Week 33 - Past and Presence

I think I said last time I visited here that Reggie and I had dipped our toes / hooves into Intelligent Horsemanship. We didn't buy any branded material when we were on the course as Reggie has no money (ever!) and I didn't have the courage or knowledge to "brand" myself in anything. I figured wearing the logo was just going to invite conversations I was neither competent nor willing to have and so.... we avoided the branding and mostly went under cover.

As it happens I / we learned more than I could ever have hoped for. I was the only owner who took my horse and Reggie offered himself up for demos on loading, saddle fitting & join up. I wasn't very good at join up so it was with some relief that I was advised "this horse doesn't need join up". Phew.

Lauren and I went to a Monty Roberts demonstration last night. It was fantastic. Here's the lessons I am carrying from that and the course:

a) Make it easy for the horse to do the right thing
b) Fear is no basis for a partnership, everything that can be achieved with fear can be achieved without and doesn't damage the partnership.
c) Horses way outstrip people in Emotional Intelligence.
d) There was a time that I believed I was teaching Reggie (Mila and Marley). I now see they've been teaching me.

There are days that I worry that I am not doing the right or enough "work" with Reg. He has no such doubts, he knows what lesson we are on and picks up where we left off.

Way back in April I had the privilege of watching Rachel (on the Yard) work with Ronnie. At the time what she was doing looked like magic. I asked, she pointed and I walked in that direction.

Then there was a day when Penny donated a day to Reggie and I to walk together in the Mendips. I said something like "he's scared of water" and Penny taught us how to play, in water, in a stream.

To my mind, until today, that wasn't work. I thought it was fun and that work would start when I could discipline myself to get in the school regularly enough to see some "progress". I therefore missed all the progress there was.

I was out in the Mendips again today with Penny, Branwen and Reggie. Mid journey I noticed that it's me who "frames" what work is and that in fact when I frame it differently they boy has been working his socks off. I just hadn't noticed.

So here's what I noticed, after that thought......

Penny and I passed two spots. One was Mila's "bolting hill" and the other was the tree that's the memorial for Indie. We were both moved by the weight of the past and the contrast between the high octane, adrenaline fuelled pelts around the hills that Mila and Indie took and the irredescent calm generated by Branwen and Reg.  The calm made space for remembering and so we did and Reg and Bran walked in almost funereal silence accompanying our remembering with the slowed hoof beat of respect. He gives me space and teaches me I need that.

Reg tripped mahoosively as we were on our way out, both front knees to the floor. Nothing in me worried, he used every ounce of his strength to keep us both safe and I was humbled. Two thirds of the way round Reg lost a hind leg into a bog. The propulsion he called upon to release himself shot us  forward at a beautiful (and most unexpected) canter. Nothing in me worried, he used every ounce of his strength to keep us both safe and I was humbled. I threw myself into the joy of his movement (even though Penny and I had promised we wouldn't canter today) and Penny did what she always does, had my back and laughed with me for sheer joy born of unbidden exhilaration.

Back in April he was scared of streams. Today he got in and played.

Back in April I was proud to show Rachel that we were working on a couple of steps of coming in from the field in which he would come voluntarily. Today I arrived in the morning dark, called for him and he appeared. I held the gate and walked him in to his stable. No head collar. I learned on his whither and he joined me, voluntarily.

Back in April one of Milas losses I felt most keenly was a kind of "hug" she gifts. You have to earn it. She walks her body in to you, leans her weight and offers you her leg. Yesterday was a tough day. I was tired. No reason, just tough and tired. I did what I had to do at the Yard and was exhausted. I walked Reg back to his field and let him loose. Yesterday he didn't walk away back to his own kind, he paused, he turned toward me, he looked at me and walked back dropping his muzzle into the crook of my neck. It made my throat ache. It wasn't something I had asked for, its something he chose to do. Voluntarily. It was exquisite.

When we got back today I fed Reg, I got rid of the mud and sweat he'd collected in the hills  I fed him and started collecting his "outdoor" things together. We were in his stable. Just like yesterday he paused, walked over to me and tucked his muzzle into the same crook. Today I dropped my head onto his in gratitude. He let it be and we just stood. I was catapulted to present. I wondered momentarily at how he could breathe given his nostrils were buried in my neck and shoulder whilst my arm moved up to hold his head and still we stood. I allowed the heat of his breath to warm my neck and those moments stretched to form a lifetime.  Back in April Reggie decided to teach me how to be present and today he had his first breakthrough.

