Tali stands quietly watching the crane, calm enough I could snap a quick picture.
The text message came in late on Thursday evening, and it felt a bit like an afterthought. “BTW, there will be a crane on the farm tomorrow, moving shipping containers next to the riding arena. Just wanted to give everyone a heads up if you planned to be here, you might want to consider changing your plans or riding out on the trails.”
I sighed. Tomorrow was the only day of the week I had to exercise my friend’s horse, and so tomorrow it would be, crane or no crane.
I could have changed my plans, I could have skipped the week, her owner certainly wouldn’t have minded. But Tali and I had a relationship that was years in the making at this point, so I decided we would see what we would get.
The crane was, indeed, right next to the arena, swinging large ocean going shipping containers into place for some additional farm storage. I tacked up and walked Tali up to the arena and made a lap on foot with her, adjusting the girth and dropping the stirrups giving her time to observe the moving parts and pieces. She seemed nonplused, which is not out of the ordinary for her, either.
I mounted up and we started our work, focusing on her balance while allowing her to choose the path. The crane was on the other end of the arena, engine gearing down as it lifted each giant box and quietly swung it over the fence and into its resting place. She flicked an ear that way, and then flicked an ear back at the swallow that cut past us a second later on its quest for bugs. Same amount of concern for both.
We wandered our way closer, and further away, as the whim struck. I was aware of the crane in the background, and kept tabs on it enough that I was prepared when another container swung up into view. Balancing the awareness of the crane with the body-first focus of the ride and Tali’s balance under me took all of my attention. As a result, she didn’t mind any of it.
She was calm despite the crane because I was stable. She was reading me, not the machinery in her environment.
Somewhere in that twenty minutes it occurred to me that the sheer fact that it was as unremarkable as it was was a hard won victory for me.
Most of us didn’t grow up with caregivers who were steady enough in their energy or emotions that we could build trust with them the way Tali and I were building trust together that morning. Not because our parents were bad people or weren’t trying at all. But because staying regulated in the presence of something exciting, new and unpredictable is a skill, not a personality trait, and most of the adults raising us were never taught how, either. So instead of learning to trust, we learned to read and scan and brace early so the surprise couldn’t get us. To manage the adult in front of us rather than rely on them.
That’s trust masquerading as vigilance in an overcoat. And a lot of us have been fooled for most of our lives believing that.
Here’s the part that I really had to sit with: as an adult, that stability isn’t something that anybody else, human or otherwise, is going to give me. It’s something I get to build, on purpose, starting with myself. And then, sometimes, a horse is the first place I actually get to practice offering that gift to another being.
Not because she asked me to be steady, because she was never going to pretend that I was if I wasn’t. She doesn’t take intentions on credit, she reads exactly what’s there (or not).
So the crane wasn’t the test. I was.
And the gift that is the biggest surprise is that every time I manage to give Tali that steadiness, something in me settles, too. Not as a metaphor. My nervous system doesn’t know the difference between I am doing this for my horse and I am doing this for myself. Every rep counts twice.
We didn’t get the choice as children, but we get to choose now, how we show up for not just ourselves, but those around us including our pets. And they’re going to hold the mirror up and show us just how much work we’ve done.
If you’re catching a glimpse of your own reflection in this — what your animal might be showing you about the stability you’re building, or still learning to build — that’s exactly the conversation a session opens up. Book a session here.
