Who Ever Said the Eyes Are the Window To A Man’s Soul; Never Looked Into the Eyes of a Horse!

Mystic is like the mirror to my soul.
The characteristics of this horse intrigued me like no other. When I first met her, she appeared strong, independent and in control.
Looking a little deeper it was obvious that she was fearful and anxious and non-trusting.
She wore masks similar to the ones I wore growing up in a home with an alcoholic parent.

The rules growing up: don’t talk, don’t trust, and don’t feel. Three of the hardest rules to change even as an adult.
Getting to know Mistic was a process, not just an introduction. Take nothing for granted and make no fast moves. Take all things slow and if she says go away… you back off, but don’t leave her.

Re approach slowly letting her come to you if she will. Share your fears and vulnerabilities let her know you are not above her, that you are there for her. If you feel it tell her how special she is and why.

She is afraid of the sound of gusting wind, I didn’t tell her that her fears are irrational; I would affirm her and tell her that it must be awful to have to live with that fear.

Listening to what she is telling me, affirming her and letting her know it is okay to be afraid to be who she is; that is just the beginning to reaching that lost soul.
Don’t try to tell her that her fears are irrational, affirm her and tell her that it must be awful to have to live with that fear.
That is just the beginning to reaching that lost soul.

When I was working on getting the snarls out of her mane, I told her a little about my childhood and my snarls. When I was little, I had hair down to the middle of my back; I did I was too young to keep it combed out. My hair would wind around itself and the snarls would become the size of a soft ball.


My mom did the best she could but with six kids and an alcoholic husband, getting the snarls out of my hair was not a big priority.  Eventually she would make my older sister Linda do it.



Sometimes when I get to her pen, she has a tear in her eye. I love that she will let me wipe it away.
When I was little, I had hair down to the middle of my back. My mom did the best she could with six kids and and alcoholic husband.  Linda was the oldest of the kids, and  had a lot of the responsibility to help take care of us.

Linda would start off all gentle and patient, but it still hurt. I would whine, then cry then scream. She would get frustrated and pull the comb harder and faster through my hair.

I understand today how frustrating that had to be for her. I know she was doing the best she could. Linda had to do a lot of things that a parent would normally do; she was just a child herself and had to help take care of us.

As I talk to Mystic I am sure if anyone is listing, they would think that I am nuts. I don’t care what others think because Mystic relaxes when I talk to her.

Besides, now that she knows we have some things in common, she may even began to trust me even more!