Loshenka makeover phase 1 - Is Trust Possible?

An auburn flash, constantly and uncomfortably whirring, its view only momentarily available through the rusted bars of a moving trailer’s slim window. The white of an eye twitching alongside it in the cramped trailer signalled that it’d be a long time before the turbulence barely contained inside it would transform into an entity familiar with peace. A winding road had started building up at the family barn’s gate that solemn morning.

A tall, middle aged man rushed to step out of the driver’s seat belonging to the truck that had towed the trailer. Walking up to the spot I inhabited by the muddy driveway, I could see the long drive’s toll on his tired, ageing features. 

He had insisted on shaking hands as he greeted me; his cold, rough-calloused palm feeling out of place in mine. Cautiously, his gaze turned back towards the trailer. “Could barely get her in, not to mention the drive itself…” he admitted. I nervously sighed, not knowing how to reply.

 His claims had not been reassuring after weeks of relentless discouraging words told to me by my family members upon learning I’d be taking part in the Makeover. Those words swarming my mind and contributing to the growing pit in my stomach, I inevitably followed the man up to the trailer, its contents still lively, agitatedly fidgeting inside.

In my fifteen years of handling and training the animals so beloved by me, I had never heard a horse as ferociously vocal and avoidant of touch as the newly revealed ginger mare had been. The sight of her attempting to rear onto the man who had previously nearly failed to load her yet seemed unaware of the danger she could pose at that moment was enough to stop me in my tracks for several seconds. It did not occur to me that I had dug myself into a pit so deep upon signing up for this project on a whim. 

After I had let the panic wash over me, momentarily unaware of my surroundings, I came to and realised the guy standing in front of me, dangerously fumbling in an attempt to release the frightened mare from the trailer, ignoring her clearly displayed behaviours was likely not fit to handle her. I was not one to confront others even when I believed they were harmfully wrong, but the mare had called to me. Vocally and visually. I knew I had to do something, I owed it to her.

In a step nearly as rash as the steps the mare had taken inside the trailer she’d been shoved in against her every will, I stepped towards her and hastily grabbed her lead rope from the guy’s cold grasp. “Get back.” I implored, nudging him aside until he eventually stepped outside the trailer. The mare unexpectedly calmed, regardless of my sudden movements made in the heat of the moment. I did not dare touch her yet, opting to simply try and lead her out of the trailer to safety as a first step. I hoped I’d be able to achieve that gently.

At the slight tug of the lead rope the mare’s insistent stubbornness began to show. She seemed reluctant to accept any sort of pressure, perhaps she’d been handled forcefully by her previous owners. After several unfruitful attempts, the man appeared back at my side, seemingly ready to finally satisfy his end of the deal and make sure the mare exited his vehicle by any means necessary. As his slender arms reached up to her haltered head she violently flinched, more than she had before. I had to remove him from the situation, one way or another, or else the three of us could end up tangled in a life threatening mess. 

I quickly reached deep into my jean pocket for the treats I had put inside especially for the occasion and grabbed hold of the mare’s lead rope once again. The frail horse was quick to yield to me once she saw the food I had, offering a few steps in the trailer door’s direction. The guy backed away again at this new sight. 

Several treats later she had agreed to step outside into the settled and quiet morning mist. The newly shed light on the mare’s body uncovered a few crucial truths regarding her condition. She appeared malnourished; her eagerness to accept food, even when in small quantities and the sad sight of her ribs slightly showing through her beautiful brown-red coat made her bodily condition obvious to me.

Moreover, her long, boney legs had numerous long, crossed over scars on their round surface. The scars had looked scarily artificial, a person had to have cut into her legs or beat those scars into her. I could not fathom the gravity of her previous situation just yet. And there she was, loudly neighing in the ends of our property, fickle and nervous to be in a new place. Despite all the uncertainty following what she’d been through before I’d known her, she was seemingly steadier on her feet than she had been the previous moment. I couldn’t help but be surprised by her engrossing endurance, but I realized she was a sudden, big weight on my shoulders too. I did not know what our future would hold, but she had shown me a sliver of trust and taking care of her had then been up to me regardless.

The unpleasant guy soon nodded off, leaving our barn through the dirt driveway as suddenly as he entered it, this time without a mysteriously loud mare stationed directly behind him. Seeing him go was a relief, although it didn’t fully make up for my insecurities as far as taking care of the unpredictable mare I had just gained went. I could only hope time and training would do their needed job, along with making sure her malnutrition was swiftly taken care of. 

I opted to turn the mare out in the lushest field I could offer, leaving her untouched in the meantime and letting her get anything needed out of her system for a few weeks. I noticed her demeanor loosening up as the days went by and her rare interactions with the neighboring horses on my property were a joy to watch.

I found myself pondering what had been done to her in the past quite often. Seeing a horse as beaten up as her was not a daily occurrence and my family was fast to comment on her poor condition. Their faith in my choice to go down this dangerous path was dwindling, and their remarks were often at the forefront of my mind when I walked by her pasture.

Two weeks after turning her I thought I’d walk by her as I often did, however, I wanted to see if she’d eat treats off my hand as she did the first day. 

The treats were gladly accepted by her, at which point I carefully placed my palm near her snout. She breathed my scent in, staying in place wearily. I felt as though she was showing me her gratitude, even if her way of expressing it was subtle and undocumented. 

I hoped mutual trust was possible, despite the hurdles we’d have to overcome.