SOUP KITCHEN HORSEMANSHIP

My daughter and I volunteer at a local soup kitchen. I say local but we drive 50 miles round trip. This for approximately three hours of chopping, measuring and preparing food for whoever shows up to eat that day. I sought this opportunity so my daughter could learn to serve her fellow man expecting nothing in return. As it turns out, I need to exercise this spiritual muscle more than anyone.

Finding an opportunity to serve with a child is difficult. It took some time to find any avenue where she would be welcome. Even in the soup kitchen she needs a lot of supervision because, quite frankly, the people who show up are not of the trustworthy sort. She cannot leave the kitchen or go to the bathroom by herself. I worried over the experience--was it appropriate, would she get anything out of it (important), would she be welcomed by the other volunteers, etc. Basically, how would this make us feel? Sadly, I spent much less time thinking about the people who might come and be blessed by our time in the kitchen.

Our first day she spent the morning making an enormous apple cake she would not get to see baked or even eaten. With quiet concentration she peeled mountains of apples, measured cup after cup of flour, and spooned up more cinnamon than I have ever seen in one bowl. She was diligent but quiet. When we needed to use the bathroom we walked past street people curled up on pews, the stench of unwashed bodies mixing with stale cigarette smoke and booze. She still said nothing. On the way to the car I tried drawing her out. How had she felt about her first experience serving the poor, homeless, and down trodden?

"Some of those people could get a job. Then they wouldn't need free food."

The observations of a ten-year-old are refreshingly honest and simple. However, this was not the warm fuzzy dialogue I hoped to have with her.

"Yes, well, that's true. Some of those people have made poor choices and that's why they need food. But, some of them have fallen on hard times and really need help. We're just there to serve. It's God's job to handle the details." Oh that I would take my own advice more often!

On the way home I felt as deflated as an old balloon. Turns out, I wanted something in return for my time--a feeling of well-being, connection, to know I'd done the right thing, for Haley to feel good, something. A worthwhile life lesson for my daughter would be nice. Especially when she is ultra successful later on and traces it back to the tutelage of her mother and time spent in a soup kitchen.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how selfishness grows in the deepest part of my being. I don't need to consciously think about being selfish, it comes naturally. It often exists even when I am trying to do something "nice." In the end will this action make me feel good as a person, bolster my self esteem, give me purpose, make me likable, heal an inner wound? In essence, its about me Baby. These are the things I think about that I am not proud to admit. The times I have honestly, wholeheartedly done something for another human being with no thought of myself, my agenda or if that person "deserves" it are precious few.

Later I went to the barn to get Eli out of the pasture. I am diligently working with him--mostly on the ground--to build trust and a solid relationship. I have a definite agenda--all for good reasons-- but Eli is a true introvert. He often resists my overtures because he is a horse continually on the ready for the other "shoe" to drop. I may be nice to him (actually, I'm crazy for this horse!) but deep down he suspects I am expecting something out of him, something he might not be comfortable with or ready to give. He watches my every move with a quiet, intelligent eye and reads my motives so accurately its scary. He knows that our time together comes with a price tag.

Mentally I ticked off exercises I wanted to accomplish. I was hoping it would be a good day--I'd see improvement in his responses, some indication I was making a breakthrough. I wanted to feel good about myself and my horsemanship. As I brushed him I thought of the soup kitchen. Maybe my approach with this animal was all wrong. Maybe I needed to employ a little soup kitchen horsemanship to get through to him. Let our time together be without any strings attached of any sort. He didn't need to respond, make me feel good or give anything in return. This time would be truly about him, not my feelings, plan, or agenda.

I spent a long time brushing Eli. He hung his head in pleasure, drowsy in the sun. He may be only a horse but I focused on making him feel loved and secure for the little time we had together. I asked nothing of him but talked quietly while I scrubbed the rubber curry comb in circles on his muddy chestnut coat--"You're such a fine/good/beautiful boy."

We accomplished nothing that day. Instead of training exercises, I let Eli graze on the lawn for 20 minutes after brushing him. When I put him back in the pasture he lingered by my side, confused but relaxed and happy.

We are still volunteering at the soup kitchen. My daughter has not met any of the homeless, poor or simply financially irresponsible that come for meals. She is getting friendly with the other helpers though and loves the chance to cook. They asked her to bake that apple cake again. We heard it was popular.

FOLLOWING A FEEL

Horsemanship lingo can be maddenly vague and obscure. Some of my favorite expressions include: Riding the thought; having "soft eyes"; and following a feel.

Huh?