Week 24 - Too tall for the shelf

One of the pieces of learning we did when we were on the IH course was all about saddles and saddling. One the most shocking bits of learning is that the experience of some horses of the saddle is best likened to wearing shoes two sizes too small and on the wrong feet.

Reggie, the demo horse for the week, did a saddle demo by which I mean he wore it and bore it whilst HIS saddle (fitted in March) its composition and “its fit” were the subject of scrutiny. The saddle “didn’t survive” and I was recommended a remedial saddler who visited last week.

I listened to learned from the saddler and, as is always the case when faced by equestrian expertise that’s beyond me, kept it “buttoned” lest I am exposed for the newbie that I am. She said stuff I didn’t understand. I am used to that now and I have strategies. I stay shtum in the hope the requisite “wisdom” or “learning” will catch up with me in a minute, week, month or year!!

Amongst the crushing detail of the learning one of the things she advised me was to “watch for changed movement” in Reggie. The new saddle doesn’t constrict his withers or his shoulders. It has space for him to move. I know that because she told me, not because I know. She said he’d figure it out quickly and I would see a new side to him. I managed not to say “you over estimate me”.

Today the new saddle pad arrived and so we made our way out into the hills all suited and booted in new gear. I had pretty much forgotten to watch for anything new so overcome was I by the sensation of doing sideways splits as I endeavour to wrap my limbs round a saddle that I keep looking at and thinking “it’s chuffing huge”.

We were heading back to the Yard. Reggie was puffing like a steam train, chewing up the hills in trot with me repeatedly singing “slow him down with your bum and not your reins” (to the tune of “if you are happy and you know it clap your hands - should you feel the urge to try it). 

Anyway....... it was then I noticed it..... a new pendulous swing to his trot. The song changed to “my grandfathers clock was to tall for the shelf” which I sang at full volume and to a beat pace that sounded like “trance music”. I wasn’t singing for Reggie, although I am happy that he’s no longer in shoes two sizes too small and on the wrong feet. I was singing because “I felt the movement” and as I did yet another of those “spells” that experienced and talented equestrians speak was broken. 

So, for the record (and in the only -non equestrian - language I have). Reggie’s “movement” is a sort of side to side cat walk shimmy heavily speeded up, like a grandfather clock on stimulants. It goes nicely with a rendition of “my grandfathers clock” sung like you just woke up in the middle of a rave and have been paid to amuse the crowd, except there wasn’t one..... just me and the pendulum. 

Week 23 - The magic feather

I've been visiting this page in my mind for days now, formulating thoughts and things to write and wondering who I write for other than myself. So, Judith, this is for you.... and for Reggie. A way to order the disorder and give you something to look back on, cyberspace willing, when the body and brain are too old for the adventures and discoveries life affords you now.

The last time I came here was 19th June. Seven weeks, or maybe almost a summer, ago. We have learned tonnes in a summer which amounts to, as I increasingly discover, no more than people who've shared their life with horses for a lifetime know already and take for granted. My epiphanies dull into insignificance in sharing so the shine stays longer and brighter when I savour them examining them for the learning they gift me.

Some high points of our summer have been:

Heading off to Camp with Emma. I had no idea what to expect meaning that my stomach travelled ahead of my body and my finger nails barely made the journey. Emma asked me "are you excited?". I didn't know. I was something, but it had no name and wouldn't take shape. "Tentative" was the best approximation  I could find. As it turned out "Camp" meant "getting to be with  Reggie in a beautiful space with room to safely annihilate mind monsters that might otherwise eat me". There was an abandonment about being there with Emma. She gave me total permission, before and during, to only  tickle the mind monsters. If any of them bit me I had permission to box them and leave them there. As it happened none of them did which is what I think happens when you give them space to breathe but not own you. I was prepared for monsters. They didn't come. I was not prepared for life lessons, but they did.  Tackling the water was on my wish list (and Emmas). So, on the first night we bundled Reggie and Ryan out "in hand". Our excitement overrode the need to eat and our "in hand" travail to the water holes was lacking in carbohydrate sustenance. Neither of us even noticed. Emma took the lead in "leading the horses to water". "Suited and leather booted" she plopped right into the middle of the pond, Ryan behind her whilst Reggie and I stood awe struck trying to drum up the courage, not to go in the water, but to live with that level of excitement, courage, abandonment and wet leather boots. Try as I might, not even the desperate urge to live joyfully propelled us into the water that night. Reggie and I cracked it in the end, with Emmas support, and spent a good while with the sun on our back sploshing through water.

