Starting this summer, up until today in November, I have been in and out of the hospital four times. It's depressing. I'm restricted in my activities. It's a struggle to get outside and remind my horses and ponies that I love them. I can't even feed them because the motion of tossing flakes of hay might rip some stitches. The poop scooping is another motion that is forbidden and I have to leave it to my family and friends.
I am reminded to a book from my childhood: Album of Horses. Marguerite Henry wrote the script and Wesley Dennis did the brilliant illustrations. My copy was published in 1957, although the copyright is 1951. The book is still in print, and in my opinion, it will never be outdated.
Album of Horses, ostensibly for youngsters, provides information, with words and pictures, about various horse breeds. The list is far from complete, but the book has inspired a love of horses in several generations - starting with mine. Towards the end of the book is a chapter titled The Routine of Happiness. I will not spoil the story by summarizing it here, because I feel any horse lover who has not read the book should go out and find a copy. Older readers will enjoy the book as much as young ones.
Right now, at this point in my life, I can relate to the message in the story. I am not ready to retire, and I want to return to my own routine of happiness.
My routine is one that my husband does not share with delight, but for me the daily chores make me happy, and at this juncture of life I cannot engage in them. It's depressing.
Of course, if you know me personally, you know I work with youngsters and a few adults who want to learn to ride. However, I am always more concerned with teaching folks how to communicate with horses. I especially enjoy seeing the animals engage with people who have learning disabilities.
The lessons are only a small part of my pleasure, and are not always part of my routine.
My routine begins when I wake up. The first thing I do, after I take my prescribed pills, is feed my animals. My dog gets the first meal, but the horses follow immediately. Most of the equines get their flakes of alfalfa, but three of them get medication. I prepare a doctored mash I have soaked overnight. While they are eating I do the first round of pooper scooping. My husband, especially, hates the manure gathering, but I find it a relatively pleasant way to stretch my muscles and relax my mind. (See the older blog Zen of Poop.) Before I leave the barn in the morning I set out food for the next feeding. Then I call the dog, and pluck some chickweed and/or clover for my pet budgies. Back in the house with my old pooch, I will finally have my own breakfast.
Some days I will teach lessons or train a horse, but not every day.
The equines are fed again mid-afternoon. Two of them get mash as well as alfalfa. Again I scoop. Checking the manure is a good way to assess the health of my animals.
The last feeding occurs before I go to bed. I get to tell them all I love them. That final feeding is sort of like reading a child a book at bedtime (maybe an excerpt from The Album of Horses,) and tucking them in.
The next morning I will start the same routine all over again. It makes my happy. I admit that weather can curtail some of my pleasure. I am not a big fan of extreme heat, and the rain can be a damper. (Pun intended.) Ice has been a challenge in the past years. However, the act of caring for my animals is always satisfying.
These days I have to leave my chores to other people. Sure, I go outside as often as I can, but I have been instructed not to lift a flake, and certainly I have been told the motion of hefting a manure fork could be dangerous to my internal healing.
People who care about me tell me to relax and enjoy the time off as I heal, but I have to admit watching someone else perform my chores and interact with my horses makes me anxious.
I want the routine. It is central to keeping my heart beating. I feel useful when I care for my animals, but I know, for now, I need to let them care for me.
My goal is healing; to get back to work; to return to my routine of happiness.
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