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~~ANOTHER CHANCE ~~ ~~EQUINE RESCUE~~

~THE HORSE WHISPERER~

~ABOUT US~
~GUIDELINES~
~ IN LOVING MEMORY ~
~HORSE TRANSPORT~
~THANK YOU~
~HAPPY SNAPS~
~PHOTOS~
~THE HORSE WHISPERER~
~SOME OF OUR PAST RESCUES~
~SUCCESS STORIES~
~INFORMATION ON HORSES AVAILABLE~
~HORSES IN REHAB~
~ RESCUES AVAILABLE FOR SALE~~
~RIDEAGLE HORSES~
~HORSES FOR ADOPTION~
~HORSES RECENTLY RE-HOMED~

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The Horse Whisperer
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I grew up around horses and was always amazed to watch my father and grandfather use their special talent.  My father would never admit he had an extraordinary gift, but all who knew him could tell you he did.  To him, he was only doing what came naturally and accepted it as a part of life and his heritage.   He always told me that our Ancestors could talk to animals and understand what was in their hearts.  It was just part of being who he is.

Horses have an uncanny instinct when it comes man.   There are some individuals that seem to be able to win over a horse more quickly than others and my father is one such man.   It was not uncommon for a neighbor to bring a stubborn colt to our farm and hand it over to my dad to be "broken."   My father always objected to that term.  "A broken horse is worthless," he'd remark, "so let's make a friend instead."  After the owner would leave, my father would begin his ritual to "befriend" the four-legged visitor.

In the beginning, the horse was always nervous and showed the whites of its eyes as it tried to size-up its situation.  My dad would stand at a distance and talk in his low voice, barely audible, and often not understandable.   The horse seldom took its eyes from him while he talked and made slow movements of his hands, like a snake-charmer's flute.  Sometimes my father would sit down on the ground in the center of the corral and continue to speak in a mixture of a chant and a song.  The horse seemed as if it could not take its eyes from him and soon would inch nearer and lower its head to listen closer to what my father was saying.

Occasionally something would spook the animal and it would turn on its heels and run to the farthest point inside the fence, but soon curiosity or fascination would overcome it, and slowly it would make its way back to a spot only a few feet from my father.  It seldom took long before the horse was close enough to extend its graceful neck and flare its nostrils to memorize the scent of this man who held its attention.

Before very much time had passed, the horse and my father were touching and communicating in some strange method that I never quite understood.   Slowly and gently, my father moved his hands over the horse's body, never stopping his low chant.  He'd talk and the horse would snort and nod its head, as if agreeing to some bargain they'd struck.  In no time the horse would follow him around the paddock like it was on a lead rope.

No matter what new step he took, my father would whisper to the horse until it seemed to acknowledge his words, then he'd continue with the process.   First a bridle, then a blanket over its back and finally a saddle, all the time whispering and talking to the horse as he worked his magic.  A step was never taken until the horse willingly permitted him to continue. 

I never saw a horse buck him when he mounted it the first time and it was always done bareback.  Sometimes, but not often, my father would sense the uncertainly of his mount and slip from its back to retry this step a little later.  Most of the time, he only needed to lean forward and whisper gently to the horse to settle it and urge it to carry him where he wanted to go.  He guided the animal with soft words and shifting his body on its back or nudging it with his legs.   It was magic and I never grew tired of watching the Horse Whisperer at work.

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anotherchance10@hotmail.com

PICK UP AND DELIVERY OF HORSES: WEEKDAYS 10am - 3pm BY APPOINTMENT

VISITING HOURS: WEEKDAYS AND SATURDAYS BY APPOINTMENT

~Phone: 07 5463 8350 anytime~

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This site was created in December 2004 by ACER ęCopyright 2004,  All Rights Reserved. No part of this site or any material within this site may be used without the expressed written permission from the author.