Late addition to post courtesy of Emma Machin (thank you Emma xxx). Listen out for self satisfied chuckle at the end :-)

Summer 2019. Lesson 1 (gifted with hindsight). Emmas boots survived. However even if they hadn't the value of the lesson far outweighed their material value. Judith, when you are 80 and reading this don't forget to live joyfully. Get your boots wet sometimes.

Reggie and I went to school for a week. I tackled that one like a fugitive dishing out vague and clandestine messages about where exactly we were going to anyone who asked lest they "judge" the wisdom of the decision or want to pass comment on "that particular school of equestrian thought". In short over the week we did  groundwork, groundwork, groundwork and I learned basics that led me to conclude that, as with driving a car, before anyone is deemed worthy to ride or own a horse, they (I) should pass a test. I should have known this stuff before I was let loose on Marley and Mila. I was the only participant that took their horse with them, and so Reggie offered himself up into demo after demo. The value of the input we got far outweighed the investment in course fees, but I was so head shot by the re-learning that I am only really starting to be able to use it weeks later.

Summer 2019. Lesson 2 (gifted with hindsight). I think Reggie weighs three quarters of a tonne. Up until the course I worked with Reggie by "amplifying" my message as though size matters. (Like when people shout and gesticulate to people whose first spoken language is not the same as theirs). What I learned is that I've used amplification. It is the equivalent of SHOUTING FOR FOUR YEARS. Not "shouting" by human standards, I don't mean shouting literally. The course re-taught me something I've taught at work, but just not connected in this context. Speaking (when you can't use words) is about "being in a constant state of communication with the world around you". That's how horses do it. So, I've discovered kindness, body language and gentle understanding are far more effective in building a dialogue with a creature that can feel a fly land on his shoulder than arm flapping and shoving.

Week 21 was intense. I withdrew from human interaction. Totally overloaded. I've learned clarity and volume are not the same thing. Clarity and volume are not the same thing. Clarity and volume are not the same thing and I am learning to swap one for the other.

Judith, when you are 80 and reading this remember a feather is far more powerful than a megaphone, crop, flapping arms and raised voices. As Dumbo knows a feather is magic, when you know how to use it.

We went to Marlborough, Steve walked with us. We discovered field margins and we played in them.

Mum met Reggie. Another snapshot held in memory for all time.

We went up Crooks Peak with Charlotte. We looked out over the whole of Somerset. Kings and Queens of Summer 2019.

We started hacking out with Lauren and Roger and watched the gentlest war on head monsters that's ever been waged and won.

We went to visit Lisa (Reggie's first owner).

We went to visit Mila (the burnished copper sunshine, "with an attitude").

Reggie and I started "on Board lessons" and discovered we are not quite as shit as I mentally and outwardly promote us as.

Reggie and I started ground-work lessons. We are growing the seeds of the ability to converse, quietly, with mutual respect and kindness.

Summer 2019. Lesson 3 (gifted with foresight). Judith, when you are 80 and reading this remember that summer (2019) that you said "Yes" and just kept walking toward happy. Keep saying "Yes". Walk. Towards. Happy.

Live like this:

Week 16 - It's been a while

It’s been a while since Reggie and I visited the blog. That’s because we have been working hard, thinking loads and trying so hard to learn. So much so that forming words in order to share has been effort beyond my energy and his digital capability.

First things first.

Reggie is well and our work rate is increasing. We’ve had a lot of discussion about that him and I. He’s proven highly adept at mounting pallid protests when faced with the prospect of hard work. I empathise to be honest. The protests are reminiscent of a child being asked to write a story and telling you they can’t because their finger, perfectly functional when they were grabbing for seconds at lunch, now apparently needs major surgery. I am minded to buy him a baseball cap and put it on him back to front as we head to the mounting block and he yells “I caaaaaant, I caaaaaant, my legs have stopped going”. I should just say, “Oh, get on with it”. Instead in find myself cajoling the 750kg infant as though the mounting block was a tiger that’s been forced to attend weight watchers and could “eat a horse”.

