The Amish Blacksmith (50 page)

Usually, they just sniffed around a bit after that, Atticus searching the pasture for rabbit holes and January contentedly munching on grass. But once in a while, if they were in a playful mood, they would interact with each other in various ways. Atticus would get January's attention by running circles around her, or January would trot toward the dog and then fake him out by stopping short or making a sudden zigzag. Sometimes the horse would simply lie
down on the ground and roll over, feet in the air and belly to the sky. Grunting with pleasure, she would wriggle in a way that told me she was scratching her back. As she did, Atticus would run over to lick her face or sniff her body or press himself against her broad side, as if to share in her joy.

And it was joy. Whether in animals or people, I decided, joy was all over the place. You just had to stop and look for it.

Joy was also the key that finally unlocked the problem with Natasha's horse.

It happened on a Monday in mid-September, on a gray and overcast day with just a hint of coolness in the air. I had already reduced my daily sessions with Duchess down to just twice a week, but now I was ready to throw in the towel. Despite all of my efforts, I was no closer to solving the mystery of her performance anxiety than I had been the day we met.

As I led the magnificent animal from the workout ring back up the hill toward her private stable, I felt my heart growing heavy, knowing I had let both horse and owner down. The Dressage at the Devon horse show was only ten days away, and it was clear to all that Natasha's dream of a successful meet was only that—a dream. Worse, the horse's inevitable failure at the show was going to be like a domino, toppling forward and taking down all the others after it. As Eric had said a few months before,
If Duchess fails, her value as a show horse or even a breeding horse will plummet so far that Natasha may lose it all.
I felt sick at heart, both for her sake and the sake of this magnificent, troubled animal.

Unlike the horses in the big stable, Duchess was housed in her own private building, one equipped with indulgences that boggled the mind. Air-conditioning for hot days, of course, but also heated floors for cooler ones. A horse treadmill. An equine whirlpool. All sorts of state-of-the-art equipment. Apparently, these were luxuries befitting a champion. Sadly, once Duchess failed at Devon, she would be a champion no more.

The only people allowed in Duchess's stable were Natasha, the stable master, and me, and as I opened the door to lead the horse inside now, I saw that the other two were already there, over in the main sitting area. They both looked up as we came in, their expressions hopeful, but I shook my head and continued on toward the stall.

Once Duchess was settled in with fresh water and hay, I came back out ready to tell Natasha that this was about it for me and Duchess. There was nothing more I could do for her, and continuing our sessions would just be a waste of Natasha's money and my time.

Natasha and Ted were both perched on leather swivel chairs, facing a huge flat screen TV and watching, yet again, the video of Duchess's last few competitions, where she'd lost control and reared up, nearly getting hurt or hurting others. I had watched these films myself, several times, to study her behavior and see if I could figure out what might have scared her so and set her off. But it hadn't done me any good, so I'd never felt the need to watch again.

Ted, on the other hand, studied those clips the way a farrier might study diseases of the hoof. All along, he had been of the opinion that there was some specific trigger that kept setting the horse off, and if he could just identify and eliminate that trigger, the problem would be solved.

Natasha wasn't interested in triggers. She was all about obedience training, teaching the animal to resist any aberrant urges—no matter how strong—at the command of her master.

My approach had been to spend time with the horse on a regular basis and run her through various pressure-release exercises in order to build trust.

None of our methods had worked. If anything, the horse seemed to be getting worse, not better. Several times, on busy days when the main stable was bustling with activity, Duchess had caught sight of it and gone into a bit of a frenzy, neighing and shaking her head and stomping her feet until I had to lead her away just to get her back under control.

“Play it again, from the top,” Natasha said now, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Ted clicked the remote, and the video started over once more. I watched it as well, but this time something about the clip seemed different to me—or rather, the clip was the same, but I was seeing it in a whole new way. After a few moments, I could feel the hairs begin to rise up on the back of my neck.

“Again,” I said when it was over, the urgency and excitement in my voice startling the other two. “Please,” I said, gesturing toward the screen. Then I moved even closer so I could see better. “I may have just figured this out.”

It took a few more viewings to confirm my suspicions, but by then I was almost certain. I turned to face Natasha and Ted and told them I knew what was wrong.

“All along, we've been focusing on Duchess's fear. But it's not fear that's causing her to rear up and go into a frenzy. It's excitement. It's
joy
.”

They were skeptical, so I told them about January and Atticus out in the pasture, about what I'd observed in the exuberant horse's body language. Then I had them run the film of Duchess again as I pointed out the similarities in some of the more subtle elements of her behavior.

