Unbridled Love - Two Hearts, Eight Hooves, and a Fence That Never Stood a Chance
Initially, we believed it was temporary relief brought on by a welcoming face in unfamiliar surroundings. We had just moved Flash, our handsome bay Thoroughbred, to a farm just down the road from our new home. The farm is serenely bucolic, replete with sweeping fields, majestic oaks, and most importantly, the very charming owner of the friendly face, a sweet caramel-toned mare named Paige.
This was Day One for Flash at his new farm. Of course, he visits us regularly as we have a large, lush pasture for him to romp in and a roomy stable where he can kick back and relax if the weather becomes inclement. But at this new farm, he’s surrounded by equine buddies and thrives under the compassionate leadership of Sybil, the farm’s overseer, and the dedicated team of horse-loving caregivers. So Flash enjoys the best of both worlds.
Paige, the self-appointed chair of the newcomers' howdy committee, stood in the field adjacent to Flash’s, eyes wide with anticipation as she eagerly awaited him. Before Flash took note of her, she caught my attention. With the most innocent, tender-hearted expression and softest round eyes, it was as though she was gently calling out, “So nice to have you here. Let’s be friends.”
After about 30 hesitant seconds of scanning his field, getting a lay of the land and memorizing the coordinates of the hay pile, Flash locked eyes with Paige. If ever there was a moment of equine love at first sight, this was it. Despite its narcotic-like allure, the hay bale instantaneously became irrelevant, a mere obstacle standing in the way of a beeline to Paige. When she sauntered across the pasture, Flash stood there, transfixed, his gaze deep and longing, like a puppy-love-stricken teen in a tear-jerker rom-com.
Over the next few days, the infatuation morphed into a deep attachment. It took no time for Flash and Paige to spend the vast bulk of the day walking together along the fence that separated their fields. They’d stretch their necks over the fence, nestling cheek to cheek.
They were so attached that it became undeniably clear that keeping these star-crossed lovers in separate fields amounted to an act of cruelty.
I watched as Sybil ceremoniously opened the gate so that Flash could enter paradise, um, I mean Paige’s field, and we could feel the presence of Eros casting arrows of enchantment toward our equine Romeo and Juliet.
From that moment on, Flash and Paige have never been apart. They graze nose-to-nose. They nap side-by-side under the shade of the same tree, as if they’d co-signed a lease on it. If one is led away—even to the opposite side of the same field—the other breaks into operatic whinnies loud enough to concern passing aircraft.
It’s important to share that Flash is a gelding. And yet, even though neutered, something about being with Paige reawakened in him a hint of forgotten instinct—an endorphin-fueled libidinous memory that defied the facts of his condition, which so often is referred to as being “fixed.”
Fixed. Let’s take a quick timeout to address this fascinating word, shall we?
Fixed is so euphemistically extreme as to convey the very opposite of what it means. Oh, sure, the temptation to soften a blow is understandable. After all, it’s far less discomforting for a CEO to inform employees that the company is “rightsizing” rather than firing them.
But the word fixed doesn’t simply lessen the sting. At the very least it implies being restored to a former fully functioning state. But it can also create an expectation of an improved situation, like you’ll be richer or healthier, wiser perhaps, or more morally grounded or spiritually elevated.
Envision for a moment a scenario in which this astoundingly misleading word may have come into being:
Horse: I see you’re setting up the trailer. Are we going somewhere today?
Person: Well, yes, I suppose we are. I didn’t realize you noticed.
Horse: Are you kidding? My favorite thing is heading for an adventure. Oh boy, I hope we’re going to the beach. I love running along the shore, taking in the waves, feeling the cool freshness of the salt water. Oh, please let it be the beach!
Person: Er, well, that’s not exactly the plan for the day.
Horse: Oh, I know, then. We’re going on that scenic trail ride along Finnegan’s Creek. Ahh, so relaxing. Remember that time we spotted a red-tailed hawk sailing breezily along the deep blue sky? I loved that.
Person: (gulp). We’ll do that another day, I promise. But today we’re going to the vet.
Horse: (backing away, scared). The vet? I hate the vet. The last time we were there, they swabbed my ears, and it really tickled. I don’t want to go through that again.
Person: Good news. There will be no tickled ears today.
Horse: Phew, that’s a relief! But if not that, then why are we going? I already had my spring shots.
Person: (frenziedly pondering -- I should have thought of this earlier. What can I possibly tell him? Oh boy, did I get myself into a fix. Wait, fix, that's it!). More good news. No shots today. In fact, Dr. Newman is going to fix you.
