The Bun Learns to Hop . . . Again

By Pam | January 13, 2011

How Neuromuscluar Retraining Helped a House Rabbit Regain His Independence

By the time I was able to make the trip to Minneapolis to work with the Bun, his movement had been impaired for just over a year. His human companions, Mia and Paul, were not sure what had happened, but Bun had suddenly been unable to use his left hind leg, which after several months had begun to atrophy.

Bun had allowed me to work with him several years before when he had somehow strained his back (he and his human, Mia, had formerly been my neighbors in Chicago), so while he was a bit wary, being a bun, he was nevertheless willing to give me a chance.

Because I was spending the weekend in Minneapolis working with horses, I planned on working with Bun on three consecutive days. Because he was a bun, and not thrilled about being excessively handled, we kept the sessions short, about 20 minutes apiece.

In our first session, late on the evening of my arrival, I sat on the living room floor with Bun and began with gentle touching, using only my fingertips. My intent was merely to bring Bun’s awareness to his body. His movement had been severely diminished for a long time, and I wanted to reintroduce him to his body parts and their ability to move. I outlined each vertebra of his spine, gently pushed his tailbone towards his head to remind him how his hind end connected to his fore, outlined his ribs, and gently moved his sternum (or breastbone) from side to side, all with the tips of my fingers. I would have liked to work with Bun’s feet as well, but he would not allow it. At the end of the session, Bun still had his left hind leg tucked up under him, but he seemed much more alert and energized when Mia returned him to his area in the dining room where his bed and food were and where he now spent much of his time.

The next morning, I worked with Bun again before I left for the day. This session was similar to the first one, in that I was still attempting to bring Bun’s awareness to his body, but this time I wanted to bring his awareness to a slightly deeper level. Once again, I used my fingertips to I gently outline his spine and gently push his tailbone towards his head. But this time, instead of outlining his ribs, I gently lifted his ribcage, one side at a time, to show him that it was capable of movement and to show him the connection between his ribs and spine. And this time, when I touched his sternum, I used both hands—one hand on the point of his sternum, one hand underneath his body, directly behind his front legs. I gently, slowly moved his sternum back, forward, and from side to side, again to show him that movement in this area was possible and pleasurable, and to show him the relationship between his sternum, ribs, and spine. Bun listened attentively to this lesson. When he appeared to have had enough, Mia took him back to his area in the dining room.

Late that evening, when I returned from working with horses, I decided to work with Bun again. I was leaving the next day and wanted to work with him as many times as I could in the short time we had. I felt that the way to make the best use of our time together without overloading his nervous system with too much information was to do more frequent, shorter sessions.

I began our third session by sitting on the floor and placing Bun between my outstretched legs. In previous sessions, I had worked on my knees, bent over him. But now, I wanted to offer him a secure, enclosed space, as I was going to work at a deeper level than the previous sessions. My intent in this session was to prepare Bun’s body and nervous system for standing on all four feet.

Once again, I worked with Bun’s sternum. I used both hands to slide it from back to front to back to front. My touch was gentle, but I asked the sternum to move more fully than I had before. As I eased the sternum back towards his tail with one hand, I used my other hand, which was under his belly, to gently lift him onto his feet. As I eased the sternum towards his head, I gently set him back down.

After showing Bun this rhythmic movement a few times, I began alternating it with gentle pushes through the pelvis—first one side, then the other—and the sternum. I still had one hand underneath him, offering him support, and now I was raising him completely off the ground to prepare his nervous system for standing. At first, he was alarmed when his feet left the ground; Mia pointed out to me that his eyes were beginning to bulge. But he did not try to escape or bite, so I gently continued with my work.

I then set Bun back on the ground and began working with his right hind leg. Remember, it was the left hind that was giving Bun problems. But I wanted to bring to Bun’s attention to how smoothly and efficiently a hind leg can work, and so to do this I worked with the one that already worked most efficiently. I placed the flat of my hand underneath his right hind foot, creating an artificial floor. Unlike an actual floor, my hand could move. And so with his tiny foot on my palm, I slowly rotated my hand at the wrist, causing the “floor” to slant in this direction and that, bringing Bun’s awareness to the flexibility of his foot and each of his toes. I then played with Bun’s leg, gently and very slowly showing him the range of motion he had available in the leg and hip. Bun was very quiet as we worked, clearly listening to the information I was sharing with him.

Finally, I was ready to touch the left hind, the leg that Bun had kept tucked up under him for so long. I gently touched his toes, one at a time, showing him that the foot was not an unyielding block, that it was flexible. His foot spasmed momentarily, then released and softened. As I had done with the right foot, I now played the artificial floor game with the left foot and then showed Bun the range of motion he had available in this leg and hip. As I worked with Bun, as his body softened, I became more and more convinced that the injury he had sustained was not to the leg itself but to the nervous system, that he had suffered a mild stroke. And so at this point, I decided to play a trick on his nervous system.

I eased one hand under his belly to support him and to lift him to his feet, then with the other hand I gently crossed his left hind leg over his midline-the imaginary line running vertically through the middle of the body. I had already shown him that his right hind leg was fully functional. Now I wanted to trick his nervous system into thinking that the left hind was in fact the right hind. To do this all I had to do was move the left leg to the right side.

I had no expectations at this point. I merely wanted to give Bun this information. I still had one more day to work with him before I had to leave, and I planned on continuing our dialog the following morning. But, incredibly smart creature that he was, Bun only needed to be told once. Moments after I crossed his left hind leg over the midline, Bun jumped off my hand, shook himself, and hopped—using all four feet—into the next room.

I started laughing, Mia started crying, and Bun no doubt wondered what all the fuss was about.

The next morning, I decided not to give Bun another session. I felt his nervous system had received enough information over the previous two days and that he needed to be allowed to integrate it. I sat near him while he ate his breakfast and gently stroked him a few times. Then I showed Mia a few ways she could work with Bun until I could return to Minneapolis several months later.

I did not get another chance to work with him. Two weeks after my visit, Bun died of natural causes. Mia assures me that his last two weeks were good ones, that Bun was able to hop around the house and that one day he even scratched his face with his left hind foot, something she had not seen him do for over a year. I am forever grateful for that, and that I had a chance to work with this intelligent and gentle creature before it was time for him to leave.

Mia Talks about the Bun

My wonderful house rabbit, the Bun, had always had full run of the house with no problems. As he got older, he had some troubles negotiating the hardwood floors, but other than that he never had any trouble getting around. Then one day in his eighth year, my husband and I came home to find Bun unable to use his left hind leg well at all. It wasn’t paralyzed—he just seemed unable to keep it from slipping underneath him. A trip to the emergency room X-ray machine revealed no breaks, thank goodness, but we were not given much to work with in terms of recovery or even how to keep him comfortable. We tried acupuncture for awhile but did not notice any significant improvement.

I had known about Pam’s work for several years; she had helped Bun once before, and I thought she would be able to help him again. The problem was that Pam, who is based in the Chicagoland area, was two states away, with a schedule that wouldn’t allow her to come to us. Finally, more than a year after Bun’s injury, Pam was able to make the trip to Minneapolis.

At this point, Bun was nearly 10 and his left hind leg had atrophied quite a bit. He was finding it harder and harder to get around. We had always kept him in a safe area after his “incident,” but his world was getting smaller every day. Throughout it all, he remained his sweet, affectionate self, with no intentions whatsoever of letting a little thing like a bum leg get him down.