I was gently reminded this week it will take a year for us to get to know each other properly and that every conversation is part of that and so we natter and think and natter and try to work each other out. It’s hard going, made harder by how green I am and his youth. He is more malleable than Mila and Marley so the pressure to get it right feels greater. I have real difficulty with projecting enough energy for him to hear me clearly. I need to appear to him as though I have some energy, to be less knackered and less soggy tissue. I practice a lot. The psychometrics indicate I am still more soggy tissue than fireball but I am working on it and presenting like an unhinged pendulum in the interim.

Yesterday a horse magazine I never asked for nor, as it turns out, wanted plopped through my letter box. I think the insurers sent it. It might as well be written in French for all it means to me and hence proffers itself as a “look how much you don’t know about horses” poster. It seems really important to win stuff (according to the magazine). We are no where near competing in anything structured instead each day we compete with yesterday. Sometimes we win and nearly always leave the competition with something new to learn. Still despite the absence of rosettes we move forward slowly and gently and each small triumph feels Olympian to us. They are just not enough to qualify for public celebration, so we do it quietly.

Here’s a few - non public celebrations made public, with total humility:

We’ve been out in the trailer. Coming home involved a 30 minute wait whilst Reggie surveyed the scenery with two front feet on the ramp. In the absence of a second handler all I could do was wait him out whilst he pretended he didn’t know what I wanted. As the timer passed the 30 minute mark he announced “well that was fun”, and just walked on.

We’d had some issues out hacking. To be honest I think they were an extension to the “my fingers broke, I can’t write” approach to equine effort. “Thanks for the hack, but I’ve had enough of it now so I will just stand here and you can sing, dance and tantrum up there if you want, I will just park here, mind my own business, and sing .......la la la”. If we get out at a pace and keep the pace up Reggie forgets how much he enjoys looking at scenery and he keeps on moving, a bit like a tank on steroids.

He pretends (or believes) parts of the outdoor school are scary. He can't make his mind up. "It’s the corners, it's the poles, it's something to do with the colour of the floor". We are learning to work into the scary bits on the basis that foam, whatever colour, doesn’t bite.

He’s standing at the block long enough for me to get on and find second stirrup without a cavalry to help me.

We’ve found a really neat gadget that allows me to administer warm water to the mud baths that he takes overnight thus avoiding the tap dancing that accompanies the appearance of a hose.

We’ve started some groundwork lessons and “on Board” lessons are pending.

So, we are not ready for Badminton yet and until there are rosettes for “getting on and getting on with it” we remain well out of any and all competitions and placings. Despite that we are well, happy and learning to talk to each other.

Our days are full of love and frequent bouts of elation as we learn to crack the small things. We don’t mind the absence of rosettes. He offers me a daily physical reminder that health (mind and body) matter most and I try to offer him a steady presence, consistency and my total appreciation for his kindness, efforts to learn and willingness to forgive me whilst I do too.

Today’s “conversation” is yet to be digested because sure as eggs is eggs he’s gonna ask if I did my homework when I see him tomorrow.

It goes:

Me: “So, the nice groundwork lady says I have to teach you to move your bum round and cross your back legs. remember?”.

Him: “Yep, you made me practice it yesterday and the day before. Of course I remember”.

Me “Ok so I have to hold the rope like this”.

Him: “Yep yep yep, got it, you are gonna ask me to do this aren’t you, look, I am doing it, you don’t need to ask”.

Me: “Hmmm, you are supposed to wait for me to ask and it’s meant to be relaxed and not like your back end is jet propelled”.

All “next step” suggestions gratefully received. I asked him, in my human voice, to try not to preempt me. I don’t think he understood.

Many people have pitched their wits at helping us to help ourselves and start moving forward, too many to name. You’ll each recognise your influence in the blog and hopefully in each of the small wins. If this was an Oscars speech I would be saying “I couldn’t have done it without you”. It’s not an Oscars speech though which makes that observation less rhetorical and more real.

We couldn’t have won any life rosettes without help and so I write this for those who have helped as an act of acknowledgement and thanks. I am as confident and assured as a soggy tissue can be that you can and will find yourself in what I have written. X

Bucket lists

We've had quite a week. It all defies expression if I am honest, but I will try to put words around it, otherwise why blog?

On Thursday Reggie and I rode out with Charlotte and Monty. Charlotte wanted to see bluebells and plan as we might there was no way to fit Monty and Reggie into any legal form of transport. So, we met at Urchinwood, ploughed up the bridle path and went to see the bluebells on Wrington Hill.

It made a memory.

