Hippos and me

I must admit that when my friend Laida invited me to the barn where she volunteers for hippo therapy and therapeutic riding, I was afraid of the horses. City slicker that I am, my entire understanding of horses comes from Western movies. You know, when the cowboy jumps off the roof of a building and lands on his trusty steed's back to make a grand escape. But Laida, a beautiful rider and gentle equestrian, invited me anyway, and I am so thankful.

"Hippo" comes from the Latin word for horse (a hippopotamus is a water horse). Hippo therapy involves a licensed physical therapist who assists children with disabilities in strengthening their muscles and improving their gait while riding horseback. Laida and the other volunteers lead the horse or walk alongside spotting the riders, and sometimes play ball or other games, which are really undercover exercises.

The program instructor was very kind in giving me tasks, even though I am not a "horse person." I spent part of the day as a ball chaser and the other part as a side walker. But whenever the rider pulled back on the reigns, causing Blessie the Horse to come to a halt, I would slide my hand under his mane or through his fur, or run my fingers along the hindquarters to feel the strength and firmness of his muscles, all for the tactile pleasure of this new experience.

Now my hands smell like saddle soap (so I'm told), and the rest of me smells like manure (to choose the scientific term), but overall I feel earthy and content. There are so many things in this life to explore.