“Sure.”
“Got it on subscription autoship every two months.”
“Whatever you say, Zuckerberg.” Digging into my bag, I pulled out a breakfast sandwich from Bugle Boy Bagels and handed it to the grumpy man. “Have some breakfast.”
He reluctantly took it. “You already eaten?”
“Too nervous.”
“Girl, you better calm it down. We want the horses to be connecting with the vets. Not running away because of your spastic energy.”
I took a long drink of coffee. “Do I get to look forward to these inspiring pep talks every morning?”
Ernie placed a weathered hand on my shoulder. “Do you know what I would ask myself every time I’d go into enemy territory?”
“Will these guys be better dressed than I am?”
“I’d look myself in the mirror and ask, ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’”
A conversation could turn serious real fast when a soldier was at the helm of the story. “But…wasn’t the answer usually death?”
“Yep.” Ernie clapped me on the back. “So anything you experience today can’t be nearly that bad. Let’s get to work.”
* * *
I’m not gonna die. I’m not gonna die.
This was the mantra stuck in my head as Ernie and I worked with our inaugural group of veterans two hours later.
By eight thirty, the sun was already sizzling through the clouds and humidity, and sweat glistened at my hairline. “Your job is simply to observe the horses if you’d like,” I said to the group, repeating the instructions just to be sure I was clear. “Move about as you wish. You are perfectly safe. The horses are secured in their pasture behind the fence. After you’ve spent some time gathering observations at your own pace, circle back, and we’ll discuss. Any questions?”
“What’s our long-term goal?” A woman leaning on a cane asked.
Ernie and I had already discussed what we wanted the end result to be. “In this equine-assisted therapy, we want to quiet the noise, face the fears.” I gave that some time to sink in, to hopefully inspire hope. “It’s possible. I’ve seen it. So has Ernie here.”
“I can assure you working with horses saved my life,” Ernie said in his rusted monotone. “How about we start making progress right now?” He dismissed the veterans, and we went into observation mode.
My six clients all moved toward the fence line, some of them gravitating together, others keeping a wide berth and protecting their own space.
“Look at that.” Ernie inclined his head toward Reggie, an Afghanistan War vet at only the age of twenty-five. “In a matter of minutes, Harvey’s claimed him as his own.”
Harvey, an Appaloosa, already had a reputation for being a little standoffish. But he’d pulled himself away from the other horses and meandered to Reggie at the gate. I watched Reggie’s whole body relax as he leaned into the motion of petting Harvey’s mane.
“Reggie’s application said he’d spent time with horses as a young kid.” Ernie swatted at a fly doing aerial dives near his face. “Not everyone will be that easy.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said, thinking of Miller.
Ernie and I hung back, only occasionally interacting with the group. The rest of the time was spent mentally cataloging our observations, every client’s muscle tense, every horse’s whinny. This first session was always a little like speed-dating—seeing the whole crowd together and connecting just enough to proceed further at future sessions.
A half hour later, the group had yet to reassemble, and even though two participants had not made one move toward a horse, I still considered the session a success so far.
Ernie was chatting with a fellow Vietnam veteran when a man walking with a limp approached from the direction of the cornfield. “Hey, Ernie. You got room for one more?” he asked in a distinctly Northern accent.
In fact, we did. I could easily add a handful more clients on other days of the week.
“Talk to the boss,” Ernie said before introducing me. “Hattie, this is Garrett. Was a linebacker for Ole Miss, spent five years working comms in the Army, and talks about his twin toddlers nonstop. He’s been with the farm since it started.”
“My specialty is begonias and heirloom tomatoes,” Garrett stated proudly.
