Killacky: In The Winter Stable

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(Host) Commentator John Killacky is Executive Director of the Flynn.
When he’s not in the theater, he’s often found at a barn working with
his Shetland pony. Here he shares another story about his equine.

(Killacky)
Late one night after work, recently, I drove out to the barn in
Williston to exercise my Shetland pony. The weather was freezing cold.
Lights were off and the barn doors were closed, as the horses had
settled in for the night.

Turning on a few lights, I took my
pony into the indoor arena and let her loose to run free. What fun we
had, me with my walking cane and the lungeing whip, and her bucking with
legs akimbo, darting and swerving around me in ever changing circles,
trotting with gleeful abandon.

When I ambled around the
perimeter, she followed just out of reach. I had brought along treats
for encouragement. She inched up to me, stretching out her neck and lips
to grab an apple biscuit, and then darted away. We eyed other at
opposite ends of the arena. Cuing off each other’s shoulders, we
followed the other’s lead in an exquisite dance.

When I sat down
to rest, she meandered toward me and gingerly reached for another
treat. Then encouraging me with a nudge, she zipped out of arm’s reach
to begin the game again.

There were only the two of us, but it
wasn’t silent in the quiet arena: her hooves flying over the uneven dirt
and her steamy breath filled the space. Sounds also rushed in from
outside, horses stirring in their stalls and an occasional passing car
provided accompaniment to our wintry tango.

Eventually, she let
me know she was done frolicking. Nuzzling my shoulder, she put her head
through the halter and I led her back to her stall. Once I gave her some
fresh hay, she was done with me, so I put on her blanket and turned out
the lights.

It is such a profound gift to be in relationship with
this animal, as it requires me to be fully present: no past, no future,
just now. What happened that evening had no agency the next morning;
each day we begin afresh. When she greets me with a whinny, I interpret
it as, "What do you have for me today?"

With every visit, I need
to show up fully. If I try to rush through grooming and cleaning
hooves, or lose focus in a training session, it guarantees frustration
for both pony and me. Most of our work time together involves me
harnessing her to a cart in which I sit, reins in hand, but I must
always change the routine, as bored equines test their owners.

Not
all of our interactions are hands on. Even in winter, quiet time is
spent with me alongside her in the field; that is if the snow isn’t
waist high for both of us and I remember to bring along hand warmers for
my gloves. Not so much dancing here – but more like a blissful
co-existence for which I am deeply grateful.

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