A Horse of a Different Color
By Kathryn Taylor
I wanted a baby. I had wanted one for as long as I could remember, and now the urge was so strong, my husband finally said yes. I was afraid, yet excited. It would work. I knew it would, because with the desire and love I had, how could it not. I wanted the baby as young as possible, where he or she was untainted by this world's rough hands, where he or she was still
impressionable, moldable, workable, and able to trust and love me back. I could not decide if I wanted a boy or a girl. I did so well with boys; I already had 4 sons. They had brought such joy into my life. Girls, on the other hand, had brought such heartache in my past and even more so in my present. But, I still had such a deep longing to win a daughter's love.
A good friend and her husband accompanied me on the two-hour drive to where I would choose, Lord willing, the baby I longed for. There were about a dozen to choose from. I would have gladly taken them all. How would I choose just one? Which one, I wondered, would bring more heartache? Which one would bring healing, able to trust and bond to me?
As we walked through the maze or corrals, I prayed. Horses of all ages, sizes, and colors paced their iron pens fearfully awaiting their fate. There were pens of mares with their young weanlings at their sides, snuggling close to their mommies. Their short lives spent in wide open spaces running in the summer sun with the herd, these babies were now in this scary place with no idea that they would be ripped from their mothers' sides. How could I do this? How could I be a part of this process? It was going to happen to them anyway, I told myself, regardless of me wanting a baby or not. It had to be all right. I could give them as good a home as anyone else here. Thoughts of my adopted daughter at home flooded my mind. She was so full of anger, mad at me because she wanted to believe that I had stolen her from her "real" mother. What was I doing here? How could I risk any more pain to try and do this? I had been to livestock auctions before, but this time it was different. I felt so raw. I felt the pain, fear, and suffering of these horses and I was finding it hard to separate it from my human suffering.
They ran the horses in and out, one by one as the auctioneer babbled out a steady stream of numbers. Sold. Sold. Sold..
Two little babies were run in together, half brother and sister, a matching pair of little red roans. Before we knew it, my friend's husband bid on and bought the pair. (He had come with us to make sure we didn't come home with a trailer full of horses!)
During a break, we wandered the pens again hoping I could make a decision. Then we went to see their new babies. They were now separated from their mothers. One weanling was literally trying to climb up and out of it's pen. It was then that I realized I didn't have the proper kind of pen for such a wild thing. These babies were stronger and more wild than I had anticipated. Once again, it reminded me of my adopted kids at home. It seemed I didn't have the proper confinements for them either, barely being able to keep them confined and safe. I wanted to put them somewhere where we were safe from them and they were safe from the world. Maybe I should change my mind and not get a baby horse. My friends told me if I didn't buy one of the other babies, I could choose and have one of theirs. I was so confused.
Finally, my heart settled on a little chocolate filly. A good number of other buyers were also looking at her. She was the pick of the litter so to speak. My price range was extremely low. I decided if it was meant to be, I would get her. If I did not get her, I would go home empty handed. It was finally her turn. Her mother had been run through and sold right before her. There she was, circling the ring, whinnying for her mother, scared to death. The auctioneer slurred numbers like a machine gun as people in the crowd raised their hands. Within seconds she sold, and unbelievably I was her new owner.
The three babies were run through shoots right up into our trailer. They were too wild to touch or halter. My friends said I could keep her at their farm until we got them settled down and halter broke. My dream was now a reality, but what did the future hold?
We had three sons when we adopted our boy/girl twins from foster care. It turned out that they had a severe case of Reactive Attachment Disorder. Our daughter acted out more than our son. This dreadful RAD made it so that my children were unable, and seemingly unwilling to be loved or able to give love. My mother's heart, after battling with this disorder for over 5 years, was terribly wounded and sometimes seemed unmendable. After an emotionally draining day at the horse sale, I entered my fifteen-year-old daughter's room and I told her, "Today was the worst day of my new filly's life. Her world was ripped right out from under her. She was so happy just days ago. She ran and played at her mother's side and life was good. Then people came along, rounded them up, and drove them into a trailer. They were scared and afraid. They were driven to this awful place, chased into pens, separated from their mothers, taken away to somewhere unfamiliar, never to return. I stole this little baby from her mother! I did not steal you from your mother, though. But, I took you in and loved you because she didn't want to take care of you. And I'm going to make a bet with you. I bet you that even though I did this to her, even though she has been ripped from all she knew, even though she is scared and afraid, I am going to win her love. She will learn to love and trust me and bond to me, even though I took her away from her mother. And you also know that I have tried to win your love and trust. The difference is, this filly will not and can not make the conscious choice to reject me." I turned and walked out.
