He was proud as a yearlin’ ‘n had no diff’culties bossin’ the other yearlin’s in the pen at the auction. I got into a biddin’ war with another fella, but finally managed to get him adopted.
It was knotted ‘n chokin’ him, my worst fear come true. Mind’ja, he was wilder’n a march hare. All he wanted to do was bite, buck ‘n kick. Even after bein’ in captivity fer nearly 6 months, he wanted nothin’ more’n to be free of humans…
I found out the skinniness ‘n the missin’ hair – his system was so o’erloaded with parasites. I could see ‘em writhin’ ‘round in the horse apples he’d littered the trailer with. We had to unload him into a chute ‘n cut the knotted lead rope off, he fought us the whole time.
It took a year to get a hand actually on him. In the meantime, he was a destructive li'l fella, tearin’ up corrals ‘n when he t’weren’t doin’ that, he was jumpin’ ‘em – all five feet in height. But he had so much character ‘n horsonality that I jest couldn’t resist him.
Once I got a hand on him, it was sheer magic. I’d work him in the roundpen ‘n when done, he’d dance ‘bout all excited as he knew a good brushin’ was comin’. He loved to roll tires ‘cross the pasture, but his favorite thingy seemed to be wearin’ my hat. He’d actually pout if’n I told him no. Jake also liked to play tag ‘n’d fetch a horse ball, jest like a retrievin’ pup – all swelled up with pride as he’d bring it back ‘n drop it at my feet. Nervously dancin’ in place, anxious fer me to throw it back ‘cross the pasture.
He was, I reckon, what folkd’s call a “one-person horse”. While he played with me ‘n would lead with neck arched ‘n a proud prance, he’d pin his ears ‘n charge e’ery one on the place.
Loss, determination and love
The other horses in the herd still called to me daily. Momma swore they missed me while I wasn’t able to be out with ‘em. I missed ‘em more. My heart ached ‘n I worried daily ‘bout the others constantly. Fer a long while it was rare I could make it out to the pasture, to see the herd. That’s what kept me fightin’. My sheer determination not to let another one down.
They warm my heart ‘n comfort my ravaged soul like no other. I’m blessed to have ‘em in my life.
It's still hard fer me to speak of Jake ... I still look fer him in the pasture. My funny boy who loved to play.