I came late to riding and Marly and me were a liability. Charlotte never ever blinked. Probably 1/3 my age, the woman has a wisdom beyond my years. Whether it was Marly acting potty or Mila running off, Charlotte did nothing but place confidence in us. When she first asked me to hack out I assumed she was either mad or out of the loop and had no idea how lacking in talent I am. Whatever she thought (I still don't know) she gave me nothing but her absolute confidence. Three years on she continues to do the same.

The bluebells were on Charlottes bucket list. We smashed it. We spent ages up there on the hill spinning in a blue universe. When we were all bluebelled out we made our way down. Monty was sore. We went slowly because Monty's aches were aching, so we all went at Monty speed. I hurt for the beautiful ex racer as he gently placed each of his limbs, I ached for Charlotte's quiet as she tussled with the implications. I loved Reggie as he heard and totally respected my request to take it steady and let Monty set our collective pace. He gave his all to resisting the temptation to let gravity help him home. He placed each limb carefully and gently, one after the other. "It's Ok Monty, we are all with you"... and we were, wholly and heartfully.

Love you Monty. You've taken care of me as I grew and have met all three of my friends with nothing but kindness.

Charlotte, Monty and Blue Bells.

Yesterday Lauren and Pike took us round the block. I am never complacent about that. It took us four years to get there. Neither Lauren or I take those joint journeys for granted. The stars have to line up to allow it. I think we are on ride 3 in 4 years. We had a ball.

This morning I got up at the crack of dawn. Penny had offered to meet me in the Mendips and every ounce of me was excited. Reggie and I were in the car park by 7.30 am and Penny, Reggie and I were walking by 8am. 

I don't know how many times Penny has told me that she walked with Indie in these hills, I never heard her properly. I never really understood. They did so much more than walk. A short discussion between Penny and Reggie in the car park led me to think that walking was better than getting on. So.... Penny, Reggie and I wandered for two hours. There were many miracles. The boy pretends to hate water. Penny told him .... "No you don't". 

Whatever and whatever...... two hours later and the boy was walking with me in an unfamiliar place with nothing but absolute trust and kindness, He swept through many grass buffets and did nothing but say hello to a very stressed "on board" equestrian shortly before we made it home. 

He loaded both ends with no more than a "come on mate"........ despite the fact the lorry is a sauna. 

You know that question that horse people ask each other a lot.... "what are you going to do with him?". 

Well, today the answer is " I am gonna ask him to follow me round the Mendips because when he does it IS MY well being.

Such a stand out beautiful day. It will stay with me......... but only forever..........

Thank you Reggie and thank you Penny, Charlotte, Monty, Lauren and Pike. Much love. x

Contemplation - week 7

It's hard to believe it was only 7 weeks ago that Reggie came to walk beside me. His illness vaulted us into a time machine. We've lived a lifetime in a short space, scrabbling, willing him to get well and abandoning all aspirations and expectations to the alter of recovery. "Just get better and that will do, l'll be happy with that".

I am the one doing nearly all the learning. He's calling me to up my game. I appear in his field, he comes to meet me and escorts me back to the gate. "It's OK human, you don't need to strap my head up, I am coming by choice". "It's OK human. This is the indoor school? I've got this, I am not scared, what do you want me to do?".

The two weeks he's been home from hospital I've met his willingness with abject incredulity. I have read and read and read, trying to match his understanding and generosity with understanding and generosity. His is innate. I am learning manually, but I am learning slowly through his teaching and others who are helping. "Captain my Captain".

Today I arrived at the Yard and skipped to the field to find him. We were supposed to be hacking out with Karen. I learned fairly quickly that he had deposited a shoe somewhere in a mahoosive field. Without it we were confined to barracks and all the "jobs" I've been meaning to do instead of hacking suddenly put their hand up and demanded attention.

He needed a bath. That is different to wanting one. He didn't want a bath. He got a bath.

I am supposed to be doing regular ground work, but much like when I am riding my skills are raw and my communication indecipherable. He has to extract meaning from a cacophony of uncoordinated non verbals. I thought I was good at non verbals. His ability to read mine, in contrast to my ability to read his, pauperise me. They leave me naked in a landscape I thought I could navigate and still he forgives me, takes what I can say and extracts sense from it for both of us.

As it happened Rachel was on the Yard today. She offered to help me bath him. The offer was so brilliantly delivered.... "I can hold him if it helps". She didn't hold him, she held me. She read him for me, translated and told me how to reply. She read me for him and told him what I was trying to say. She was so unassuming and so talented.

