The Bonding

I’ve told the story of the Buck Brannaman Clinic—a definite high point of my riding (uh-hum) career. Over four days, the master took frightened, confused, or just inexperienced horses and explained to them the right way horses should be and do.

            He helped one or two….dozen….people as well.

            When not working and learning, my beautiful Tripp shared a paddock with another gelding, separated from the paddocks around them with temporarily-erected electric fences. The horses all visited across the lines, but learned to not get too close to those hot wires. However, Tripp, used to staying with three temperamental mares at home, instantly took to his gelding buddy, who liked Tripp as well, and as they grazed on that amazingly green, lush grass, I never saw them farther than ten feet from each other.

Tripp in Pasture

            The problem with vacations? They end. As his newfound friend moved to the barn where he would spend an extra night at the farm, leaving the next morning, Tripp watched, eyes huge, panic spreading over that beautiful face. I so wanted to explain to him that in just a bit our ride home would arrive, that it would be okay, that I knew he loved his new friend, but once home, he would, again, adapt to his normal life.

            Instead, Tripp threw back that gorgeous head and called out a heartbreaking whinny, so anguished and despairing, tears filled my eyes.  He stood, crying over and over into the distance, his grief a physical thing…..

            Eventually, our ride did, indeed, arrive, and we made it back home. Of course, he recognized his barn, his pasture….but that wrenching cry stayed in my memory. He knew the horses here; he came here as a young colt, around two years old, and knows the rhythms of the days here, the people who so love and care for him, the horses in his pasture and those around him change a bit now again. But, really, the farm is home.

            Still…..

            And so, I spoke to the kind folks at the barn, and these wonderful, kind people and I got together—and Ghost Ryder came.

Ghost Ryder

            Ghostie works in the camp sometimes, students ride him as a lesson horse. Rarely, I even climb on that big boy myself for a very different-feeling ride than Tripp gives me. But, his other big job involves being Tripp’s friend. It took time—any new home takes adjustment for the horse coming in, and guaranteed, his new home here at the farm raised GR’s standard of living by light years. But, also, when a new herd member arrives, always strata shifts, they have to work out just who rules the roost, er, pasture above all others, who has first say at the hay pile, and so on, generally with the girls shifting everyone around at their whims. Ghost Ryder learned patience (Tripp and the girls all have their own ways of things), and he learned good things like how to eat carrots. I wonder what it felt like for this horse who had so obviously NOT had all the food he wanted—after all the medical folks cleared him--to eat to be able to graze whenever he wanted; he had arrived here nightmare thin. The folks here, his rescue angels, improved his lot, and he learned that people bring good, sweet things.  Even after his difficult past, he still doesn’t push others aside; “a patient horse,” that’s our Ghostie boy.

Tripp Waits for Ghost Ryder

            And…..at the end of a ride with Tripp, I walk him back to his pasture where five horses wait. I love to watch them interact with each other. Frequently, not always, but often a stunning grey horse lifts his head and lets out a soft call. Other times, he just keeps on munching grass. But, always of late, after I removes Tripp’s halter, after he rolls in the dirt so he can scratch that…….one…….spot, rolling, rolling back and forth, these two geldings, my Tripp and my (not really mine, but sort of) Ghost Ryder move calmly, unhurriedly till they stand together, the other horses know, of course, where everyone else is. But my (sort of) two boys hang out…..Tripp has a buddy.

            Thank you, Ghost Ryder.

Ghost Ryder & Tripp

           

             

Ryder & Tripp Under the Trees

A Bird in a Bucket ... . . . .

            I walked—treat bag in my hand—past the back of the big red barn, heading to the horses in pasture to give them said treats. Next to the big red barn I passed an empty paddock, one waiting for its evening guest to arrive after temperatures cooled and shade moved into the area.

            Well, I thought it empty.

            Next to the wall of the barn sat a couple of buckets and a large tub full of water for drinking by the horses. In the first bucket by the fence something moved….splash, flap, nothing, splash, splash!! Flap!! Nothing….

            Great.

            At this time of day, all the camp children had gone home, as had their counselors. I looked around. Yep. I’m alone.

