Page 26 of Border Control
Nicole comes out of the open stable alongside a big brown horse, leading it with only a rope held loose around its neck. Her black hair is neatly tamed back in a French plait as per usual, small whisps framing her sunny face. “Morning! I'm running late, mind if you follow me to the top paddock?”
“Er…” I lift my right heel up in the air. I can handle gravel driveways, but I draw a firm line at mud.
“Oh, there's wellies in the tack room. You're welcome to grab a pair.”
I guess I have no choice. I enter Nicole's world of functional leather smelling of horse, find a set that look half decent, and pull them on. They're not my butter soft boots which cling to me like sprayed on paint, these take actual pulling and shoving to get my calves in.
“The things I do for fun,” I mutter to myself, following after Nicole. Still, the familiar smells of silage and horsey tangunwinds my tight stomach. Guess being near horses really is relaxing.
She gets the horse trotting around her in a circle in a lunge yard, the lead long and slack between them. My friend grins as she watches me lumber over. “You look ready to muck out a stable.”
“Please, I’ll stick to filing legal depositions, thanks. Those are shitty enough.” I watch her work, the horse’s big hooves thudding rhythmically on the compacted ground with a meditative beat in the routine, a peaceful connection between her and the animal. No visible reins or real restraint, just a loose lead and understanding.
Nicole clicks her tongue, urging the horse to speed up. It responds, tossing its head. “So, what's up? Must be important for me to get a slice of your workday.”
“Yeah, sorry. I've been busy.”
“Don't worry about it. I've been only slightly less busy.”
Nicole wants to set up her own business. As an equine vet, she does a lot of work on horse physical health, but her real passion is working on their behaviour. Her hands move as she talks, mimicking the gentle, coaxing gestures she uses with the animals. I’ve always admired her patience, her ability to tune in so completely to creatures who can’t speak for themselves.
I look down, kicking at a bit of loose straw on the ground. “I want to talk to you about signs of hidden trauma.”
Nicole raises an eyebrow. “Is this for a new case?”
“No, for… our new friends.”
At first she frowns, but then her face clears and she lowers her voice. “Oh yeah. Hard to imagine they're actually real, especially when I'm here, working away, and no one else is reacting to it.”
Dom feels real to me. Very real. “Well, you and I have left Ellen and Arabella to it these last few weeks. I'm stepping in to help.”
Nicole nods. “I should do the same. You want me to assess them? Although they aren't exactly animals.”
I shrug. “They're similar to us, but who knows what body language cues I'm missing, and what they're getting from me. So I wanted to talk to you, get ideas of what to look for.”
Nicole glances at the horse before answering. “What sort of body language?”
“Signs of trauma. I want to check… what's genuinely pleased to comply, versus traumatized into complying.”
Her expression turns sad. “A horse that’s been through a bad experience or feels threatened will show you in little ways. They might freeze up, or you’ll notice tension in their muscles, even if they’re standing still. Sometimes they avoid eye contact or seem restless.
“If they’re relaxed, you see it in their stance, their breathing. They’ll approach you willingly, sometimes even seek you out on their own terms. That’s when I know they’re truly comfortable.”
She points at the horse. “For horses, their ears are a big one tell. Their ears go back when they're angry or upset. Ears pricked forward means they're paying attention, like Lettuce here. They'll also chew when they're happy, because they won't eat when they're fearful. But, as for the aliens, I don't know yet what their tells are.”
Maybe Nicole does need to come and observe them.
“What if we assume they are traumatized into obeying,” I say. “What do we need to do?”
She watches as the horse sniffs the grass and ambles a few steps away, lead slack between them. Finally she replies, “When I work with a horse who’s been through a lot, I give them choices. Small ones at first. If they come to me willingly, withoutbeing pulled or coaxed, that’s when I know they’re starting to trust me. They have to have the freedom to back off if they’re uncomfortable. It’s not fair to force them to do what they’re not ready for. They need to realize they’re safe, and that their decisions will be respected.”
I shift my weight. “So… choice. Number one item on the list.”
“Yeah. I start small. If they don’t want to approach, I respect that. If they veer away, I ease off. Little by little, they start to trust me, but only if I respect their boundaries. They’re free to back off if they need to, and that freedom… that’s what starts to heal them.”
I nod slowly, absorbing her words. Freedom. Trust. It all resonates with me.
Maybe I am a horse person after all.