Finally, Pam and the Bun got to work together. They worked two days in a row, in three sessions of about 15 to 20 minutes. Pam sat on the floor with him and showed his body that the left hind leg was still there and could still work for him. Through her work with him, we concluded that what had happened was probably a neurological episode, such as a stroke, but we will never really know.

In the first session, Pam slowly introduced her work to the Bun with gentle touching and very subtle movements, using only one finger. Bun was a little dubious, but cooperative. By the second session, Pam seemed able to work a little more directly with the Bun, and he was definitely listening to what she was telling him.

Their third session was very interesting; Pam was able to use both her hands on Bun and really “have a conversation.” I could tell that Bun was very engaged in what was happening. And then, without warning, Bun jumped out of Pam’s lap and hopped into the next room—using his left hind leg, unassisted!

Pam showed me a few exercises I could do with the Bun to support her work between visits, which included all over, gentle touching and creating a false floor for him with my hands under his feet as he re-learned how to move efficiently. My beloved Bun could make it from one spot in the house to another, with no assistance. He began sitting in places he hadn’t been in over a year. It was amazing and gratifying to see him able to use his body again.

Sadly, Bun died two weeks later, of natural causes. He will always be missed, and always be remembered. I thank him every day for showing me how incredibly intelligent the body is and how easily it can be taught to heal itself.

Mia Schillace Nelson

To Stretch or Not To Stretch…

By Pam | January 13, 2011

Stretching: Why it may not be such a good idea

For the past couple of years, it seems that more and more horse magazines are publishing articles about the benefits of passive stretching (stretching that the human does to the horse) as well as the benefits of using treats to encourage their horses to stretch on their own. People are encouraged to take hold of their horse’s front legs one at a time and pull them forward; they are encouraged to pull on their horse’s tail. People are encouraged to hold a treat behind their horse’s pecs (the muscles on the chest) to get the horse to stretch its head down and back; they are encouraged to use treats to coax their horses to flex their necks from side to side. I recently read this suggestion on the Internet: Hold a treat by the horse’s nose, then bring the treat down to the horse’s fetlocks; the nose will follow. Then take a few steps backwards, keeping the treat and the horse’s nose as low as possible; the horse will take a few steps backwards as well. A few steps will stretch the whole top line, all the way through the rump, like “horsey yoga.”

On the surface, these exercises seem harmless enough. You are most often cautioned to do them gently and slowly. Conventional wisdom says that stretching is a good idea before physical activity; runners stretch, don’t they? But consider that runners are stretching their own muscles; someone else doesn’t do it for them or give them an incentive to possibly go beyond their comfort zone. And, in fact, runners and other athletes are being cautioned that stretching cold muscles can lead to micro tears, that walking may be a better method of muscle warm-up.

Still, that “horsey yoga” move seems like it would feel wonderful. What possible problem could result from a horse stretching its top line before a rider gets on? We want the top line to be strong and supple. Strong, supple back muscles support the rider more effectively and protect the horse’s spine. Let’s suppose that the horse is in excellent condition, has never suffered any back problems, has never suffered any stiffness or soreness in other parts of the body that might indicate a physical imbalance. Let’s also assume that the horse has just come out of the pasture or, if he’s come out of a stall, that he has been hand-walked for five or ten minutes before being asked to stretch. If an experienced equine body worker were to very, very gently induce stretching, it’s quite possible that no harm would be done.

But what if the horse was just a little bit stiff or sore in one area of the back, say for example the lower back. You’ve probably been stiff in your lower back at one time or another, so you know how that feels. The horse might not be stiff enough that you’d even notice. Or maybe he’s just a little stiff in one of his shoulders, or maybe his neck doesn’t move as freely as it did when he was a couple of years younger.

I’d like you to try something. Get down on all fours. Now imagine someone is holding a piece of chocolate fudge next to your left wrist. It’s your favorite fudge, you haven’t had any in years, and you haven’t had lunch. Arch your neck to get to the chunk of delight, and as you do so, imagine that it is being pulled back a few feet. Step back to follow it. If you are fairly limber, you may not have any problems with this.

Now I would like you to try something else. Still on all fours, I’d like you to tighten your lower back. Now try the exercise again. How does it feel to arch your neck and spine when your back is restricted? Now release your back, tighten one shoulder, and try the stretch again. Now try it after tightening your neck.

Of course, no one is actually coaxing you on with a sugary treat, and you can stop whenever you like, but if your horse is like most horses, she or he is going to go after that treat no matter what. And while we might like to believe that the stretch is doing our companion good, there is a good chance that it isn’t.

You might say, “Well, I never do this exercise. My horse has stiff shoulders, so I gently pull on his front legs before I ride.” My response to this would be twofold: (1) I can’t imagine that it feels good to have a stiff shoulder pulled on; I imagine that the body would resist this stretch, even if only very slightly; (2) A stiff shoulder may very well be caused by an imbalance somewhere else in the body, and if this is the case, then pulling on the leg, no matter how gently, will not solve the problem.

So what to do?

Lifting and Holding: One Alternative to Stretching

In looking at alternatives to stretching, it’s useful to first consider what our intention is; in other words, why are we doing these stretches to begin with? I suspect that most people do them because they want their horses to be limber and relaxed, balanced and ready to carry the rider’s weight.

But we have to be careful not to cause our horses physical discomfort, even slight discomfort. If we ask our horse to move even a little bit beyond his comfort zone-and we really have no way of knowing if we have done this-we risk creating resistance in his body. Even the tiniest bit of resistance in a muscle can cause problems later on. A little bit of tension in one area of the body can cause a slight imbalance that may not even be noticeable right away. But over time, the imbalance can cause more tension, which can cause more imbalance, and well, you get the idea. Obviously, we want to do our best to avoid this scenario.

So I would like you to offer you an alternative. Rather than stretching the muscles, I would like you to lift them or hold them. Lifting involves holding one end of a muscle group and gently lifting it. Holding involves placing your hands on two sections of a muscle group and gently supporting and shortening it.

(LEFT: Soften your hands, wrists, and arms by gently “pulling taffy.”)

But before trying either of these methods, you first need to soften your hands. To do this, I’d like you to pretend you are gently pulling taffy. Do this softly and slowly. Don’t do it so long that your hands or arms get tense. The idea is to relax and soften your hands, wrists, and arms.

Now, crouch next to one of your horse’s front legs. Be safe. If your horse is unpredictable, you might want a friend to hold your horse for you. Gently place your hands around your horse’s leg. You can work with the lower leg (where there are tendons but no muscles) or you can work further up the leg. Be sure you are not gripping the leg. Now gently lift the muscles (or tendons). Be sure you are not just lifting skin. You don’t want to tickle your horse. You want to provide temporary support to the muscles, briefly taking over their work. Lift the muscles for five or six seconds and then gently and slowly release. Do not just let go! Release in small increments, gently allowing your hands to return to the position they started in.

(Lifting the tendons of the lower leg)

(Lifting the muscles of the upper leg)

Be sure to breathe while you are working with your horse. People tend to hold their breath when they are learning something new. But holding your breath creates tension, which is something you don’t want to pass on to your horse. So breathe deeply and slowly while you work.

You can lift any muscle or group of muscles on your horse’s body. Try gently lifting the muscles around the shoulder. You can lift towards the poll, towards, the neck, or towards the back. You can gently move from one position to the next. The key word is gently. The old adage “No pain, no gain” simply isn’t true. Pain creates resistance. But gently supporting a muscle group releases tension and allows the muscles to lengthen.