Horse: I didn’t think I was broken.
Person: (nervously giggling). Good point. I can explain it this way. You know how you and that gorgeous filly Bella can’t be in the same field because you get excited to the point where it’s impossible to calm you down?
Horse: (sheepishly). Yeah, I suppose. Sorry, I can’t help getting carried away.
Person: Right, like the time you charged right through the fence to get to her. You got a back full of splinters. That really scared me. Luckily, you were okay. Unfortunately, the fence didn’t fare as well. Cost a small fortune to repair.
Horse: (embarrassed, looks away).
Person: So, you know how you think about Bella all the time?
Horse: Yeah, that’s all I do. I can’t help it. She means everything to me.
Person: The good news is that when you’re fixed, it will mean you and Bella can stay in the same field. Live together. No more longing glances from afar. No more wishful thinking about grazing side by side. And most especially, no more of those agonizing unfulfilled romantic urges.
Horse: Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s hop on the trailer this second. If this getting fixed business works out as you say, we can get back by noon and Bella and I will share our first lunch, eating from the same oat trough followed by an afternoon of some serious horsing around. Getting fixed up with Bella is my dream come true.
Person: Hmm, I’m not sure if fixed and fixed up are the same thing in this context. But if that’s a helpful way to think about it, so be it.
At the vet, an hour later.
Horse: (excited). I’m here to get fixed, doc.
Dr. Newman: Fixed? I hadn’t heard that expression before in relation to what we’re doing here today.
Horse: My person says that once I’m fixed, I can stay in the same field as Bella, live with her, spend every waking moment together. And even better, spend every non-waking moment together, if you get my drift, wink, wink.
Dr. Newman: Yes, that’s true. Fixed you will be!
Horse: I am over the moon, doc. And hey, so thoughtful of you to bring those hedge clippers. I suppose you’ll use them to cut some flowers for me to bring to Bella. After all, this is our special day.
Dr. Newman: We’ll get to the flowers shortly. First, I’m going to have you take a short nap, and by the time you wake up you’ll be fixed.
Horse: Getting fixed sounds like the greatest thing ever. Best day of my life!
Ah, the power of words.
And now, Back to Flash and Paige….jpg)
Things reached peak drama one afternoon when I took Flash over to the riding ring for some training and exercise. Although only a scant 150 feet away from the field he and Paige shared, it was evidently too much to bear. Flash whined. Paige pined. Flash pranced distractedly, craning his neck in Paige’s direction. Paige thundered along the fence with all the anxiety of a horse fearful her pasture-mate was seeing someone else. Apparently, 150 feet is the emotional equivalent of exile when your soulmate remains behind.
A squirrel stopped to watch. The barn cat trotted over to check out the commotion. The other horses stopped in their tracks, mesmerized, confused since they had come to see Flash and Paige as a single equine entity. The entire scene was a hoof-pounding, head-tossing spectacle.
I relented this time. Training would have to wait. Flash led the way back to the field. And by led, I mean he practically dragged me.
As soon as Flash set hoof back in the field, the farm exhaled into a state of calm equilibrium. The squirrel went back to collecting acorns. The barn cat, annoyed that her nap was disturbed for nothing, ambled back to her cozy spot in the sun.
A few weeks later, Flash was due for his routine vet check. I led Flash into the stable where Dr. DeNoia, whose great medical skill is matched by her warm demeanor, was waiting. Here, she could check his vitals and get a blood sample. I relied on what proved to be a naïve assumption that a moment of out-of-sight-out-of-mind distraction would prevail. Instead, Flash turned into a hapless character in the third act of a Shakespearian tragedy—baying mournfully, stomping his hoof, casting pleading peeks at the barn door.
Ever resourceful, Dr. DeNoia suggested we bring Paige from the field to be near Flash. Halter and lead rope in hand, I hurried over to get her. Sensing that my mission was intended to reunite her with her love following the interminably long 58 seconds of separation, Paige eagerly bounded over and practically thrust her head into the halter.
As we approached the barn, Flash regained his composure. His body relaxed and his ears flickered forward with delight.
Afterwards, we walked Flash and Paige back to their field. They didn’t so much walk as float—side by side, their unspoken emotions tenderly simmering, like a couple in a Jane Austen novel. They slipped into their well-honed rhythm, muzzles to the grass in subdued synchronicity as if their harrowing separation had been nothing more than a fleeting gust of wind.
Harmony had been restored. The setting sun cast an orange aura around the lovebirds, framing them in soft-edged silhouette.
Indeed, all was fixed.