            Splash!! Flap!

            Hesitantly, I stepped over towards the fence, j-u-s-t close enough to see inside the bucket where drops of water flew in all directions, until they didn’t. Then they did again.  There, floating around, little head tilted one way, then the other, seemingly rested a…….pigeon?

            I looked away, then glanced back down. Yep. Pigeon. He looked up at me, tipping his little head left, right, left right. “Are you all right?” I asked.

            Yes, I really asked the bird that question. Fortunately for me, I didn’t hear him answer.

            Maybe, I thought, he just wants to cool off or take a bath or…… Well, it couldn’t hurt to let him be for a few minutes. I walked on down to the horses, gave them their treats, and returned, strongly hoping the bird had flown the bucket, so to speak.

            No such luck. Now what?    

            I studied the little guy a minute, and decided he must have hurt his wing…who knows how? I think he could have tried all night and not gotten out. Though I don’t like pigeons as a general principle, how could I just leave him there, bobbing around, no way out, no defense. A line of four, or so, birds watched from the electric lines above me, no doubt judging my actions. Wonderful. I feel judged by literal birdbrains. I looked at little Birdie-boy. “Wait here; I’ll be right back.”

            I thought he nodded his pint-sized head, and I walked around to the big red barn, opened the sliding door, and slipped in. Pigeons flew around (they love it there), and I looked at tools leaning against the wall. Ahhh….a rake, like a leaf rake, but with straight tines. Grabbing it, I made my way back to the bucket. Birdie still bobbed around, watching me. Softly, I slipped the rake into the large bucket and under his feathery body.

            To my shock, he settled onto the rake, letting me lift him from the water. As gently as I could, I walked with him on the rake, heading towards that barn. Maybe he knew I came with help; they do train these birds to deliver messages over hundreds of miles, after all. After a bit, I guess his trust ran out, and he hopped off the rake, though as we were close to the ground, it didn’t hurt him seemingly. He didn’t even try to fly, reinforcing my fear of his broken wing. But he walked the five feet or so to the corner of the barn and slipped into some opening I could not see.

            I did not push the big door shut, because I feared crushing the little guy, since I couldn’t see him. Once Tripp got back to pasture and all the tack got put into its proper place, I stuck my head into the door of the big red barn. In the rafters above I heard a lone pigeon cooing; as I looked around the floor, I did not see the little rescued bird.

            I left a note for the barn caretakers (“I think there’s a pigeon with a broken wing”), said a little prayer for the bird, and left.

            Nature’s tough. I have no idea if he will be okay in the barn till he can heal, or if, healed, he could fly again. He didn’t seem in pain, though, truly, how would I know? But, for sure, left in the bucket he would not have lasted long….maybe drowned, maybe the dogs that periodically come through would have gotten him. Now, at least, he rests inside a corner of his barn…..and, big, red, and all, that barn is where he headed as soon as he had a chance.

            Rest well, little guy. I hope you beat the odds.

All Dogs & Cats & Horses & Duck-Billed Platypii Go to Heaven

Millie's Whisper

The Pope got some folks all hot-and-bothered when the media quoted him as saying, “Heaven is open to all creatures.” It does turn out, though, that perhaps an earlier Pope, Paul VI, actually made such a statement about pets and Heaven, “One day we will again see our animals in the eternity of Christ,” talking to a young boy who had lost a beloved pet, and the media got a bit confused on who said what when.  Either way, a kind Pope acknowledged at least the possibility of seeing our companion animals again in Heaven, giving comfort to companion animal lovers everywhere.

            I’ll go with that.

            I’m not known for being absolutely logical on the subject, of course. One friend, now a minister, said to me some years ago (well, it gets more years ago each week that passes, it seems), “You have animals in your life where people should be.” A kind, good man, I didn’t argue—but, he missed a major point. I wanted to say, “What if God knew I would not have people in some places that need companionship—and gave me animals?” I didn’t, because some people just cannot fathom that sentence.

            But, then, usually they have people in such places in their lives—not that it’s an either/or situation.