Try gently lifting the muscle that runs just beneath the spine. Work with one small area at a time. Be sure you are not digging your fingers into your horse’s back. Soften your hands, gently place your fingers on her back and gently lift the muscle.

Holding a muscle or muscle group is similar to lifting; the difference is that your hands are touching two different portions of the muscle at once. So, for example, you can hold the muscles of the shoulder by placing one hand below the shoulder and one above, gently supporting the muscles by applying gentle pressure towards the center. In effect, you are slightly shortening the muscles (the opposite of what you are trying to do when you use stretching exercises). You can also hold small portions of the muscle along the spine. When you are comfortable with this, you can hold and lift a small area of this muscle at the same time. This is a much more pleasurable to your horse than pulling on her tail (which is a part of her spine), and it is much safer.

(Holding the muscles
around the shoulder)

(Holding and lifting the
muscles beneath the spine)

When you hold and support the muscle, you take over its work, you help it to relax and lengthen-with no risk of tearing or otherwise stressing the area.

If you’re having trouble believing the benefit of these gentle exercises (or even if you’re not!), ask a friend to lift the muscles of your leg or arm, to hold the muscles of your shoulder or neck. Be sure your friend has soft hands before beginning; be sure your friend doesn’t hold his or her breath while working.

Convinced?

Of course, these exercises are not intended to replace veterinary care. If your horse has acute or chronic pain, contact your veterinarian.

But as a way of helping to release tension, helping to allow your horse’s muscles to lengthen on their own, and-as an added bonus-strengthening the human/equine bond, I invite you to put aside the stretching and try gently lifting and holding instead.

*This article first appeared in the August/September 2006 issue of The Sentinel.

Pam & Chulo

By Pam | January 13, 2011

When this picture was taken, Chulo was living at a rescue in Woodstock, IL. I volunteered there from time to time, sharing my Reiki hands.

When the director brought Chulo out onto this small patio, she warned me not to touch him, that he was “a biter.” So I shared my Reiki hands with him from a distance, while he investigated the patio. He mumbled and grumbled. He told me that both of the times he had snapped at someone at the shelter it was because the person (two different ones) had come up behind him and grabbed him. He’d just been frightened. “Stupid people,” he said.

I agreed and kept sharing my Reiki hands from a distance. Next thing I knew, he’d jumped up on the bench beside me and placed himself between my hands.

Just at that moment, the director rounded the corner with her camera. I had no idea Chulo was grinning until I got a copy of the photo several weeks later.

Chulo passed away several years ago. He was still a resident at the shelter. For liability reasons, they couldn’t place him in a home because he’d bitten. This didn’t bother him at all. When I’d asked him about finding a home, he’d cheerfully said, “This is my home.”

Rest in Peace Sweet Man.

Sinatra’s Story

By Pam | January 13, 2011

I first heard of Pam Sourelis more than six years ago when my cousin called Pam to see if she could do anything for her beloved sweetheart Poco, little white bichon frise, who was diagnosed by two veterinarians, and both recommended euthanization. Poco had Crohn’s disease, diabetes, and was urinating blood and very sick and uncomfortable. A friend gave Pam’s number to my cousin, and she called. After the remote treatment, Pam called my cousin and told her things that ONLY Poco could have known! The next day, Poco was taken off of the intravenous tubes, began to rapidly recover, his disease went into remission, and he lived another five years! The rapid recovery was truly miraculous. I was very intrigued with Pam’s great work.

A few years ago, another friend was very upset – her young poodle was diagnosed with something serious, and was in the hospital on intravenous, and the vet recommended euthanization. I told my friend about Pam and she called her. The rest of this story is similar to the previous story! Pam told my friend things that only her dog, Coco, could have known! Coco went into remission and is still healthy today. My friend took Pam’s Animal Communications class and loved it. I had not met Pam or talked to her myself, but I continued to recommend her healing work to people.

I finally called Pam myself this year when one of my feral cats, Sinatra, became deathly ill. Sinatra began eating less, then one day showed up with mucus all over his face, completely congested, gurgling, gagging, struggling to breathe, staring at the food dish (soft canned food) and then me, unable to eat even one drop of food or water. The neighbor and I watched in horror for seven full days as he lost his weight down to bones, fur knotted, and was so sick and weak and the congestion still building, and severely dehydrated, just staring at the food and too weak to walk. Tried to get him into a cage a few times but that just scared him away and traumatized him. I called Pam Sourelis on the eighth day, in tears with this urgent situation. Pam treated Sinatra and—within hours—he appeared with an almost clean face! He talked to me a bit and sounded better. By the next morning, less than 24 hours after treatment, he started eating and couldn’t get enough! We fed him every few hours for days, and he gobbled up food and water for almost a week, building his strength back up. In less than five days, he looked and acted shiny and new – we were all so happy and amazed by the very rapid recovery! Another miracle! Cats usually don’t recover from respiratory illnesses even if they go to a vet! The loving Reiki work is what healed Sinatra and allowed him to overcome his illness! I also learned valuable information about Sinatra through Pam’s communication with him, and he talks to us much more nowadays and I can pet him now! Reiki healing for a feral cat works like a miracle!

I went to Pam’s Level One Reiki class, and look forward to future classes. I feel healthier and better since taking the class. Her devotion to her work, extensive experience, and high success rate place Pam at the top of my list as a recommended healer of both humans and animals.

Thank you Pam!

Dana Marie, Chicago

Sharky’s Story

By Pam | January 13, 2011

When I adopted Sharky, my 6 yr. old OTTB from the Equine Rescue, I had to use my heart more than my eyes, as the horse presented to me was not the picture of my dream horse. He ran his last race just 10 months prior to me adopting him, and had been turned out on a farm for awhile before coming to the rescue. He was in horrible condition, practically emaciated, full of parasites and had rain rot from withers to tail, but there was something about the bright chestnut gelding that made him the one to come home with us that day. Perhaps it was the look of determination and spirit in his eyes, or maybe the fact that as we stood in the field amongst 20 other horses and he physically placed himself between us and them, but it was clear that he was our guy. My husband claims that he chose Sharky, but I truly feel that Sharky chose us.

We had to leave him that day, as we had “just come to look” and not brought the trailer with us. We made plans to pick him up the following Saturday, and arrived with a trailer full of feed for his enjoyment on the ride home. For just that reason, this poor horse had to endure yet more suffering, as he must have bolted the feed in his hunger, and when we got him home, we discovered he was choked. So then it was off to the vet right away, and over the next 24 hours we were not sure what the outcome would be. By Sunday afternoon, we had good news, he was unblocked. I brought him home Monday, and he was on a strict diet of soaked feed and alfalfa cubes. His first few days were pretty uncomfortable for him, and he was depressed. A small dose of Banamine took away some discomfort and he perked up and started eating well. Medicated baths every other day began to make the skin condition disappear, and his true sweet personality and gentle but playful nature emerged.

I started him on groundwork, learning to supple and give to pressure from the lead rope and my hands imitating leg pressure on his sides. I could tell that he was very stiff and wasn’t used to flexing, but expected that from an ex-racehorse that was never taught to bend. In his lunging work I could tell that he had basically good movement, but he was still pretty “off,” not moving very fluidly or smoothly. As he gained weight and his muscles developed, he began to get better, but still seemed a bit stiff to me.

