Thursday
March 16, 2000
Syria, Virginia

I have not written about Syria for a long time. I wrote heavily last fall. In truth, Syria has been its typical dull village-self this winter. Just not much has happened. There was one extremely large snowdrift, which adopted my driveway, and made life very interesting for ten days. Oh, and one of the roofers gashed his arm using the tin cutter at the Dorsey House. They had to call an ambulance for him. I was not home at the time, so I got the story from Michele the next day.

In the Darkness, A Gift.

This is a warm spring night in the Rose River valley. Rain has fallen steadily for several hours. Gentle, quiet rain.

I worked until nine when I took Reilly O’Dog and Moxxie Roo for a trudge across the pasture. Our friend Tez is out in the rain, and we think it might get cool later on, so we will put the horse in his house. For comfort.

Tezzeray was asleep standing up in the paddock when we arrived. He truly loves rain, and it is not unusual for him to nap soundly on his feet with his muzzle near the ground, water steadily dripping from his ears.

He showed no interest in going to his stall until I brought a load of fresh hay for him.  I stayed for a while to chat with my friend.

I do not know which of us has changed the most during the five years of our questionable friendship. He is a large animal with a small brain. Most of his training comes from Mother Nature in the form of instinct. While they are amazingly adaptable animals, adaptive behaviors in horses are geared around two primal needs: how to get more food, and how to avoid events which frighten them. Horses react as prey animals do by avoiding life-threatening stresses.  Mostly, they are reactive animals, not creative problem-solvers. Except for my horse, who has taught himself systematically how to open every gate on the farm including his stall door. We’ve spent a fortune in brass hooks and bungie cords bullet proofing the farm from Tezzeray’s agile lips and fertile brain.

We even train horses according to their own rules by communicating to them on a consistent basis that we, their humans, are “alpha” horses to whom they must subordinate their behaviors.

Tezzeray has not always believed the part about my being the “alpha” member of the team. He’s a lot larger and stronger than I am, and he’s quite aware of that.   He is also the aggressive alpha horse in the pasture with his herd. When my horse is irritated or frightened, I’m very careful around him in close quarters. He earned his nickname. The Axe Murderer.  Now that he is a nine-year-old Arabian horse, and growing into attitudinal maturity, we hope to retire that handle soon.  They say that Arabs mature and settle down around ten years of age. Tez turned nine on February 15th.

Tonight my horse is in a good mood. You can see it in his personal body language which is, after all, the language horses use to communicate with other horses. I call this relaxed, attentive state Tez’s Smile. There is a satisfied acceptance and passivity to him which I have learned to read over the years.

When I removed his halter, he asked me to dry his face.  He loves to have his head towel dried after a bath or a good rain. Tonight we did not have a towel handy, so we used the sleeve of my Hawaii Volcanoes National Park sweatshirt.

When Tez was satisfied that his face and ears were dry enough, he rested his mouth against my forehead. He was noisily chewing and blowing his hot breath against my face. The rain dripped softly from the overhang, and we stayed together: face to face, the muted, staccato echo of his teeth working the strands of hay, humid breath bathing my skin.

The dogs and I walked home, and I thought to myself: Serenity.  This is my nucleus of peace. With whom can I share the experience of this perfect feeling? It was not a desire grown out of loneliness, but a desire to give another human being this heart light.

My horses have always given me this gift of perfect, sustaining joy. So let the rain fall on my pasture, and let there be liquid Spring nights to engage in my silent, smiling conversations with Tezzeray.

It’s very late, the rain is ending. Reilly O’Dog and Moxxie Roo have just this instant given the Rabbit Alarm, so they’re off bounding through the darkness, snarling and baying their revenge on our neighbors, the Arrogant Rabbits. I cautioned the boys that this had well and truly better be a Rabbit Alarm and not a Skunk Alert. The penalties for a late night skunking are dire and to be dreaded by doggers.  –sww