            Back to Heaven….I don’t understand why folks get so upset when the thought of our pets in Heaven comes up. In the Bible, animals showed up in the Paradise of Eden before Adam. And, he got a job right off the bat:  “Go name the animals.” You have to wonder how “Duck-billed Platypus” came to him, although, really, what else could you call it? People get all worked up over that “subdue the Earth” thing. Really, God just said, “Take really, really good and wise care of the world.” In the end, Adam didn’t do so well on his own, even with his little garden spot….ok, he and Eve didn’t. But, that perfect Garden, man’s original home, Paradise on Earth, was chock-a-block full of animals. Perhaps a redeemed Earth will closely resemble that Paradise Lost, full of lush garden growth and animals happily learning each other’s names.

            We know horses stand at the ready in Heaven. Revelation 19 shows Christ riding into battle on his white stallion! What a picture, Christ on his steed, diadems on his head, the sword of His Word coming from His mouth, leading His armies, all themselves astride white horses as they follow him to the final defeat of evil!

            Pretty intricate descriptions of predatory animals coexisting with prey animals—and NOT after they have been prepared for dinner—exist in Scripture.  Isaiah 11 talks about a wolf and a young lamb together, a leopard lying with a young goat, and a calf together with a young lion—all being led by a young boy. Even in Heaven, children and animals fit naturally, as unnaturally as the other seems. 

            And, still, some people proclaim, “No animals in Heaven!”

Heavenly Ghost Ryder & Tripp

            Far more frightening than real animals in Heaven, I believe, those angels flying around God’s throne—not those little cupid creatures, made up to sell cards on Valentine’s Day—but, reading their descriptions, mighty creatures crying out “HOLY!! HOLY!!” as they fly, covering their faces in awe; learning of warrior angels like Michael (“Whose side are you on?” Joshua asked. “God’s side, Dufus.” Well, okay, not Dufus, but it’s [kind of] implied--and Joshua wound up barefoot from the deal); just seeing what Gabriel did when he got perturbed at Zacharias (he made him mute for several months at least when Zacharias doubted what Gabriel said would happen, would—until it did)—that scares me way more than the thought of a few cats and dogs running around in Heaven. (By the way, Michael shows up again in Revelation Chapter 12 fighting again; WAY scarier than the horses, in my opinion).

            The issue, of course, involves eternal souls and a fallen world. Animals do not get redemption from Christ like humans do—they don’t have that need because they don’t choose to disobey God.  When Christ paid for redemption, His redemption covered all Earth…certainly the Cross that could redeem a fallen humanity that chose to disobey God contains ample power to return to us in Heaven the pets we have lost. Most people agree the world needs changing. Why redemption shouldn’t include the whole shebang—people, animals, plants, oceans, air--escapes me. Does anyone believe if Jesus showed up at any given city animal shelter, every single cat, dog, rabbit, guinea pig, well, every animal there would not recognize Him? “Oh, there You are! Finally! Is our work done here? Are we going home now?” It hasn’t happened yet, of course, because He’s not back yet. (Yes, I’m one of those folks, too. I’m just all over the map—upsetting one group by animals in Heaven, another group waiting for Christ’s return. Well, keep ‘em guessing; that’s my motto).

I don’t know for sure, of course, if when I step into Heaven and into the presence of God that my beloved companion animals who have loved me here and gone before me will meet me there. I hope so. I want so. And, someday—at a point in time barreling down on me faster than I can truly comprehend, I’ll understand it all firsthand.

Heavenly Millie

            But, this I do know—and I don’t know a lot, but there but a very, very few things I KNOW--as the pastor told the little boy whose beloved dog had passed away and who came seeking comfort and knowledge about where his friend was now, “If you will be happier in Heaven with him there, then he will be there.”  Heaven lacks no good and perfect thing. And, when we all find out the truth of this for sure—as with so many other “major” issues about which we fight (and, yes, there are issues about which to fight, but, really, pets in Heaven?)—we will look at each other and say, “Why did we get so upset about this?”

            Because, a loving God Who can make so perfect a creature as a companion dog in the first place can certainly be trusted to take care of all of them (and us) in the end…..and the beginning.

MacIntosh--Waiting for Sure