His relief at having a translator was palpable. We maybe worked with him for an hour.  I say we.... Rachel did and I watched on a little awestruck but not quite knowing what to attach my awe to.

Reggie fell in love with Rachel. I don't think that's surprising. We all need to be heard and understood. Each time he spoke and she heard, or she spoke and he did, he relaxed a little. After an hour the "big man" looked as though he'd been administered a sedative.

I kept on jabbering in human talk. He didn't mind although he did ask me to excuse him for a moment as he wrapped his huge rubbery lips around Rachels chin and chomped in a way totally reminiscent of youthful snogging behind the bike sheds before either one of the participants know what they are doing . Rachel lent him her chin. She needed a bath towel to mop up the aftermath.

I called today's post contemplation.  I drove home today in a bubble. I realised that having a translator had not only moved Reggie to the equivalent of sedation, it seismically shifted me and my understanding.

I think we should all throw our shoes away occasionally, just for the sheer joy of it.

Rehabilitation - Week 4.5

Reggie came home with me on 22nd Feb, by 11th March he was very poorly and admitted to hospital. He came home for the second time on Sunday 24th March sporting a large war wound on his neck from a drained abscess.

We talked about it on the way home Reggie and I. I suggested we frame the whole episode as a fortunate restart. Reggie's attitude to life is pretty laid back and so unsurprisingly he replied with a soundless and resounding "yeah, whatever". Key to Reggie's discharge was me learning to clean the wound. Anyone  who knows me well and the weakness of my stomach will know that challenge was bigger than learning to gallop. However needs must, I steeled my stomach and learn to clean it I did.

We are getting to know each other Reggie and I. He reminds me totally of the character John Coffey in Steven King's Green Mile. The actor is a "big man" and the character is defined by his kindness to small things and his ability to heal. I will come back to that at the end of this post - so don't forget that I said it.

Reggie is expressive. I arrived at the Yard this morning and was welcomed by a head to toe frisk. It included checking the clip I had chosen for my hair, my leggings and which bra I had put on before I left. 

He loves to interact. He doesn't seem to mind whether you are equine, canine, feline or human. You are worthy of attention. As well as his head Reggie uses his legs to express himself. With limited time to eat the verges whilst he recovers he can't get the grass in quick enough and he paws the ground with frustration telling his jaws to "go go go". He's also tired of the assaults on his body and is emphatic in his insistence that we stop. When we stop the assaults he won't need to keep telling us he's had enough.

An on-line plan for bringing horses back into work starts with 20 minutes at walking pace. I am not able to get on yet and so we've been walking the block. Me on foot. We made that journey ourselves for the first time this morning. I put a bridle on -him, not myself- (forgot my high viz - sorry motorists) and we wandered beyond the gates for the second time since he was discharged. There's something weird about taking a horse for a walk in hand, it's a bit like having an oversized dog. He was head up as we left the gate. After 100 yards he gave the lead to me, fell in beside me and we wandered. Together. The bridle was precautionary. We didn't really use or need it other than when we reached slippery ally (the penultimate road home) where Reggie found a use for it. He engaged it as part of our conversation. He mouthed it. I took it out of his mouth, scratched his withers and told him he was a good boy and then he mouthed me to get more patting, more scratching, more "good boys". When I gave up patting he'd walk a bit and then grab the bridle. Repeat. 

We arrived home. I decided to give him some time in the field. He rolled accompanied by a volcanic exhalation like when you undo the waistband of the trousers you used to wear two sizes down after Christmas dinner. He cantered a tiny bit and then settled to the grass he's had too little access to in the last week and a half.

I stood in the sunshine, riveted. Dotty the dog bought me stones to throw and I threw and threw and threw. I watched. I felt the sun on my face and the peace in the birdsong. I went to bring him in. Annabel reminded me (as Monty was fast asleep with Annabel on board, she had to do something) that mental health is as important as physical health. The clarity and obviousness of that insight was startling and so I left him out there, with the sun on his back and a promise from Bex to look out for him and bring him back in.

Driving home I was reflecting on the biggest part of my adult life. I spent it carelessly locked on to a hamster wheel, addicted to work under the illusion that my status defined me. Work owned me. I sold my soul to the organisational devil, actually heart and soul.  

Today I felt so free from that and so connected to life and what matters most. I realised that Reggie had and has a very clear rehabilitation plan for me. I am in reg-habilitation. The power to heal.

Keep walking towards me big man. You are exactly what I need and always needed, but only totally.