The three of us giggled through a few verses of 99 Bottles of Beer On The Wall in a moment of levity amidst the tension of loading Rudy onto the trailer. I sensed Anna's impatience as she waited. We had been at it for forty-five minutes. Rudy was being a champ and giving it his all. I made a mistake early in the process that set him back and caused him to be afraid. There was no time to dwell on the past.
I blindfolded Rudy several minutes earlier, and he was looking to me for reassurance. Rudy's fear was palpable. I sensed an internal battle within him one to flee and the other to trust me. His body trembled as he took one small step after another. He periodically touched his muzzle to my forearm, which he does when connected to me.
Rudy reacts to human energy, both calm and anxious. If I was going to be successful in getting him on the trailer, I had to manage myself. I needed to be present and in my body. I focused on sending my energy down my legs into my feet. I sensed my feet firmly on the ground as I breathed deeply and slowly.
A previous trainer suggested singing when I was on edge with Rudy. She said that singing helped regulate the nervous system. I used this technique ever since. I sang when we walked together, and something worried Rudy. I sang when I rode him and became aware I was tense or fearful thoughts flashed through my mind. Singing helped us.
I put aside my worry of judgment, aligned myself with what I knew to be true for me and my horse, and started singing our favorite song. "And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you, Buddy (my substitution for "Honey"), And everything will bring a chain of love." I always liked Danny's Song by Loggins and Messina, and Rudy responded positively to it, so it was my go-to. In between verses and good-boy's, Rudy stepped into the trailer.
His body trembled as he plunged his head into the bucket and snatched a bite of grain. I didn't dare move. I stood with him and focused on feeling my feet. I grounded myself with everything I had as I breathed in slowly and exhaled long before I cautiously stepped backward out of the trailer.
When we arrived at the new barn, I was anxious to open the trailer doors. A wave of relief swept through me when I saw Rudy's blindfold had slipped down. He was nervous but not panicked. Rudy carefully stepped off the trailer and wasted no time self-regulating with an energetic roll. Anna's relief was evident as she hopped off and took in her surroundings.
The move was over, and the horses were safe. It wasn't perfect. I made the error of clipping Rudy the first time he got on the trailer, which caused him to panic. I knew I shouldn't clip him, but the hauler wanted him secured. I allowed her desire to override my knowledge of what was best for my horse. I vowed never to go against my knowing where Rudy was concerned.
The disappointment in myself was brief, for I was elated by the trust Rudy and I displayed in each other. I sensed his flightiness in the seconds we stood next to each other in the trailer. He toggled between acting on his instinct and trusting our bond. I struggled to stand in the presence of my frightened 1,300-pound horse. We both chose trust over fear. I learned that trust doesn't have to be an all-or-nothing proposition. It can be hesitant and indecisive, but trust, nonetheless.
By Diane R. Jones
February 2, 2025
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