“More work than daylight time,” Raul replies in his age-roughened voice. “Going to clear some brush in the back pasture.”
“But I’ve got the team coming out tomorrow,” Tacker says, and I have to smile over the concern in his voice. After each of his last few sessions with me, Tacker stayed to help Raul with some of the manual labor around the ranch. They’ve developed an easygoing friendship.
“There’s more work than a hockey team can do in one day,” Raul points out.
“Then we’ll come back out on another day,” Tacker counters.
Raul winks. “Stop talking like that. Nora will fire me if she figures out she can get all this done by volunteers for free.”
“As if,” I exclaim. “You’re irreplaceable, you old fart, and you know it.”
Tacker and Raul grin at each other.
“Enough of the small talk,” I order the men. “Tacker and I have work to do, just like you, Raul.”
Raul takes his leave of the paddock and soon, we hear the Gator roaring off into the distance. I turn and face Tacker, stroking Starlight on her muzzle. “You ready?”
He shrugs. “I guess.”
“Come closer,” I tell him, and he takes two tentative steps. “Just stroke her here… like me for a bit.”
He does as I ask, this time with no hesitation. Starlight holds perfectly still as Tacker’s fingers on his good hand rub along the length of her face.
“Take the lead,” I say, handing over the rope. “But keep stroking her.”
His casted hand takes the rope, holding it lightly. Starlight is so gentle that I have no problems with him controlling my horse with a broken wrist.
“Now, just walk her around the arena,” I say. “Keep her on your right.”
Again, Tacker does what I ask without any complaint or question as to why I’m asking him to, and I’m doing it for no other reason than to just give him a little bit of practice and experience with a horse. Plus for what I plan to talk about today, I want him to have something else to focus on other than me.
Tacker has hit a lot of milestones over the past two weeks in therapy with me. I can take some of the credit, but, honestly, he has a lot of external factors that have been playing well into his healing. He’s been hanging some with Aaron, along with his other teammates.
I watch as Tacker leads Starlight around a few loops before calling them to me. After I take the lead from him, I tie it to the top rail of the fence and instruct, “Go to her side.”
Tacker does and I walk around her, taking up post on her opposite side so we’re staring at each other over her back. “Just put your hands on her. Anywhere. You can stroke her or just hold them there. You can touch her anywhere you want. I just want you to get used to her, so you can see she’s super sweet and doesn’t mind you doing it.”
“What’s the point of this?” he asks, actually taking a lock of Starlight’s blonde mane in his hand and running his fingers down the length.
“Change of scenery, distraction, and plus… I want to get you over your fear of horses. That’s just a personal goal of mine.”
“I’m not afraid,” he says, his eyes coming to mine. “I just… don’t have experience with them. They’re unpredictable.”
“Not all are,” I say. “But like any animal, there are some that aren’t well trained.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“Are you excited about next week?” I ask, referring to the fact he’s going to play in his first game on Tuesday. They have back-to-back away games next week. He’s been doing so well in practice this week that his coach told him he’s going back onto the first line.
Since I’ve met Tacker, I’ve never seen him smile so broadly. It’s almost as if this news gave him a new burst of energy, and he seems to be eagerly confronting most any topic in our sessions.
“I’m dreaming every night of getting back in the game,” he says with a chuckle, returning his attention to Starlight’s mane. Both hands work at it as he talks. “Like vivid, technicolor dreams. I can feel the chill of the ice and the screams of fans. And, in all my dreams, I score every goal.”
I laugh, running a hand over Starlight’s back. “That’s awesome.”
“It’s part of my life,” he says quietly, his eyes coming to mine. “I don’t think I realized that until I was cut loose from it, then given this chance to come back. It’s like I have a new appreciation.”
“It’s a good sign in your journey,” I point out. “It’s the gratitude we were talking about. Where you can take joy in the things you have.”
He nods, fingers moving busily. Following his movement, I laugh when I see he’s actually braided a section of her hair.