About six weeks after I brought him home, he had gained enough weight for me to be able to ride him. He still needed more, but he had a good covering over his ribs, and his topline had filled out tremendously. We started out slow and small, and worked our way gradually to faster gaits. I worked him quite a bit on flexing and suppling, but always seemed to meet with some resistance. When I would give him a leg cue, he would swish his tail, and lateral movements were very clumsy and choppy. Considering his past training, I simply assumed that it would just take some time for him to learn to soften and supple.

At the trot, he would have very brief moments where his frame would be soft and round, but otherwise his back was hollowed, head up, and his gait very choppy. Each time I would ask for the canter, he would throw his head up and also buck a little with ears pinned and tail swishing. It seemed impossible for him to pick up his right lead, and even on the left lead, which was more comfortable for him, his canter felt like his whole body was disarticulated and the movement was far from smooth at all.

I began taking him to my riding lessons, hoping that an experienced trainer who had worked with lots of OTTB’s could help me. Exercises over poles only seemed to make him worse, and my instructor suggested that he might have an issue with his right stifle. The last two lessons I had we had to cut short because he just was not moving right at all.

Over the months, he gained weight and filled out, becoming more beautiful every day. However, his schooling was not progressing at all, and I became discouraged, and my dreams of flying over cross-country courses and long, relaxing trail rides seemed to fade into impossibility.

I did research. I contacted every trainer from his racing past to see if he had encountered any severe injuries that would explain these issues. He wasn’t necessarily lame, just “off” in his movement, and he felt terribly uncomfortable to ride. The trainers reported nothing, not even a stubbed toe.

One thing I did look at was my saddle. Now a year after I adopted him, he had gained nearly 400 pounds and his body musculature was very different due to the work he was getting. I tested my saddle and examined it closely and thought that might be part of the problem, so I began my search for a new, better fitting saddle for the horse he was now.

As I was searching the internet (there are no tack stores in my local area that stock English saddles), I ran across an email that was posted on one of my lists for a saddle sale. That email happened to be posted by Pam Sourelis, who was an animal communicator, Reiki practitioner, and practitioner of Neuromuscular Retraining.

I checked out her website, as I am familiar with animal communication and Reiki, having used services like these in the past with other animals of mine. I thought to myself, I really wish I could just ask Sharky what’s wrong; that would be so much easier.

So I contacted Pam about a communication with Sharky, and she suggested we try the Neuromuscular Retraining. Pam explained to me what NMR was and how it worked. [Pam’s note: Neuromuscular Retraining is movement reeducation based on the Feldenkrais Method of movement reeducation for humans.] At first, I had my doubts that such a thing was even possible from a distance, and how could it work? It sounded far-fetched, but I had exhausted as many traditional veterinary treatments as I could afford. The rate that Pam charges is very reasonable, so I decided it couldn’t hurt, and if it worked, it would be worth every dollar spent, and ultimately be less expensive, and less traumatic for Sharky, than what I had already spent on bute, steroids, corrective shoeing, etc, and losing the use of my horse. In the end, I am so glad we did this. The results have been amazing and I fully believe that Pam’s work made a huge difference. I would highly recommend Pam’s services to anyone.

Pam did three sessions with Sharky, one session a week for three weeks. Since his case seemed so severe to me, I waited until all three sessions were completed and his nervous system had time to process the new information and his body to respond before I asked him for some work. We did do some hand-walking a few times, though.

About four days after his last session, I did a formal lunging session. I asked for all three gaits, and it was like I had a totally different horse! His movement seemed so free, unrestricted and fluid, I could hardly believe my eyes! I was almost mesmerized, just watching him float around on the lungeline, I could have watched him move like that forever. I asked him for a canter, and the transition was so smooth it was so beautiful to see. I could see him rounding his back and lowering his head, even on the lunge, and that was something he’d never done before. I asked him to move his rear end, and then his front end; I asked him to sidepass and back up. All these movements he did with the most beautiful fluidity and softness, and there was no resistance or tail swishing or ear pinning at all.

I put him back on the circle, lunging, and asked for the canter one more time, just because I wanted to see it again. I asked him, and he let out the biggest episode of bucking, farting, snorting and cavorting….for about 10 seconds, and then settled into a beautiful smooth BALANCED canter to the right, and on the correct lead. The look in his eyes was like he was saying, “Hey, I can MOVE like that and it doesn’t hurt; it feels GOOD!”

Two days later we had our first ride after Pam’s three sessions with Sharky. I had my new saddle and had fitted and re-fitted it several times to make sure it was right.

I mounted and we walked off. So far, so good. He was relaxed and soft. Then I asked for a trot. He still felt relaxed and soft, and was keeping a nice round frame for much longer than I remembered him able to do before. His strides were longer and smoother and he was really engaging his hindquarters. This was so great, I almost stopped right there. However, I just wanted to see what his canter felt like, I could hardly contain myself. So I asked for the canter.

There was no bucking. There was no tail-swishing. There was no ear-pinning, and there was no feeling like I was rolling down a hill inside a barrel on an unfolded lawn chair. It was smooth. It was rhythmical. And he had picked up his right lead. I truly wish I could remember every detail of those few minutes of that canter, but honestly all I could see was a white light and it felt like I was floating on air. I could sense the horse under me, with the steady three-beats of a canter, but the feeling was so exhilarating, it’s really hard to focus on what it felt like in the physical sense.

Since that first ride, post-Pam, we have ridden twice more. Our riding time is limited right now due to extreme heat and humidity here in the South. Each of those rides has been as good, if not better than the last. Sharky is continuing to improve. We still have a long way to go, as he is still a green horse, and we have lots of work to do. But now, I feel hope where before I felt despair. I was very upset over the thought of this horse, whom I have totally given my heart to, might be only suited as a pasture ornament. I wanted so much to enrich his world by sharing with him the beautiful wooded trails and open fields that truly make riding fun for a horse. We have been on a few trail rides and I know he really enjoys it. He has a wonderful intelligent mind and a competitive spirit and so I wanted to present him with challenges so that we both can have something to look forward to. I had visions of jumping again, which is my passion, and maybe trying to delve deeper into dressage training and perhaps competition. I could almost feel the wind in my face as we galloped across the fields over fences and perhaps with a hunt. I also could see the ribbons that we might win together at some local shows for some friendly competition. All this can only be accomplished with a willing and trusting and capable partner, which I feel he has it in him to be, and I also to him. All those visions evaporated when it looked like Sharky’s vague but definite lameness wasn’t getting better. I wasn’t sure that traditional medicine would be able to cure him, as it had produced no results with extensive treatments and simple rest. Sharky is my first horse after a span of 15 horseless years, after my beloved friend and childhood partner died in 1994. I think we chose each other to share the journey into the next phase of both our lives.

Thanks to Pam and her exceptional work, I feel like the journey will be long and fruitful.

Michelle, Cabot, Arkansas

Reiki & Dementia: Dorothy’s Story

By Pam | January 13, 2011

I met Pam through a mutual friend when I needed assistance with my little Boston terrier, Georgia Annabella Leigh. Little did I know then what a marvelous connection this would turn out to be for my mother, Dorothy, and myself.

Mom suffered from Alzheimer’s disease and was living in a nursing home. Her first encounter with Pam and Reiki healing took place in the summer of 2005. Mom had been hospitalized for urosepsis (a condition where bacteria gets into the blood stream from a urinary tract infection, causing generalized infection). Urosepsis is very serious, especially in the elderly, and can cause death. Needless to say, my mother was very, very ill. After hospitalization, my mother returned to her nursing home, where she continued to be monitored. However, she was not bouncing back and looked to be slowly declining.

