Wrangler Dani

Today I am grateful. I’m grateful for a job that, as my roommate put it, I can say “Yay!” about. I’m grateful for small, shy smiles, for tiny triumphs, for sunshine on my face, for grumpy horses who suddenly behave just in time.

Today I am grateful, because Ben rode a horse, while wearing a helmet, and SMILED.  I’ve been teaching him for four weeks and have yet to see a smile. I’ve seen anger on his face, frustration, petulance, fear, and obstinancy.  He’s run away from me, hit me, yelled at me, and resisted all attempts to ride or wear a helmet while riding, all of which just makes my job that much harder.  He doesn’t understand much of what’s happening, he’s scared, overstimulated, resistant to change, especially change brought on by creatures with four hooves and a great deal of hair.

He lives in a world where he’s the only one who thinks this way.  He doesn’t believe that we want to help, doesn’t understand how something as unpleasant as straddling a horse and wearing a plastic hat buckled beneath his chin can be good.  He feels understandably isolated, communicating in a language only he knows and constantly having choices made for him, rather than by him.

But today was different. He was on Polly, our ornery mare who, ironically, all the kids love, and I was nervous about him riding without a helmet. “Look, Ben,” I said, holding the helmet up and putting it on my own head. “You have to put it on. It’s not bad.”

To my shock, he lowered his head and I slipped the helmet onto touseled blonde hair, buckling it beneath his chin, feeling disbelief and uncontrollable joy coursing through me.  He lifted his eyes to mine and smiled shyly, the first tender smile sneaking out after weeks of insecurity.

Well heck, I thought, might as well shoot for the moon. “Ask Polly to walk, Ben,” I said, still expecting a meltdown as soon as he recognized his own compliance. “Wa,” he huffed, again making eye-contact with me and seemingly genuinely gratified as the volunteers guided his horse in response to his command.

We only made two turns around the arena. The reins often dropped from Ben’s hands and he sometimes seemed far away. But today I have learned to be grateful for, and triumph in, the little things. Half-uttered phrases, uncertain smiles and the completely unexpected hug for me when he’d safely dismounted, was all I needed to triumph today.