by Karen Dugan Holman, B.S., B.S.E., M.S.
What does freedom mean to you? It means something different to
each of us. Is it the freedom to do something? Is it the freedom to vote, worship, and speak? Or is it freedom from something — freedom from rules, toxic relationships, medical problems, addictions, depression, fear, or grief? Not all freedoms are civil and provide us with the rights to something. Freedom is a challenge to define, and it greatly depends on your perspective.
As a senior in high school, I was feeling sadness and anxiety, maybe a slight dose of fear. The reality of my decision to attend the University of Arkansas and leave all behind was sinking deep into my heart. I loved our land and pond, and the peace they gave me was sure to be missed. But I still wanted to get the heck out of Dodge. I was leaving my best friends, sisters, the only home I had ever known, Mom and Dad, and worst of all, I was leaving my pets. My pets had been my therapy for so many years. How was I supposed to survive without them? And an even harder reality, how would they make it without me?
One chilly spring afternoon, I came home from drill-team practice sweaty, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. When I walked through the front door, I heard the phone ringing. This phone was an epic, beautiful red landline phone with a dial. It was called a rotary phone, and you put your finger in a hole and made a circle to dial the number. It plugged into the wall, forcing you to stand in the same spot and talk. If you were lucky, there was a chair nearby so you could carry on long conversations.
This call was from my neighbor, telling me, “No rush, Karen, but Sunny is up on the hill in the pasture.” He meant his pasture, not ours. Nobody was home to help me. I left a note, and without deliberating on my best course, I ran out the door and through the pasture. I did not think to grab a jacket, boots, or any tack or oats to help capture my horse. You see, Sunny was my baby, my palomino American quarter
horse with a coat that glistened like gold, a flowing white-as-snow mane and tail, and a blaze on his face. I had saved my money for years to buy Sunny without parental help. He loved my cats, my dogs, and me, flaws and all. We had an entwined friendship and unbreakable bond.
I felt panic well up in my throat. How did Sunny get out? Is he injured, bleeding, or worse, lame? I ran the fence until I found a post down. He must have walked right out. I wondered how it had happened, but that problem would have to wait. I called his name and heard a faint and distant whinny. I was breathing hard and was very cold. As I trudged up the steep dam to the upper pond, I saw my magnificent horse grazing and frolicking in someone else’s pasture. Luckily, my neighbors were very kind and would never harm an animal. I slowed my pace and realized the predicament I was in. I had no halter or even a rope. How was I going to get Sunny back home?
I approached calmly with a low, sweet voice. I stroked him, and we embraced. He was “a hugger and a leaner.” I stood still for some time, not quite sure what to do. I prayed for direction and a plan to safely get Sunny home without it killing me along the way. In my younger years, I was a risk taker. But this worried even me. Sunny was very fast and was trained for barrel racing and cutting. He could make very sharp, quick turns and easily go one way with me falling in the other direction. Without a saddle and in wide-open pasture, the prospect made my mind race and my body shiver.
Finding Bravery
Then I felt a bravery, a strength. I jumped up and dug my elbows into Sunny’s back. I pulled myself up and sat very still. I looked around at the beauty of the scene. I could see all the way to the buildings downtown. There were crystal blue skies, no clouds, a light breeze, and beautiful sunshine. I soaked in the smiles that nature presented that day. I forgot all my problems, worries, and anxiety. I remember thinking that people have ridden bareback and fast for years. I can do this. I also realized just how far away home was and wondered if Sunny could even walk safely back through the fallen fence. So many problems to consider! My mind was busy.
I swallowed hard, heart thumping. I grabbed Sunny’s mane and squeezed my legs tight. I contemplated that after all, I had been riding horses all my life, and this horse knew me. I knew him. We rode as one. I gave him a touch with my heel, and he gave me a glance and started a slow walk. That slow walk was a relief, but for only a brief moment. Sunny began to trot, which was a bit bouncy and uncomfortable without a saddle. He then broke into a canter. That was better, I thought, but slow and steady would win this race.
Sunny had a different ride in mind. He increased his speed — faster and faster we went. I thought to myself, “Hang on, and squeeze hard. You can either fall off, get hurt, and lose him or hang on for
dear life.” I looked up and felt the breeze blowing through my hair and the sunshine on my face. A peace formed around me. I felt a sense of joy rush over me. It was as though a soft, pillowy cloud was underneath Sunny’s hooves. I could not hear him pounding through the grass. I could only feel a slight vibration. I felt as though wings made me lighter on my steed. I had never ridden a horse this fast. I knew he was quick, but I had never dreamed he could fly over the earth with such grace and speed. It was exhilarating. I felt courageous and unbridled. It was freedom.
We fled across the acres, down the dam, and jumped high and far over the fence that lay dangerously on the ground. My faith in my friend Sunny got us home safely. Why did I ever doubt Sunny or myself? He gave me a nudge and hug, a lean and a snort.
Sharing a Bond
It was one of the most beautiful sensations of my life. I will always be grateful that my Sunny shared an invigorating experience with me. My belief in the human-animal
bond was again firmly cemented. My animals have always protected me. Each of them has impacted me. The gift of precious memories and lessons learned have molded me into the person I am.
Sunny gave me the feeling of freedom — freedom from tough decisions, leaving home, growing up, grief, sadness, and sometimes loneliness. The warmth of love and strength is shared by the connection between us and the world. Sometimes we need to let go and be still. Feel the moment, the freedom.
When I am saddled and swallowed with profound grief and l long for peace and joy, I close my eyes and return to that brisk, sunny spring day in Oklahoma. I remember that I was given the grit and fortitude to ride a horse on that perfect day. I can get up and ride again. You can do the same. Get up and ride again — without a saddle.
Therapy can come in many forms.
Happy tails,
Karen
