The Horse

In Jackson Hole

The Horse

Back in the day, my brother and sister-in-law, Mark and Ileen, lived in a trailer in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Right next to their humble digs was a spacious corral that came with the trailer. Being avid riders, they owned two horses. One was a beautiful, huge roan gelding named Chester. The other was a smaller, also beautiful, totally gray stallion named Zane.

The corral was where the horses stayed when not on the trail, and it seems that there was not much riding being done of late because Chester had a sore hoof. For several weeks, the two of them had shared the twice daily task of taking the blue rubber boot from Chester’s hoof; washing the hoof with a tincture of alcohol, iodine, and liniment; wrapping the hoof with a fresh linen gauze; pouring a few ounces of a mild antibiotic medicine into the boot, and putting it back on the hoof. Chester was a very mellow fellow and a most patient patient. He allowed them to lift his left front hoof much as a farrier might to nail on a new shoe. Yet, now after so many weeks, the task had become a seemingly endless chore. The hoof was healing, but ever so slowly.

Rikki and I made our usual summer road trip from Denver to see them. It’s about a nine hour drive the first two of which are through verdant Colorado. The next four are along dry, dusty, and nearly treeless US-80 in Wyoming. The final three are up the pleasant yet seemingly endless canyon road from Rock Springs to Jackson. The town of a bit over ten thousand permanent residents is especially lovely in the summer. With the tourist season still months away, it was easy to find a hotel room, a table at a restaurant, and roads without much traffic.

We checked into our hotel and then drove the few blocks to visit. In passing the corral, we noted the blue boot and knew that something was wrong with their favorite horse. My brother filled us in on the details. They had taken the horses out on one of the trails in Grand Teton National Park and Chester stepped on a rusty nail that must have been thrown long ago from some horse’s shoe. It pierced the cleft in the frog on the bottom of his hoof. It was a nasty wound.

“And now that you’re here, dear brother,” he said, “you are officially in charge of his daily foot care. I’ll show you once ... easy-peasy, but just one thing, be very careful of the gray horse. He’s a rescue Mustang and has a mean streak. I think he gets jealous of all the attention Chester is getting.”

“What is he liable to do?”

“Oh, he could butt you when you’re not expecting it or he could take a nip. Then again, even though you’re not a horse, he could back into you and put hoof prints on your butt. You never know with feisty Mr. Zane there. Just keep your distance and don’t ever turn your back on him.”

“Any relation to Zane Gray, the author?”

“Everything. Clever, yes?”

So, each morning of our stay, at around 8:30, I’d walk into the corral with all the necessary items. Chester would huff an acknowledgment and the gray would give me the skunk eye. I’d take a glance his way and he’d go back to munching on hay. At 5:00 each afternoon, I’d repeat the process – wash out the boot, clean the hoof, apply the tincture, wrap the hoof, put the meds in the boot, and put it back on him. Before and after each treatment, I’d pat his neck and talk to him about how important it was to keep his hoof in that boot. I’d tell him to think positive thoughts and to tell himself that he was healing. Just common horse sense, after all. Chester seemed to welcome the patting; not so much the advice. As horses go, he was a teenager.

About four days in of our six day stay, it was evident that the hoof was healing. The infection was gone, at least so far as I could see. There was no swelling and it wasn’t painful to finger probes. His frog, the V shaped structure on the bottom of the hoof was clear and solid as was the cleft. No evidence of a puncture wound at all.

Mark took a look and said that in maybe another day or so we could stop the treatments. We’d then let him put that hoof on the ground and see how he responds. So the next evening, just before we were to leave, Chester would go “barefoot.” I thought he’d want to know our plans, so for the next three treatments including my last one, I told him what to expect. As I finished his last treatment late that Thursday afternoon, I talked to him for a rather long time. He’d eat some, and give me that what are you trying to tell me kind of sideways glance. Finished with his treatment and the sermon, I picked up the pail with all the paraphernalia, and started a slow walk toward the corral gate.

Rikki and Ileen were standing at the fence and asking me questions about his hoof and if I thought he needed another treatment tomorrow. The three of us were pretty deep in conversation until I noted that they had stopped talking and were just staring. And then I felt a warm head resting on my right shoulder and a face soft up against my cheek. Wow, Chester must be saying thanks for all the discussions and rabbinic advice, I thought.

But it wasn’t Chester; it was the gray, and he was not going anywhere. He just stood there and kept his head on my shoulder and his face up against mine. I reached up slowly and stroked his cheek and rubbed his nose. He pushed his face closer into mine and grunted – a breathy grunt of contentment. We stood that way for countless minutes, me and the mean horse, the biter, the butt kicker. I petted and he nuzzled. Mark came out and saw, but Ileen shushed him before he could cry out a warning. They both settled into quiet amazement.

For me it was a spiritual moment. The sun was almost resting on top of the Teton mountain range, a warm gentle breeze was passing through the trees surrounding the corral, and a supposedly dangerous horse had come up behind me and placed his entire head firmly against mine while resting it ever so gently on my shoulder. Do horses give hugs, show appreciation, even love? I don’t know. I’m not horseman. I’ve ridden for maybe three hours total. I love to watch horses though, and be around them. They are magnificent animals in looks, strength, and stamina. In taming them, they have for millennia played a great part in helping humankind progress – tilling, reaping, toting, moving us along.

I like to think that Zane noticed that I had taken good care of his corral mate, and this was his way of showing gratitude ... or, perhaps, it was his way of saying they’ve got me all wrong, I’m a good horse ... or, perhaps, it was his way of saying we could both use a hug today ... or, perhaps, it could be that he was giving me a sweet farewell, as if to say, I know you’re leaving. Chester and I are both going to miss you. Hurry on back, ya hear? And now, each time I see a horse or am in one’s presence, I remember the feel of Zane’s hug. Yep, pardner, an unexpected act of kindness is unforgettable.