My mother was a devout Catholic and had been a Eucharistic minister, a long-standing member of the Legion of Mary and other Catholic organizations, and was well versed in Catholic tradition and belief. So, given her serious condition, I called a priest to administer the Sacrament of the Sick. The priest told me as he left, “It will only be a couple of days now.”

My mother continued to be agitated, and because I had experienced Reiki healing myself, I asked her if she would like to have a “meditation” and explained a little about Reiki to her. (Although Reiki is not usually described in this way, my mother had difficulty understanding at this stage of her Alzheimer’s, and I knew that because of her Catholic background she identified with the concept of meditation associated with healing.) She immediately said yes and said that this would be comforting to her. So I called on Pam to provide a distance healing for my mother.

After the Reiki session, Pam called me and we discussed what had transpired during the healing session. Pam told me that when asked about her impending death my mother had said, “Are they all crazy? I am not going anywhere. I still have work to do here and I am not going until I am finished.”

I went to see Mom the next day and, astonishingly, she was peaceful, cogent, talkative, and happy, despite her physical condition and Alzheimer’s with its associated dementia. I asked her if she remembered having her meditation the evening before and she said, “Yes, it was beautiful, and I am fine.”

As Mom had said, she wasn’t going anywhere, and she continued to progress and recover.

One beautiful warm fall day the following year (2006), I was visiting my mother at the nursing home. We were outside in the nursing home park and I was giving my mother her customary wheel chair ride, which she loved. When we stopped to chat, Mom asked me, “Are you here to help me get into heaven?” I was stopped short for a moment. What do you say to a question like that? I asked Mom what was bothering her, and she said, “I don’t know what to say to God to get into heaven.” My response was, “Tell Him you’re Dorothy and that you did the best you could.” That seemed to make sense to her initially, but throughout the afternoon she kept bringing up the topic again and again. Obviously my simplistic response was not going to satisfy her.

So I asked my mother if she would like to have another meditation and healing session. Her eyes opened wide, and she enthusiastically said yes. Pam shared Reiki with mother that evening.

Pam’s note: During the session, which was conducted from a distance, Dorothy asked me what to do, what to say, in order to enter heaven. I told her to just open her heart.

I went to visit Mom the next day, and she was a happy and changed person from the previous day. I asked her if she remembered her meditation the evening before, and without any other prompting she immediately said to me, “Everything is fine. Everything is in God’s hands.”

Like many others with Alzheimer’s disease, my mother manifested the symptom of repeating questions and forgetting past events, especially those most recent. What struck me about my mother’s Reiki healing is that she not only remembered the Reiki event (recent experience) but that she also stopped asking the repetitive questions that had prompted the Reiki healing.

After this Reiki session, she never again raised the topic of getting into heaven.

About two weeks before her death, on each of my almost daily visits, Mom would say to me that she wanted to go home but that she was reluctant to go because she would really miss me. Her insistence about “going home” made me believe that she was trying to prepare for this journey, but at the same time I knew that she was conflicted about this desire and about leaving me. On each of my visits, I would tell Mom that it was okay for her to go home, that even though she would miss me she had other things that she needed to be doing. Because of Mom’s consistent worry and confliction, I decided again to call on Pam for assistance.

I asked Mom if she would like to have a meditation, and again her response was joy. On the appointed evening, Pam did a Reiki distance healing with Mom.

Here are Pam’s notes from the session:

Prior to the session, Merida explained to me that her mother had been a professional woman when Merida was a child. She had always respected her mother’s choices, as well as her independence and courage, but felt that the family had not voiced their support of Dorothy as much as they could have. While Dorothy was hospitalized with Alzheimer’s, Merida would often tell her mother how proud of her she was, what a wonderful mother and role model she had been. But Merida was concerned that her mother might not be hearing or understanding what she was telling her.

When I began the Reiki session, your mother immediately said that she would be leaving soon. I felt it in my heart, and it brought a tear to my throat. I told her that her leaving was both sweet and sad.

As I shared Reiki with your mother, I told her all of the things that you had asked me to share: how proud you were of her independence, courage, and spirit.

Your mother’s energy was quite low to begin with, but it brightened as the session went on. Her energy was still very quiet, of course, but clearer, lighter. At one point, I saw a golden halo around her head.

As her energy lightened, she said that she loves you, that you have always been a good daughter. She said that, while you may think she doesn’t understand you—because of her confused mind—she does understand you; her spirit understands. She said that it’s OK for her to be softer now. She can shed her rough exterior.

She said that she will be with you always, “dear one.” She will light your way, like a candle on a dark path.
She is very excited about where she is going, but she will never leave you. She understands now, is remembering, that she can be many places at once.

She has loved her life in the body, but the idea of being free from her body is exciting now.
She loves that you have your own business. She is very proud of your accomplishments. She thinks you are a magnificent woman. She wishes you every happiness.

She wants you to remember that life is a game. It can be very hard at times, but you can never take it too seriously.
I continued to share Reiki with your mother for a bit longer. Then we bid each other good-bye.

Pam also told me that Mom was in transition and that it would only be a few more days before she went home.

The next day I went to visit Mom, as usual. I asked Mom, “Do you remember the meditation that you had last night? Mom looked at me with those bright blue eyes and a bit of a frown on her face and said very positively and directly, “Of course I remember. And you should know, too, because it was all about you.”

I had the privilege of being with Mom when she passed away a few days later, in December of 2006, just three months short of her 100th birthday. I was supported in my grief knowing that Mom not only passed away peacefully physically, but spiritually as well. And I have been comforted ever since in the knowledge that she is truly my guide, helping me every day to find my right path.

Post Script: Mom had the funeral she had always wished for. She had a high funeral mass and the Knights of Columbus as her pallbearers. As the priest led her coffin down the aisle of the church in which she was married almost eighty years before, the choir broke out in the most marvelous hymn with the repeating lyrics “Welcome Home.”

Merida Johns, Woodstock, IL

Ollie’s Story

By Pam | January 13, 2011

[Note: These sessions were conducted from a distance]

I found my way to Pam out of sheer desperation. My four-year-old Morgan gelding, Ollie, had always been a bit of a mystery to me, and felt beyond my reach. His training had a series of fits and starts for a variety of reasons, and the only time someone had actually mounted him was a disaster, filled with rearing and panic. His new trainer (in whom I had great faith) had just sat me down to tell me that she was concerned Ollie would not turn out to be an appropriate horse for me due to his strong fear reflex, and that I should consider whether I wanted to invest more in his training. Although I was saddened, none of this surprised me, as she wasn’t the first to suggest this thought. But I was not ready to give up on Ollie yet.

My “Google-ing” led me to Pam’s site, and I thought: “Why not?” When Pam indicated in our first conversation that Ollie’s problems sounded physical, I told her I was sure she was wrong—she should see him move out in the field! He looked like every other Morgan I had ever seen, and he was fine, thank you very much. I was sure the problem was in his head.

How wrong I was! Pam worked for a long time with Ollie that first session, using both the Neuromuscular Retraining and Reiki. Her summary note indicated that Ollie projected a strong physical imbalance and needed substantial work to loosen him up, his back end in particular. When she asked him what was going on, he indicated that he was terribly sorry for everything, but was so very uncomfortable that he simply couldn’t help himself. She told me she was sure he would now feel much better.

