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BUTCH, THE HORSSEE WWHO BELIEVED N MY DAUGHTER
Jodi Buchan, Bemidji, Minnesota
While raising my ten-year-old child, Katie, who has profound mental retardation, my family experienced many encounters with the two-legged cherubic kind — or what I like to think of as earthly manifestations of guardian angels. What I didnt expect to come across was one with four hooves and a whinny who tucked his Pegasus-sized wings beneath his saddle.
Butch, a retired chestnut gelding, standing about 14 hands high, was one of the horses at SMaRT, the Snow Mountain Ranch Therapeutic Riding Program at the YMCA of the Rockies in Fraser, Colorado, where I took Katie for therapeutic riding. When corralled in with the mares, Butch would thrust his maleness in the direction of every potential mate. Since Im not an equine specialist, I cant say if this was typical behavior, but I came to learn that Butch was not a typical horse. Whether the mares responded with a kick or a stampede, he was not deterred.
On the other hoof, whenever he assumed his role as therapy horse, his stride became patient and gentle. His slow, rhythmic, and repetitive gait and the natural movement of his hindquarters influenced his riders, improving their core strength, range of motion, and stamina. It seemed that whatever his mission, be it misguided mating attempts or guided therapy activities, wherever his heart led him, Butchs dedication was unflappable.
Butch was not merely the object of modality, as his purpose is described on paper in grants to funding organizations and reports to medical partners.
The breadth of Butchs contribution to the multidisciplinary therapy team, helping clients with movement, communication, and behavior is broader than that of his four-wall office counterparts: the hammock-like net swing and the padded, tubular bolster. These are. tools for aiding a therapist in creating positions that strengthen weak neck muscles or challenge balance for their clients, but the net swing and bolster are still inanimate objects. These aids can be useful, even stimulating, but they cannot come close to duplicating the immeasurable benefits of the human-animal bond.
By the time midsummer 1997 came around, Butch and my daughter, Katie, had developed an unspoken understanding, a trust between rider and provider.
Katies Breakthrough
At the beginning of one therapy session, I brought Katie to the base of the wooden mounting ramp. Off in the pine-framed meadow, Rose, the program director, led Butch by the reins. Her golden hair lassoed into a ponytail, Rose led a sun-ripened band of three volunteers who trailed behind Katie and Butch.
Katie didnt look directly at any of them. She tipped her head. Using her peripheral vision to briefly glance in their direction, Katie made a guttural note of excited anticipation-her version of language. I held onto Katies arm as she circled and circled in a jig, similar to what she does when waiting for her school bus to pick her up.
Once Butch was safely between the mounting platform and another elevated wooden base, he stood still and patiently remained with his colleagues. Rose took my daughter up the ramp and guided Katies hands to the saddle horn. She lifted Katies right leg over the saddle. A second volunteer, standing on the platform across from Rose, put Katies foot into a stirrup. When Katie was centered, Rose said, Katie, tell Butch to walk on.
Katie smiled, unresponsive to Roses request. Aside from various pitches of sound indicating her excitement or discomfort, Katies only other form of expressing herself was through an adapted sign language. This was limited to eat, drink, and occasionally more, along with a turn away of her head for no. We all waited for any kind of response.
Rose repeated the prompt. Katie waited for something to happen, seemingly content just to sit on Butch. Rose waited and repeated the verbal cue a third time. While we listened for any kind of sound from my daughter, the volunteers watched her feet for a slight kicking movement, another way a nonverbal rider could tell Butch she was ready to go.
Finally a volunteer on each side of the horse lifted Katies feet to help her tap Butchs flanks. Rose spoke for Katie and cheerfully said, Walk on, and they all headed toward the corral.
Katies usually curved, slumped posture straightened. She lifted her head and beamed a smile of pride to the audience — me. I swallowed her joy in a lump and claimed it for my own. Katie has had little to say in her own life, and she attempts whatever is asked of her. In spite of significant challenges, she is completely trusting and seems at peace with her circumstances. In that moment I filled with admiration at the way she sat upon Butch. My daughter, my Katie, my Dale Evans.
Engaged in fun and motivated by Butch, Katie didnt recognize that she had been positioned on him to achieve therapeutic goals. They were goals that would help her to walk with more stability, sit and stand with a stronger spine, and engage in developing communication. The fact that the assisted motion of mounting him was the same for getting into the bathtub at home — a specific life skill — was an added bonus. Therapy was boring. Butch was inspiring.
After he walked in the corral, Butch matched his gait to the stride of the volunteer holding his lead rope. The other two volunteers, who were walking on either side for the riders safety, helped Katie pull back slightly on the reins to stop Butch. They added a whoa for her. They handed Katie a plastic ring and guided her hands to drop the ring over a fence post.
Next, they wove their path around barrels, stepped over a row of logs, and even turned Katie around to ride Butch backward. Butch was in sync through it all, even to the point of helping to right his rider by giving a little bump of his bum when she started to slide out of position. To offer Katie and Butch a change of scenery, they all headed out to a trail in the woods.
At the end of nearly an hour riding backward, forward, and sideways, Katies stamina faded. She still smiled but was physically exhausted. As they walked back toward me, before they had even reached a halt, Rose said to me, Katie said, Walk on.
She did? I asked, a tone of disbelief in my voice.
Katie didnt talk. Ever.
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