Working in rescue, the focus is so often upon the saving and healing of the animals who come into your care. For those who come in battered and wounded from the neglect they've suffered, the need for recovery and tender loving care is all the more apparent. I think of horses like Baylee, left in the muck and mire of a round pen with no source of food or clean water, and the transformation that has taken place since she has come into our barn. This beautiful animal seemed to develop rapidly into a stunning young prospect horse. And yet, as we sometimes learn, the transformation that a rescued animal must undergo is more extensive than the changes that take place in just their physical appearance. Baylee still struggles with lameness issues that were brought on as part of the malnourishment she suffered during a key time of development in her young life. Her journey to recovery is not yet complete.

As I led my own rescue horse, Tuff, into the round pen the other day, I struggled with the twinges of guilt that I hadn't devoted the amount of attention to him over the past couple weeks that he deserved. I counted on him making me pay for this too. I took a deep breath and attempted to focus - I needed the time with him to be positive, having just struggled through a particularly difficult week myself. He deserved nothing less than my undivided attention. Starting with basic groundwork, I encountered immediate resistance. He held his ground stubbornly. A swish or two of the tail, a pawing of his front hoof and a set expression all let me know that he wasn't going to make it easy on me. The more time I spent, the more I became engrossed in his movements - or lack thereof - and his demeanor. As mild frustration started to swell within me (really, I just wanted this to be a good day between us), I bit my lip hard and tried to will him to connect with me and what I was asking. Finally, something broke and released. I don't know who experienced it first - although he gave the first outward signal with the shifting of his hind end, I felt a dead weight lift and a sense of calm and intention come over me. Suddenly his head dropped, his eyes softened, and he let out three deliberate and exaggerated yawns (in the world of natural horsemanship, this was a signal that he was processing, making new connections in his brain). Something so simple, yet it was enough to send me over the edge - tears welled up and abruptly spilled down my cheeks. It wasn't just relief that he finally "got it." To me, it communicated the crumbling of a wall between us - he was letting me in and I was finally open to receive it. As I leaned forward and buried my face helplessly into his neck, he remained still and quiet, just allowing me to be. I realized in those few moments that he was not the only one in need of tender loving care. He's been broken....and so have I. Working with him and learning with him has taught me so much about myself and I sometimes wonder if I give him back a fraction of what he gives me.

The healing can truly be on both sides. We spend our time, hearts and energy loving on these neglected, unwanted and abused animals and so often may miss the lessons and healing they are in turn giving us. Life is not easy and we all have our battle scars, like so many of them. Taking the time to understand them and walk alongside them on their journey of healing can offer lasting benefits we never may have imagined.