What an understatement! When I next saw Ollie, he was excited to tell me (and anyone who would listen) just how much better he felt! A gregarious fellow, he kept flapping his lips (a sure sign that he’s happy) and nuzzling me—over-the-top affection, even for him. He had to stop at every stall to flap his lips to tell all of his friends. He was—I swear—a different shape: his whole back end looked different, like it had sort of shifted, somehow. And for the first time ever, the skin over his back end moved when I brushed him—I never realized how tight of a muscle mass had been back there!

But the real kicker was when I put him back in his stall, and he planted himself as if to say: “Watch this, Mom!” and he lifted a hind leg, looked back and scratched his nose with it, replanted himself and looked at me as if to say: “Did you know you can do that?!” It was like he wanted to show me that he could now move, and just how amazing it was.

Amazing, indeed. Pam did a series of three sessions with Ollie, and he’s had a couple of tune-ups/check-ins since. The results have been simply amazing—just ask his trainer! Training has progressed, and he has made slow, but steady and consistent progress. He simply LOVES his new work. He is happy, eager to please, and just so funny and personable. He has come to trust, and he is grateful. So am I.

This had been a horse that I simply felt was beyond my reach. I just couldn’t “get” him—couldn’t connect. I have always made strong, lasting connections with animals, but—try as I might—I couldn’t reach Ollie, and I simply didn’t know why.

Now I do. Ollie had been behind a veil of discomfort and pain that I didn’t see. Pam lifted that veil, and let a beautiful soul shine through. Thank you so much, Pam.

Judy, Minneapolis, MN

The Letter

By Pam | May 1, 2010

Five years ago, I got a call from a woman who wanted a Reiki and animal communication session for her horse. I don’t remember what the issue was, but I do remember that the woman (I’ll call her Beth) was pleased with the results. When I spoke to Beth after the session (which I did from a distance), we started chatting and she mentioned that while she wanted her horses to have free access to both their paddock and their stalls, one of her two horses was using both stalls as toilets, which meant the other, older, horse had nowhere to lie down. Consequently, she was locking the older horse into his stall at night, which was making him both stiff and crabby.

I suggested she stop putting shavings in the stalls. She tried it. It worked.

She seemed impressed with this simple solution, and—perhaps feeling sympathetic about the recent death of my beloved horse Nikos—she invited me on a trail ride with her and her two horses.

When I picked the hooves of the horse I was going to ride, I noticed that his feet were quite unbalanced. I asked her if it would be OK to comment on his feet. She said yes, and so I offered her my opinion (an educated opinion; I’d taken two barefoot trimming classes and trimmed my own horses). She thanked me for the information, and we went on our ride. The two horses then in my care were both too young to ride, and so it was sheer joy to be on a horse again, feeling the sun on my face, the cool fall air. Sheer joy.

A few weeks later, we tried to take another ride, but when we got to the trails, we discovered that the area was closed for hunting. Disappointed, we pledged to try again soon.

During one of our several conversations, Beth had mentioned that her older horse was so plagued by flies in the summer that she was considering putting him down. I was stunned by this. She said she’d tried everything—which I learned meant every commercially available repellent—but nothing had worked. I explained that flies flocking to one horse are a sure sign that the horse is toxic, a condition the flies can sense. I also explained that an allergic reaction also indicated a toxic system. I told her that I worked with a biochemist who had developed an outstanding line of pharmaceutical grade products designed to detoxify the equine body and to restore biochemical balance. Not wanting to push or to overwhelm her with information, I told her if she wanted to know more, she could let me know.

A few weeks later, Beth called to ask about the feed protocol. I remember that I had my coat on and was getting ready to walk out the door when she called, but she was so insistent on learning more—or so I thought—that I sat down and talked with her for over an hour. I continued talking to her even when she started arguing with me. It became painfully obvious to me after awhile that she had called to pick a fight. But why?

Finally, I said I was just offering information; I wasn’t trying to sell her anything. I reminded her that she had called me, and not the other way around. Still trying to keep the peace, I suggested that she do what she felt best and that we not discuss feed protocols again.

I don’t remember how the conversation ended, but I remember that I was both rattled and confused.

A few days later, I received a card from Beth, thanking me for my services in a way that very clearly said our budding friendship was over.

Fast forward about two years. I was in a commercial barn, working with several horses, at the same time that a barefoot trimming clinic was going on. On a break, one of the students said, “Hi Pam” as she passed by me in the aisle. I didn’t recognize her and had to ask her name. It was Beth. “You worked with my horses,” she said.

“Oh yeah,” I said, I remember you. “You were very unkind to me. You asked me for information and then attacked me for giving it to you. You really hurt my feelings.” She told me she was learning barefoot trimming because of me. To tell the truth, I didn’t much care.

Three years later, two days ago as I write this, I received a letter. It was the day after my Nikos’s birthday. He would have been 31. He was the being who brought me to this work, who patiently taught me—and continues to teach me every day of my life. I was missing him. Standing in the post office, I tore open an envelope with a return address I didn’t recognize and was surprised to find a letter. It was from Beth.

After identifying herself, she went on:

I’d like to say I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I mistook your passion for horses’ well being as a personal attack on me and reacted to that instead of seeing what you were really trying to say.

I also want to say that I appreciate the path you have led me down. Because of you and your different horse keeping philosophies, I’ve changed so many things about the way I keep [my horses] and how I feel about horses in general. I’ve also learned natural hoof care and have been able to work with and hopefully change others’ lives (horses and people). The people are the hardest!!

Anyway, now you’ll know that I realize now where you were coming from. I’m truly sorry for hurting you and that because of you and your passion, my whole life has changed. (Well, almost . . . I still use a bit!) But we’re all better off because of you. I hope this letter finds you well, Pam.

I refolded this kind, brave, loving letter, slipped it back into the envelope, and cried.

***

About ten years ago, when Nikos, who was my first horse, had only been with me for about a year, I was boarding him at a small, private barn in Streamwood. It seemed like paradise. It was much quieter than the huge commercial barn where I had taken lessons and where I had met him. At the large barn, he’d only been turned out three days a week for two hours. At the small barn, the horses were turned out seven days a week for six or seven hours. The paddocks were fairly small. There weren’t any water troughs in the paddocks. And they weren’t fed hay in the paddocks. But I was told, and believed, that horses only needed to eat twice a day and that they didn’t need to have water in front of them for the few hours they were out.

After I’d been there for a few months, a new boarder moved her horse in. She’d just moved to Illinois and didn’t know anyone in the area. She seemed nice enough but kept to herself. One afternoon, a few weeks after she moved in, I witnessed her in a frustrated rage. She yelled—at no one, at the air and sky—that she couldn’t believe this place, that the horses had no hay, no water, nothing to do but stand around. She was furious; she picked up a large stick and hurled it as far as she could. The next day, she and her horse were gone.

I will never forget that woman. I don’t remember her name or her horse’s name. I never had a conversation with her. But her indignation over the care her horse was receiving—care that looked pretty darned good to me compared to where we’d come from—her indignation opened a door in my heart. I instinctively knew that she was speaking the truth, that she was coming from a place of love and compassion for her beloved friend, her horse. From that day forward, I have tried my best to learn everything I can about the needs of these amazing creatures. No more stalls (cages by a different name), no more shoes, friends to run and play with, free—choice grass hay, proper dental care, saddles that fit so that the horse can freely move the back, and on and on . . .

After nearly four years, this will be the last of my monthly articles for From the Horse’s Mouth. If the editor is willing, I may drop in from time to time, but for now I will say my good-byes. And as I do, I urge you all to open your hearts to the needs of the horses. It is so easy to become complacent, to do things because that’s the way we’ve always done them, because that’s the way everyone else does them. It is so easy to become offended, to become defensive in the face of new information.