The tossing of her head wasn't flight response, I explained, it was glee.

The raising up into the air wasn't defensiveness, I said, it was celebration.

It wasn't the noise or the chaos of the crowd that bothered Duchess at these shows. It was her uncontrollable delight at being surrounded by people and activity and noise and smells and companionship. That all caused her to become so excited that she simply lost control.

Natasha seemed to grow more convinced as she listened to my reasoning. Then, in a flash, she understood the bigger picture. Excitement growing in her eyes, she told us that time-wise it all made sense. According to her, Duchess's uncontrollable behavior had begun not long after earning the title of Prix St. George. Not coincidently, that was about the same time that they had built this magnificent private stable and segregated the horse from the other animals and workers.

“Then that's it,” I said, grinning in victory. “She's lonely and isolated. If you want to keep her from losing control at the shows, I think all you need to do is put her back where she belongs, with the others. She needs her community, just like all horses. Just like all people.”

As it turned out, my theory was correct. We had to take it slow, but over the course of the next week we were able to successfully integrate Duchess back into the larger stable. She was still off limits to the other employees, but at least now she was surrounded by animals and people most of the time, the perfect antidote to the ailments of loneliness and seclusion.

Once we'd managed to define her prevailing emotion as excitement rather than fear, none of us could believe we hadn't figured it out before. Not every horse loved a crowd, but this one always had, according to Natasha. Only now did the woman realize that pulling Duchess away and setting her apart had nearly destroyed her soul, and she felt terrible about it. Trying to make
Natasha feel better, Ted explained that show horses often suffered such a fate, their value as a commodity outweighing their need for socialization.

The question now was whether or not the solution had come in time to prepare Duchess for competition. Would we be able to satisfy her social needs sufficiently enough that she wouldn't get so worked up at the competition?

In the days leading up to it, I kept thinking about this, mostly with regard to Priscilla. Once again, she had been pivotal in helping me solve an issue with a horse. But there was also a reverse element here. Like Duchess, Priscilla was often isolated and alone. And though she drew no joy from crowds, the truth was she needed them just as much as the horse had needed to be with others. Priscilla needed more people in her life. She needed community. I wrote a long letter explaining all that had happened and urging her to seek others in the same way that she had challenged me to seek joy. I didn't hear back right off, the way I usually did, but I was consumed with the horse show, which took place on September twenty-fifth, a day that was sunny and unseasonably warm.

I was invited along as part of the team, and the event as a whole was quite fun and fascinating. But the longer it went on, the more I kept thinking,
This world is not my home.

What was I doing here?

Duchess was spectacular, earning up not one level but two. That meant she was now just one step away from the top—and the only thing standing in her way was another year or so of training to go all the way. Natasha was so thrilled that as we loaded up the truck to head back, she told me I was in for a “big bonus.” Eric was there too, and he teased her, saying, “Better not make it too big, or Jake just might take a walk.”

“Take a walk?” Natasha asked, turning to me. “Why? Are you unhappy with your job?”

I felt a little uncomfortable having this conversation in the middle of the loading area with dozens of people around, but I knew I had to be honest with her.

Bonus or not, big paychecks or not, my time in this world was done.

Natasha asked for a week's notice, which made my last day October first. On October second, a Thursday, I spent the morning at the kitchen table,
going over the lists I'd made with my
daed
back in August, when he and I were exploring the possibility of opening up my own blacksmith shop. Between the pay I'd earned and the five-thousand-dollar bonus Natasha insisted on giving me for my success with Duchess, I had now accrued almost half of my goal for seed money. I had no idea what God had in mind for providing the rest, but before I took things any further, there was an important conversation I needed to have.

I still hadn't spoken to Amos about the noncompetition issue. When first becoming his apprentice, I had promised him I would never open up a shop within ten miles of his, but if I were to take advantage of the space my father was offering me, then it would be more like eight miles. As a man of my word, I wasn't about to move forward without first getting that two-mile difference approved by my former boss.

On my way out, I checked the mailbox, but nothing was yet there from Priscilla. I hadn't heard from her even once since sending my challenge for her to seek others, and that concerned me. She and I had gotten into a regular rhythm of writing, and the only reason I could imagine for her breaking that rhythm had to do with her reaction to my challenge. Was she upset with me? Hiding from me? Turning to another man, one who was close by and wanted her as his wife and wouldn't challenge her as I had?