I’ve always had a distant relationship with horses.

I once rode the pony a friend cared for at a local barn when I was a pre-teen. I’ve done a few trail rides, including what felt like a few death-defying adventures in the Colorado Rockies. I even calmly steered my horse back onto the trail after she reared and raced down a small forest hill.

It was a natural instinct. After all, I’ve watched enough television to witness experienced equestrians deftly managing rearing horses.

Beyond admiring the beauty of horses, especially those running free, I’ve never had any interest in spending time with them. I admired my friends who cared for horses, offered equine-assisted therapy, and even rode into their forest wedding ceremony on their horses with a miniature “flower horse.”

When friends at Liberty Stables in Florida invited me to visit with their three horses, I was eager to witness their new project, which has brought much joy to their lives. Visiting the horses was part of my interest, but mostly it was my relationship with the humans that warmed my heart.

My ambivalence lifted with my first surprising meeting with Zor, a gorgeous Friesian horse who stands between 17 and 18 hands tall.

On a snowy day in New Jersey, I took a break in my comfy chair. Closing my eyes, I noticed the replay of a short “movie” I’d seen of Zor dancing with his previous trainer. He was magnificent, and the fluid interaction between horse and human was like a ballet that moved me deeply.

Suddenly, I saw Zor’s face in my inner sight appear directly in front of me. We were almost nose to nose.

As soon as I indicated a ‘hello and welcome,’ my chest warmed, my heart blew open, and the image disappeared. I stayed within that delicious experience for a while, now intrigued to meet Zor in person.

The first day at the barn, we were going to greet the horses and spend time with them in the paddocks. Liberty training offers the horse freedom in space and interaction with humans.

With four paddocks to choose from, the herd of three horses and three humans would spend time in territory together.

Entering the paddock with some trepidation, I was struck by how Zor towered over the other two horses. I was fully anticipating watching them graze from afar, so was surprised when Zor came directly toward me. I put my closed fist up for a possible greeting, like a fist bump to his nose, as instructed.

Almost immediately, Zor lowered his head and bumped his nose hard against my heart, pushing me back a step.

Contact established, power demonstrated, and heart connection activated, he wandered away to another paddock.

I, in the meantime, took a few moments to both welcome the greeting and calm my nervous system, which had activated with that push.

The afternoon was spent lazily relaxing in a chair beneath the shade of a tree. 



Eyes closed, perception widened, I listened to the breeze in the trees, the bird song, and the sounds of the horses grazing. At times, a horse would come to stand behind us, presencing the harmony felt within the natural world and our bodies.

I felt like I took a nap without sleeping.

I enjoyed watching my daughter and friend brush the horses, always keeping my respectful distance. I squatted before the smallest horse as he ate his hay and had a lovely exchange through both spoken language and inner awareness. All in all, it was a lovely day.

Two days later, I woke up with genuine excitement as I couldn’t wait to spend time with Zor. I was surprised by feelings of strong affection and even a bit of inner longing.

Upon arrival, I was immediately greeted by one of the smaller horses. Again, a nose-to-heart bump, followed by a lovely exchange.

Once these niceties were complete, I made a beeline for Zor. I noticed my delight and respect. Even as I was careful of my position given his size, the intimidation of the previous day was gone.

As I dry brushed his coat, chatting with him, I was struck by the intimate, relational nature of the encounter.

We recently had a big snow in my neck of the woods.

Everyone was hunkered down. The fridge was full, chicken soup was bubbling on the stove, and my book pile sat patiently on the coffee table. As the snow covered the neighborhood and the plows dumped fresh mounds over our carefully shoveled walk, we took turns peeking outside.

As a kid, snowstorms were pure joy.

The neighborhood gathered as we went sledding and built snow forts until someone’s mom called us in for hot chocolate or hot maple syrup poured onto pristine snow. After drying off in front of the fire, we played Monopoly until the next outdoor adventure began.

These days, naps and shoveling are more my speed.

“It’s still snowing,” my husband reported for the umpteenth time. Milo, with his nose pressed against the glass, stared longingly at the winter wonderland. After a while, the whole scene became a bit ridiculous.

So I channeled my inner child, bundled up, and took Milo sledding.