But information is just that—information. If we need to change the way we’re doing things for the good of the horse, well, OK, we need to change. That doesn’t mean we were bad people before the change; it just means we didn’t know. We need to make decisions based on what is best for our beloved horses, even if doing so is inconvenient for us or makes us the object of unfriendly gossip, because doing what is best for our horses—respecting their natures, allowing them be horses—will nourish our hearts and ultimately be best for us as well.

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in May, 2010.

Choosing a Reiki Practitioner

By Pam | April 13, 2010

This article originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in April, 2010.

Some of you may have seen The Dr. Oz Show on January 6, where the good doctor gave the thumbs up to my favorite healing practice: Reiki (pronounced ráy-key). Dr. Oz, a cardiac surgeon, revealed that his wife is a Reiki practitioner, that Reiki healing is commonplace in their household, and that he has used the services of a professional Reiki practitioner in his operating room. At the end of the show, he urged his viewers to “Try Reiki.”

The segment on Reiki was short (only a few minutes) and of course did not mention the benefits for animals. But while people’s interest in Reiki for themselves is just starting to heat up, animal lovers have been open to Reiki for their four-legged companions for some time. This is terrific because animals are very open to this type of healing. They don’t question whether it is really happening; they just gratefully accept it. When they’ve had enough, they move away.

Humans, however, are skeptical creatures. They tend to ask a lot of questions, which is good. But they also tend to be wary of the unfamiliar, which can deprive them of some amazing experiences: such as Reiki treatments. There is a lot of confusion about Reiki, and a lot of misconceptions. Let me give you a short, straightforward definition:

Reiki is a healing practice that promotes physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual balance.

Reiki treatments can be done in person or from a distance, any distance. Reiki is not a religion or belief system, and it works in conjunction with—and enhances—all other medical and therapeutic techniques. Reiki can never cause harm; it can only be used for healing.

For animals, I have used Reiki to alleviate physical trauma and shock; to manage pain; to help wounds heal more quickly—including post-surgical wounds; to help diseases resolve more quickly; to help relieve colic and other digestive upsets; to help resolve mental and emotional upsets, such as with abused, traumatized, or sad animals; and to intensify neuromuscular retraining sessions.

For humans, I have used Reiki to accelerate healing after surgery or injury, to accelerate recovery from illness, to manage pain, to lower blood pressure, to assist with detoxification, to assist with recovery from grief or loss, to decrease stress, to increase vitality, and to improve mental and emotional outlook (including in those suffering from anxiety, depression, or dementia).

So let’s say you’ve decided to take the plunge, to try Reiki for yourself and your animal companions. How do you find a reputable practitioner?

First, if you or your animal is ill, please consult a physician or veterinarian. Reiki practitioners are not licensed to diagnose or treat specific illnesses. And anyway, that’s not what we do. Our job is to help create balance in the client’s body (animal or human), balance that triggers the client’s own healing mechanism. All bodies have the innate ability to heal.

Second, please understand that you or your animal companion may need more than one Reiki session. Reiki is amazingly powerful, but healing is a process.

So what questions should you ask when interviewing a prospective practitioner?

Ask about the practitioner’s level of training. In the United States, there are three levels of Reiki training: Level I, Level II, and Level III (also called Master level). If a friend of yours is a Level I practitioner and wants to help you out, that’s terrific. But if I were paying a professional, I would want a person with at least Level II training.

Ask about the practitioner’s length and type of training. Reiki training is not standardized. Some practitioners have attended one-day classes, often in large groups, and have had no further contact with their teacher or fellow students. Traditionally, Reiki was taught (both in Japan and the United States) as an apprenticeship. Completing Level III (Master) training could take years. When choosing a Reiki practitioner, I would want a person who has participated in hands-on classes with a Reiki Master and who has participated in a supervised internship as well.

Ask how long the practitioner has been in professional practice and whether she or he has participated in continuing education courses or workshops. Check out the practitioner’s Website, if she or he has one; read any articles she or he has written; attend a talk she or he may be giving. Does the practitioner conduct him- or herself in a professional way?

Ask about the practitioner’s beliefs about healing. Ask the practitioner to explain Reiki. Is the explanation clear? Does it make sense? If the practitioner claims that she or he can “cure” you or your animal companion, walk the other way. Such claims are unethical. Healing on some level always occurs with a Reiki treatment. Cure, however, is dependent on many factors. Remember that healing is a process, a process that requires commitment from the one seeking the healing. (In my experience, animals have no problem with this although humans sometimes do.)

Ask about the practitioner’s commitment to daily self-healing. The core of Reiki practice is self-healing. The more in touch the practitioner is with the self-healing process, the better a healer she or he will be.

If you are hiring the practitioner for your horse or dog or cat, ask about the practitioner’s experience with animals. This may not be as important if the sessions are to be conducted from a distance, but in hands-on healing you want to be sure the person can clearly read animal body language and can follow the animal’s lead. It’s also useful if the practitioner knows something about animal anatomy and behavior.

And, finally, trust your instincts. Choose a professional Reiki practitioner that you and your animal companions will feel comfortable working with.

Reiki is a powerful healing practice. I have been honored over the years to experience Reiki easing much pain and suffering, and have witnessed many beings, both two-legged and four-legged, regain health, vitality, and a fuller appreciation of life. I urge you to give this beautiful healing art a try.

Thank You, Davey

By Pam | March 13, 2010

Last month, in my article about animals understanding what we say, I talked about Davey, an elder paint pony whose care I had taken over a month before. (The article is now on my Website.) Well, it grieves me deeply to say that I lost that dear creature on the evening of December 28. His gut got twisted up, and we had to let him go. We believe Davey was 30 years old.

I met Davey three years ago, December 1, 2006, when I moved my two horses to Davey’s barn. He was living alone and had been for quite a few years. The owners of the property used to breed Trakehners, but they had long since retired. Davey had been the wife’s driving pony; he was a show pony, a very successful one.

But the woman was now suffering from many physical ailments and was housebound. Her husband, I’ll call him Eric, took care of Davey and is the one who leased me five acres on their 20-acre property.

My heart immediately went out to Davey, who that winter was stall bound sometimes days at a time. Eric said Davey was old and fragile and that he couldn’t go out when it was too cold. I suggested a blanket, explained that moving around and having plenty of hay would keep him warm, as would being with other horses (mine), but my suggestions fell on deaf ears.

Finally, after witnessing Davey being confined for five days in a row, I did manage, however, to convince Eric to let me put Davey in the indoor arena with the front doors open on days when he couldn’t go out, so at least he could get some light and fresh air, and put his head over the gate to survey the front yard. I took on the jobs of setting him up with water and hay in the morning, and mucking the arena in the evening—before he had to go back in his stall.

About a month after my horses and I moved to Davey’s barn, Davey began to change. He had been so shut down and depressed from his years of isolation that he walked through his days in a kind of fog, but now he was getting feisty—dragging Eric down the aisle to his paddock and back. Eric didn’t understand what was going on, but that was OK. I gave him tips for walking Davey safely, and soon all was well.

I continued to advocate for Davey for the three years that I knew him, sometimes with positive results, sometimes not. I knew that he was laminitic, and tried to convince Eric to stop letting him out on pasture all day to gorge on grass and an overabundance of clover, but Eric didn’t understand the connection between sugar and laminitis. I also suggested he stop feeding molasses-laden pelleted feed, but again Eric didn’t see the problem even though Davey’s soles were prolapsed (convex instead of concave), his coat was oily and dandruffy, and his neck had a floppy crest.