The first day we roped my filly we were able to approach her and halter her. She was afraid but allowed us to pet on and love her. Next, they roped their girl twin. She fought like a true RADish. She pulled and bucked and struggled. She was choking herself, never giving herself any slack. She would stop, stand with front legs spread wide gasping for air. Each time they attempted to approach her she would erupt, striking at them with her front feet willing to kill anyone who dared to approach. It took 3 of them to try and work her. With a burst of strength, she broke one's grip on her rope. She charged to the other side of the corral, threw herself at the solid wall leaping, and somehow managed to crash her body through a 2 foot gap between the wall and the top wood rail summersaulting herself out of the pen nearly landing on a young boy on the other side. They cursed the previous owner for not imprinting these babies. Had they been handled and familiarized them with humans, these babies would never be like they were now. Earlier, I had said that I wanted a baby young enough to not have been tainted by the world's rough hands. And now we were dealing with the fact that they had not been touched at all. Was it just as bad, or worse? Untouched or mistouched seems to bring the same results.
They managed to get the filly back into the corral and were able to get her down and they held her there. They touched her, rubbed her, let her smell them and spoke calmly to her. All she wanted to do was escape. But right now, man was in control, and like it or not she was going to learn that humans were not going to harm her like she imagined. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. This was my daughter, out of control because she had been neglected when young. She had the same fight in her. Totally controlled by fear despite the reality that no one wanted to harm her in any way. She fights the very people who would rescue her and love her, teach her and train her, choking herself with consequences and boundaries that didn't need to be there if only she would relax and quit fighting. Flashbacks of holdings with her filled my mind. We held her through the rage, the fear, the desperate attempts to free herself from her perceived threat. We tried to get her to learn that we were not going to hurt her, that touch was good, that closeness would not kill her. I chuckled to myself wondering if this was where therapists got the idea that holding therapy would be effective for children.
It was the colt's turn. He did the very same things as their filly did, fighting and striking out, choking himself refusing to let the rope slacken. Only he gave up much quicker and went down at which time they rushed in to loosen the rope and love on him. I was in shock. Our adopted son was the same way. These twin babies were the epitome of our adopted twins, and my little filly was as normal as my friend's daughter was. I felt bad that my friends were having such a rough time with their babies while mine was sweet and approachable. Wow! What was this strange feeling I was having? Relief...Joy...Gratification. The comments of envy from my friends that I got the good baby felt sooooo good. Right, wrong or indifferent, I wallowed
in the feeling of it all. It was like submersing myself in the Fountain of Youth.
These friends of ours had stuck it out with us forming a friendship. We had endured the normal gamut of stages:
*What's wrong with these kids?,
*what are you doing wrong?,
*OK, it's not you, did you try this and that,
*ok, let me try something,
*and finally, I agree, there is nothing you can do until they want to try.
After that first exhausting day, I leaned over to my friend and said, "That was a normal day at our house." She hugged me.
A week has passed. My filly lets me catch her, loves to be petted and rubbed on, she turns into me, picks up her front feet for me, will lead on a leadrope anywhere I go, and will soon be coming home. Yesterday was the first time my friend got a halter on her two. They are still very guarded with front legs sprawled out. They let my friend pet their face and neck, but sometimes erupt upredictably. They will only pivot on lead, but won't take a step on their own. For days, my friend and I take her babies, with me on the lead rope, my friend with a lasso around their rumps. We both pull, telling them to take a step. Her little filly digs in deeper, grunts, and moans like a woman in heavy labor. Finally, when she can no longer pull against us, she lunges forward at us, leaping into the air then begins bucking to get the lasso off her rump. If my filly were acting this way, I would be afraid of her. I would give up.
Compared to my twins, my friend's twins are coming right along. How is it I do not give up on them? What possesses me to continue? What possesses all of them to not submit? I then asked my friend, "What would you do, if after five years, this was as good as it got, somewhere in between the first day's nightmare and today's guarded submission? What if, day after day, you saw little to no progress?" She replied, "They would be out of here." She smiled and continued, "At least I can sell my twins or spank them if I need to." It was then that the reality of RAD family living really sunk in. We really have earned our red badges of courage.
It is amazing how God will take things from every facet of my life to encourage, teach, train, build faith, and show His love for me. I cannot believe for one minute that this whole story unfolded the way it did by coincidence. For now, I have lost the blessings of relationship with my daughter, my foster daughter, and my foster-granddaughter. But, God has blessed me and encouraged me with this new, four-legged little girl who needs me right now. And this experience, has also taught our friends something as well. Living something has far more impact on someone than it does to try and understand with words. I think they have a real good idea of what life is like for RAD families now. So often I've heard people say to RAD parents, "You are going to have a lot of jewels in your crown when you get to heaven for loving these hard to love kids." That's it!! That is going to be my filly's name. Jewel. Her name is Jewel because in this moment in time it seems like God plucked one of the jewels out of my crown and placed it in my hand and said, "Here. Hold onto this while you are down there. She is to encourage you and remind you that I love you and you are storing your treasures in heaven where moth and rust will not destroy." God is so good.
I cannot begin to tell what healing this experience has given to my heart. My prayer is that, in turn, I can be a better mom to my unruly twins. And I hope that when I see my friend leading her babies one day, it will give me hope as well.