"Following a feel" makes no sense to the uninformed and, from a writers perspective, is a botched use of language. The Word Police could find and prosecute me for that one.

Nevertheless, the term refers to something that transpires between horse and rider. When open, clear, calm communication is taking place, a horse naturally follows what they are feeling from the rider. This includes not only cues (unfortunately) but emotion. It becomes important for a rider to "ride the thought," focusing on the performance he wants from the horse.

Recently my daughter, near the end of her ten-year-old rope of patience, exclaimed in utter frustration, "How come you can always get Chance to pick up his right lead, and I can't!"

I paused before answering, eager to seize the teachable, Zen-like moment. "You have to feel it, Sweetie. Think about the lead you want, then push him into it with your hip--see?" I slung my hip to the side to illustrate. Haley got back on Chance to try it for herself. Already frustrated, her motions were crude and forceful. They did little except confuse Chance who immediately reacted negatively to her unconcealed frustration. The cue was not the primary problem.

"Like this Haley," I called again. Only mildly suggestive before, my hips motions now bordered on wanton as I attempted to make a subtle cue obvious. It was to no avail. Knowing she was punishing the horse inadvertently from her own lack of self control I told her to get off and take a break. She fought to keep back tears of frustration.

"You can always do it!" She said, accusingly, and stalked off. So much for the Zen moment.

Horses are being used increasingly in unconventional settings to teach communication skills to people. This is because they are unable to lie, are incredibly intuitive (see post, Smelling the Soul), and spot-on mirrors of their handlers/riders. Seasoned horsemen say that a nervous rider makes a nervous horse. So too, an angry/fearful/rigid/reactive rider will make the same sort of animal. This is hard for humans to accept because we are experts at hiding our feelings and intentions. We harbor negative emotions and ways of relating but expect to get a positive response from our environment. The horses are not fooled.

This was illustrated to me recently while I worked with Eli. I may be 36 but my self control is sadly not always better than a ten-year-old. Eli loads confidently into larger, stock type trailers but became claustrophobic and nervous in my smaller, two horse straight load. He is a sensitive, non-confrontational horse who wants to please so getting him into the trailer was no problem. Getting him to stay in, quietly, was another story. I worked several days with him, concentrating on his obedience staying in the trailer and waiting for my cue before backing out. At first I was understanding and maternal. Trailer loading is often problematic in horses and I wanted Eli to become confidant before taking off down the road.

My frustration began to build when, after several days, Eli continued shooting out of the trailer unbidden. The process was taking longer than I thought it should. One day, after loading and unloading him successfully a few times, he regressed by kicking out after I released the butt strap. My anger instantly flared. I fought the urge to flick the whip at his hocks. While Eli could not see me, or my body language, his response was dramatic. Scrambling backward as fast as he could go, he continued backing up across the yard, neck raised in alarm, until he reached the end of the 12 foot lead rope. As far away from me as he could get. Disguising my anger didn't fool this horse one bit. He could feel it.

The term Soft Eyes comes from the classic, Centered Riding, by Sally Swift. This is a fascinating book on horsemanship. When one has soft eyes they are able to see/take in more of the world around them. They are open and receiving, able to react appropriately to a situation. Hard eyes speak of a focus on only one thing. A hard look closes down the environment and gives the rider only one perspective. This reminds me of an instance with my daughter, several years ago.

Children are much more transparent and honest with their feelings. They can feel the truth around them, even when they cannot articulate it. This is humbling and, at times, hilarious. One such a time was over Thanksgiving when Haley was only two. It had been one of those days....preparations for coming guests including loads of cleaning and cooking and plenty of stress. In addition the kids had me running--"Mommy help me/get me a drink/wipe my bum/I want to watch Barney...." You get the picture. When we all sat down to dinner I breathed a sigh of relief and dipped my fork into a mound of mashed potatoes for the first buttery, mouthwatering bite. At that moment Haley, who had visited the bathroom unbeknownst to me, called out. "Mommy, I went poop. Come wipe me." It took every ounce of self control and maturity to keep my mouth shut. Inside I screamed out my annoyance: Is it too much to ask for ten minutes of peace and pleasure with my mashed potatoes?! Can you not wait until after dinner to go poop!!!

I stalked to the bathroom, ripped off a wad of toilet paper and bent over Haley. My hard eyes were focused on only one thing--personal irritation. Looking up at me with the open curiosity unique to young children, Haley asked, "Mommy, are you nice?"

I don't remember what I said, only that my first response was to burst out laughing--Actually, I'm not nice; thanks for asking. Kids and horses....good for keeping one humble.

Gotta get--and quit losing--that pair of soft eyes.