But I did manage to get Davey’s feet tended to by a good barefoot trimmer. And I did groom him and talk to him and clean his water bucket and generally try to be a good barn mate. Last winter, when Eric (who has hip problems) couldn’t get through the snow and ice from the house to the barn for three months, I took care of Davey for him.

Then, early last fall, Eric told me that they were putting the place up for sale. When I asked what they were going to do with Davey, he said they weren’t sure. I convinced him to let me take Davey with us (me and my two other horses).

Come late October, Davey was failing. While in his stall at night, he barely drank any water and barely ate any hay. What little hay he did eat, he was quidding. His feet hadn’t been done in months, and Eric had gone back to a farrier who just wasn’t doing a very good job. Davey’s feet were long, unbalanced, and cracked, and his again prolapsed soles indicated there was a great deal of inflammation in his feet (and probably his whole system). His eyes had become very runny, and his coat felt even more oily than before. And that floppy crest . . . I couldn’t stand by any longer.

I knocked on the door of the house. “Eric,” I said. “I’m taking Davey with me when I go.”

“Yes,” Eric said.

“Well,” I said, “I can’t take him if he’s on his knees. I have to start caring for him my way now.”

And from that day on, Davey was my pony.

I’d always liked Davey but hadn’t allowed myself to bond with him. But the moment I stood with him in his stall, kissed the top of his sweet head, and told him he was a member of our herd, our hearts connected.

Within days, I had his feet properly trimmed and his teeth tended to. I washed his eyes every morning with calendula tincture and water (which helped to reduce the running). I picked his feet every night and treated the frog fungus with apple cider vinegar. I changed his feed from sweet feed to a highly digestible, sugar-free feed. I replaced his clover-rich hay with grass hay. I shared Reiki with him and gave him short neuromuscular retraining sessions. After two sessions, I saw him stand square for the first time. Eric said he couldn’t remember ever having seen him stand square.

I couldn’t turn him out at night with my two for a few reasons: The shed I’d had built was only big enough for two, Davey was losing his sight in one eye, and he was used to lying in shavings, not snow. But I didn’t want to confine him to a stall, so I set him up in the arena at night. Each evening, I’d turn my two into the arena with him for about half an hour. Gradually, he regained his self-confidence; he went from standing in a far corner of the arena to standing within a few feet of Tara and Fuersti while they ate hay. When he’d glance over at me, I could see he was pretty proud of himself for that.

After I’d put Tara and Fuersti back outside for the night, I’d play with Davey in the arena for awhile; I’d work on teaching him to come to me when I faced him and bent forward from the waist, teaching him to follow me at liberty, teaching him to back up and to give various body parts to pressure. Then I’d give him a treat. He had to come to me to get it, and each night he’d follow me around a little longer, but he’d never come quite all the way, choosing instead to walk within a few feet of me, stretch his neck as far as he could and then stretch his lips (aren’t horse lips amazing?) until he could gently coax the apple wafer out of my hand.

When I’d return to the barn in the morning, he would call to me as I got out of the car. He had always eaten his hay, had drunk a respectable amount of water. One morning, I noticed that his coat was shining; when I stroked him, I noticed that the oily feel was gone, that the dandruff was gone. When I kissed his neck in gratitude, I noticed that his odor, which had been very strong, was lighter and pleasant. He was doing amazingly well.

After about a month, and once the paddock and pasture were snowy instead of muddy or icy, I felt it was time to turn Davey out with his herd in the daytime. (He’d either been in the arena or in his own paddock up to that point.) At first he was tentative, kept his distance. When I’d return in the evening to bring the three of them in for dinner, Davey would hang way back behind the other two. But after a few days, he was only a few respectful feet behind them, and he walked into the barn, up the aisle, and into his stall without a halter and lead, like my other two. He was becoming one of us.

The night before Davey died, I went into his stall after he had finished dinner and bent at the waist, asking him to come to me so that I could put the halter and lead on and get him settled in the arena for the night. The first few weeks I’d done this, he just stood and stared at me. For the past few nights, he’d taken a few steps toward me. Progress. But on this night, he came all the way up to me and stood facing me, waiting for me to put his halter on.

When I’d finished my chores, spread hay outside for my Fuersti and Tara and put them back outside for the night, I went into the arena to say good night to Davey. As I had been doing for two months, I held an apple wafer in the palm of my hand and walked backwards away from him. He’d been following me for weeks, but still did his giraffe impersonation when it came time to take the treat. But tonight, the night before he died, he followed me around the arena and then walked right up to me, within a foot or two, a respectful distance, but close enough to nuzzle my hand and gently take the treat. It might sound like a little thing to some, but you horse lovers know that this was huge.

On the morning of the day he died, it was sunny and pleasant (near 30), and he was eager to go out. He kicked the stall door in anticipation, a bad habit I thought I’d broken him of. But I couldn’t reprimand him. His sweet face was so earnest, his eyes so kind. “Hurry up, please,” was all he’d meant to say.

I put him out first, let him find a spot to munch hay, then let my Tara and Fuersti back out. For the three years they had been in separate pastures (for reasons I do not understand, Eric would not allow me to put them together), Davey would always call to my two when they came out after breakfast. Since he’d been turned out with them, though, he’d been silent. My sense was that he was more concerned about being in an acceptable spot, respecting the herd hierarchy, watching his back, than with voicing a greeting.

But this morning, the morning of the day he died, Davey lifted his head from his hay pile and called to the others as they came into the paddock. My heart soared. We’d done it. He was a member of our herd.

Late that afternoon, when I went to the barn to collect my three for dinner, to settle Davey in for the night, I found him down, soaking wet. I asked him to get up, and he did, but then he went down in his stall. It is enough to say that the vet came, was there for an hour and a half, made him comfortable, checked and rechecked, cried when she said there was nothing to do. His small intestines were strangulated. She thought the culprit was probably a fatty tumor. (He had one on his chest as well.) He was much too old for surgery. And so we let that dear, sweet pony go.

While it’s true that I did a great deal for that pony over the three years that I knew him, the truth is that he did at least as much for me. Two months earlier, the night that I took over his care, the night I first told him he was a member of our herd, I placed my hand on his neck to share Reiki with him and was amazed by the intensity. He sighed, dropped his nose nearly to the floor, and closed his eyes.

We were one heart.

I said, “You are such a wise old man. I can’t wait to learn what you have to teach me.”

The night that Davey died, I called a horsey friend to cry with. I told her that when I’d taken over Davey’s care, I hadn’t been sure how I was going to be able to afford a third horse, but I’d known that I had to find a way. And the money had come. I told her that Davey had opened up a space, that now there would always be room for an elderly pony or horse in my herd.

I was saddened that he’d left too soon to teach me the lessons I’d hoped to learn from him. But my wise friend said, “He did teach you. You just said it. He helped you to open up a space for others, so that you can help them to regain their dignity in their final days.”

He did, indeed, do that. He taught me there is always room for one more. He taught me that by helping another to regain dignity, I heighten my own; by helping another to fit in, I enrich my own space; by allowing my heart to entwine with another’s, perhaps the two of us help to shine just a bit more light onto the world.

Thank you, Davey. You have taught me well. Rest in peace my dear friend.

Until next time . . .

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in March, 2010.