Page 112 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

Just in case he’s sneaking some sleep between checks, I don’t call him before bed. I’m sure he’ll call when he can.

“Alright, Ty, you ready to try again?” Tanya asks the hulking military veteran.

We’re in the larger pen on her property for the trust-building workshop today. I’m thrilled we have nine veterans from a wide demographic.

Eight of the nine have met Biscuit, Ty outright declined, so Tanya’s giving him another opportunity before the session wraps for the day.

Instead of directly addressing Ty, she speaks to the group.

“Biscuit doesn’t care what you do or don’t say. He doesn’t know your history, what you’ve seen or done. Biscuit cares if you’re calm. Now that sounds impossible, right? PTSD is a real bitch, and we ain’t tryin’ to climb that mountain today.

“All we’re doin’ today is familiarizing you with the pen and our buddy Biscuit. He feels what you feel and will mirror it back to you. Even if you think you’re perfectly fine, Biscuit’s body language will tell the truth about what’s goin’ on in your mind and your body.”

She winks at me before kindly tilting her head to the side asking Ty if he’d like to try.

Ty nods once, jaw tight and arms crossed. I have to focus inwards because my anxiety’s ramping up anticipating what’s going to happen between the horse and the veteran.

Biscuit huffs and shakes his head. Ty stops walking and looks at Tanya like What the fuck am I supposed to do? She simply smiles at Ty encouraging him forward.

Ty’s agitated and I’m proud he’s trying at all. Cold wind passes through the valley, everyone’s hair ruffled by the current. It lifts the brim of Ty’s baseball cap, nearly blowing it away but Ty holds it on his head. The momentary distraction is enough that Ty’s shoulders have lowered, his arms are no longer crossed, his jaw relaxed, and his stance is looser.

Biscuit flicks an ear but is otherwise unperturbed. Ty tenses and takes a few large steps towards Biscuit, causing the horse to shake his head and retreat a step. Wheels are turning in Ty’s head as he watches his own emotions play out in real time through the beast.

Tanya resumes conversation with the rest of the group, giving Ty the space to try without an audience. I observe him in passing glances, careful not to make him feel like a spectacle.

Like magic, Ty and Biscuit work things out. Ty smiles at the soft velvet of Biscuit’s muzzle beneath his fingertips. Though this isn’t an active session for me, Tanya trusts me, and I’m comfortable approaching the duo.

I hand Ty an unwrapped peppermint and with a furrow of his bushy brows, he says he doesn’t want a mint.

“It’s for Biscuit,” I say with a soft smile and motion for him to offer it to the horse.

Skeptical but curious, Ty holds the sweet treat in his open palm and Biscuit greedily gobbles it up. A boisterous laugh escapes the burly man and for a moment he jolts, concerned how Biscuit will react, but his new friend is happy, and peace washes over Ty’s features.

Tanya calls it a wrap and thanks everyone for trusting Biscuit today. I love how she makes it about the horse, not the handler. In reality, the therapist or facilitator is merely the bridge between human and equine souls.

“How do you feel, darlin’? Last session under your belt, ready for the next steps?” Tanya asks, getting Biscuit untacked.

“You’ve been invaluable, Tanya. I’m so grateful for your time, you’re a wonderful teacher,” I say, her hand bats the compliment away.

“But honestly, I’m lost,” I choke out. Tanya waits for me to gather myself.

“I’m not sure getting a master’s degree is right for me. But if I don’t, I can’t be an equine therapist, and everything I’ve worked for is for nothing.” I pluck at a loose thread on my jacket.

“Well, ain’t that the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” I snap back at Tanya’s harsh comment.

“It ain’t all or nothin’ darlin’. You can help a hell of a lot of people with the education you’ve got. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s the horses you love working with, not an unbridled passion for clinical psychology?”

Even the term clinical psychology makes me cringe.

“Right. But that doesn’t help me. It just means this isn’t the career path for me.” Tears sting my eyes, and I brush them away with my sleeve, not bothering to hide my emotions.

“Girl, there you go bein’ stupid again,” Tanya bites out.

“How many people have you helped these past few months? How many times have you facilitated moments of true healing? We need both, darlin’,” she says.

I’m beyond confused and growing embarrassed at her ribbing. “Both what?”

“Therapists and specialists. Folks licensed to provide therapy and seasoned equine facilitators who understand the horses. Ain’t one path to healing, it’s a team approach.”