Animal Connections
What I’m
Learning from Leroy*
Leroy
is a gorgeous, elder chestnut Belgian with flaxen mane and tail. His human
companion, Michelle, doesn’t know how old he is, but she does know that
he has had a very rough life. He was an Amish workhorse for much of it, then
sold to a hack barn where he was a hack horse. He then went to a series of
broker lots, passed around through auctions a few times before landing at
a broker that a rescuer friend of Michelle’s sometimes deals with. Because
Leroy had been at the broker lot for quite awhile, he was at high risk of
being shipped to slaughter.
Michelle’s husband, who she describes as a non-horsey person, had always
wanted a Belgian. And here one was. And so Michelle rescued him. Something about
Leroy tugged at her heart. Something in his eyes. She later told me, “Whenever
I am with him, or look at his photos, I just get this broken-hearted feeling
come over me; he makes me want to cry.”
When she brought him home and could see him in the flesh (she’d
first seen him on the Internet), she noted that he was grossly underweight.
His hips, ribs, and withers protruded through his dull winter coat.
He drooled (most likely the result of ulcers) and bit at his chest,
shoulders, and ribs; his joints creaked and crackled with each step.
His mane growth indicated neck damage, most likely from an ill-fitting
harness; the bridge of his nose was rubbed hairless and was indented,
also from ill-fitting tack.
Michelle started Leroy on a high-quality feed program (VitaRoyal), which quickly
stopped the drooling and biting. She then began the slow process of earning
his trust. Her sense was that he just “[didn’t] have any use for
humans.” He would grudgingly allow her to lightly touch his shoulder but
then would swing his head at her to keep her at a safe distance. Although his
eyes would briefly soften when she stood near him while he ate, for the most
part he appeared anxious and unsettled.
It was at this point, when Leroy had been at his new home for about three
weeks, that Michelle learned about my work and we set up a session with Leroy.
She knew that eventually she would be able to bond with him—she had rescued
quite a few horses previously—but she was interested in trying anything
that might help him to settle into his new home more quickly and easily.
I conducted the session across distance. (He was on Michelle’s property
in Connecticut; I was in my office in Illinois.) When he came into the room
(not literally, of course), I immediately felt his deep sadness, his tears,
and the fear that his body was holding. I told him that his new home is his
forever home. That it is not a stop on the way to somewhere else. That this
is where he will live out his life. He melted into this news.
He then led me through the session, directing me to place my hands on his
painful, arthritic knees; allowing me to gently rock his body, to coax his ribcage,
shoulders, sternum, and hips into tiny movement. I channeled Reiki up through
his seat bones and along his spine. He said, “I feel so much better.”
At the conclusion of the physical work (neuro-muscular retraining), he presented
his chest to me. I felt he was presenting his heart chakra rather than his physical
chest. I sent Reiki to the area, and he said again, “I feel so much better.”
I asked him if there was anything else he wanted to say, but he was silent,
not a sullen or frightened silent, but a contented, melted-butter silence. It
was as though every ounce of anxiety had oozed out of him; it was as though
he had completely let go of his ugly past.
I asked him if there was anything else he wanted to say, but he was silent, not
a sullen or frightened silent, but a contented, melted-butter silence. It was
as though every ounce of anxiety had oozed out of him; it was as though he had
completely let go of his ugly past.
He told me
that he planned on being around for quite awhile. He told me that he is
very good with children.
That evening,
he allowed Michelle to rub his shoulder. He did not swing his head at her.
The next morning, he greeted her by standing squarely in front of her, blocking
her path. Michelle told me, “He wanted to say hello!” He followed
her around the paddock, looked at her with soft eyes, and allowed her to
rub his shoulder and withers. He curved his head and neck in her direction,
rather than away from her.
Each day,
he allowed more contact, accepted more love.
A week later,
I conducted another session with Leroy. Whereas the first time I met him
I had been struck by his intense sadness, I was now struck by his intense
joy. We had a wonderful session together, Leroy once again directing my
hands. At the end of the session, he said, “I am very happy. Please
tell Michelle, I am very happy here. I never thought I could ever be this
happy.” After a moment, he added, “I am very lucky.”
I replied,
through tears, “She is, too.”
A few hours
later, Michelle wrote that when she’d gone out to out to feed Leroy
he had nickered deeply for the first time; he had thrust his head into the
feed bucket (up to this point he had been a reluctant eater) and had finished
every morsel. Ordinarily, when she would then walk across the paddock to
put his hay in his tub, he would follow behind at a safe distance. But now,
he took the lead, trusting her to walk behind him.
So what am
I learning from Leroy?
Leroy is
showing me the exquisite power of letting go. His body had been abused,
his spirit battered. He was awash in pain and fear. He was in yet another
unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people who, if experience was a guide,
were not to be trusted. His spirit was locked inside a dark and lonely place.
Yet Leroy
has chosen to heal. From the very first, he accepted the Reiki,
trusted it, allowed his heart to open, and simply allowed the fear and pain
and abuse and horror of his life to flow out. The transformation was immediate.
He held no grudge; he let go of the darkness and embraced the light.
Leroy is
teaching me how totally effortless healing can be.
Until
next month,
Be well,
Pam
To read Leroy’s
story, you can visit his page.
"Good-Bye, Leroy"
Return to HOME page
*This column originally appeared in From the Horse's Mouth in January
2008.
© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis
Pam Sourelis
PO Box 1681
Woodstock, IL 60098
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Phone:
815.351.8155
Email Pam
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