It was great fun, the two of us flying down a snowy hill on speedy discs, snow spraying everywhere. You can see for yourself that Milo was living his best winter life.

Except for one thing. At fourteen, Milo is deaf. He can’t walk down steps and he got stuck in the snow the last time he went outside.

So no, we didn’t go sledding.

I’m still laughing at the image I created using Milo’s post-bath photo with the help of ChatGPT. In the midst of all the controversy about AI, it felt worth remembering that a funny image can just be funny, even if it isn’t real.

These days, fake images and fabricated narratives are everywhere. That’s the moment we’re living in, and it will only become more apparent as people become more skilled with AI.

Humans making things up is not new. Civilization itself runs on shared fictions.

Myth, metaphor, theater, religion, advertising, etiquette, fashion, money, nations, marriage rituals, résumés, bedtime stories, polite smiles, academic theories, and social media bios are all constructed narratives. What has changed is the scale, speed, and reach of how stories travel. 

So how do you go forward from here?

When I listen to people talk about AI, I hear fear, anger, excitement, and certainty, often all at once. There’s a lot of positional shouting about whether we’re headed for collapse or a shiny new golden age. 

I’ve wanted to slow it down a bit. Not the technology itself. I’m not in charge of that. Just my own response to its obvious presence in the world.

These days, I’m practicing discernment in earnest.

Decision time.

Do I take my dog out front in my pjs and pink fuzzy slippers to bless “his” fire hydrant or let him roam free in the backyard?

We’ve been a little overprotective of Milo ever since he broke his foot this summer while chasing an intruder. Especially since his tendency is to take off like a bat outta hell if he sees a squirrel or bunny. Yet, his foot had healed nicely and it was early, cold, and damp.

I kept an eye on him as he patrolled and watered the garden beds.

When he disappeared into the overgrown woods, I went to make my smoothie. Trusting he’d bark when it was time to get his portion. Mid-smoothie, I was prompted to look outside as I witnessed him leaping over the greenery and streaking toward the side yard. It was such a full out run that I went out on the deck to investigate.

My mind scrambled and I couldn’t understand why two black and white creatures were nose to nose in my yard.

Within seconds I was screaming “Milo, No!”while watching two snarling creatures locked in a battle. In hindsight, I realize my stress response had diminished my frontal lobe functioning. I was terrified that Milo was going to be bitten in the face by this creature.

Seems I forgot all about a skunk’s secret weapon.

I saw the moment Milo got sprayed in the face and his valiant effort to go in for one more snarl. I’m sure the burning was too much for him as he ran in a panic, rubbing his face in the grass. My extensive vocabulary changed to “Milo, Come!” as I ran along with him.

As he streaked by me on the deck, I saw his look of panic in his blood red eyes.

He’s quick and efficient. I’ll grant him that. In his frenzied state, Milo blessed the carpets in 3 rooms with that skunk’s parting gift before I caught him. Knowing I had to wash out his eyes, I leashed him and dragged the poor beast to grab towels and upstairs to the bathroom. Not even letting him pause for another wipe of his face.

As I ran the water, my entire focus was on protecting his eyes.

We were in sync as he brought his face under the warm water, flushing out his eyes. Quickly laying towels over the bathroom rug, I sought the dog shampoo. Only to find we had none. I grabbed my liquid soap made of plants which was good for sensitive skin. Not so great for de-skunking, but okay if soap got in his eyes.

Keeping up a constant stream of soothing language while lathering Milo allowed me to calm us both down a bit.

As my system reorganized and my higher order thinking came back on line, I realized a few things. He stunk. I stunk. My house stunk. And his eyes were clearing up rapidly. Once he had his roll about on the towels (and my bathroom rug) he was fluffy and a bit less stinky.

Leashed, I took him to the kitchen while I called the vet. “Watch his eyes.” 



I looked up how to get out skunk smell from a dog, my rugs, and my house. Just too complicated for me in that moment to do by myself. When I saw he was still shaking, I sat down and did a Body Code session to clear the trauma. No surprise that first up was the physical-emotional shock, unbalanced adrenals, and other relevant reactions. I treated myself as well while we moved through the protocol to help my system rebalance.

It worked well for both of us.