Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved. |
Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of the day Miskwaki crossed the downed fence onto our side. I know I've posted updates about his progress, but today's the anniversary of those sickening photos Wings took to document the shape he was in.
For those who don't remember, or who have never seen them, be sure you're ready to look at these:
Photo copyright Wings, 2013; all rights reserved. |
Photo copyright Wings, 2013; all rights reserved. |
Photo copyright Ajijaakwe, 2014; all rights reserved. |
This is what my boy looks like now.
He's so mellow, so eager to please, so happy. But he's not healed yet.
We're working on desensitization. Certain things still scare the hell out of him, chief among them being the prospect of someone riding him. When he meets people for the first time, he's still wary, and he doesn't really trust anyone except the two of us. But he's no longer head-shy (well, at least not with me), and despite his history of abuse, he's fine now with the presence of the so-called "carrot stick," as long as it's my hand that's holding it.
He's also very intuitive to my mood and responsive to my voice. If I'm upset or sad, he'll come and lean his big beautiful head against me. If I want him to do something — or, more likely, stop whatever he's doing — it usually only takes one command.
Those are huge strides in the space of a year for a horse that was beaten, starved, otherwise abused and neglected, and psychologically deeply scarred.
Last year, when I was going through some stuff I'd rather not discuss, renzo told me to ask the "magic horse" — Miskwaki — for help. I did. And apparently, it worked. I'm still here, he's still here, and at the moment, the world looks pretty good.
He's also very intuitive to my mood and responsive to my voice. If I'm upset or sad, he'll come and lean his big beautiful head against me. If I want him to do something — or, more likely, stop whatever he's doing — it usually only takes one command.
Those are huge strides in the space of a year for a horse that was beaten, starved, otherwise abused and neglected, and psychologically deeply scarred.
Last year, when I was going through some stuff I'd rather not discuss, renzo told me to ask the "magic horse" — Miskwaki — for help. I did. And apparently, it worked. I'm still here, he's still here, and at the moment, the world looks pretty good.
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