The Unspoken Gift

Lindsay Rosenfeld

High School Freshman     September 28, 2005

On cold winter days, just as this one, I find it especially pleasing to flip through the old training journals of previous students. I had managed to work my way through two boxes before I found the journal I was subconsciously searching for. Across the cover it read, "TRAINING JOURNAL, JANUARY 1994- MAY 1994 ELIZABETH HOPKINS." As I open the cover, a famous quote by E.E. Cummings falls from between the pages: "We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit." As I sit in the warm parlor and ponder the statement, my mind drifts away, and I remember Elizabeth Hopkins.

Mr. Richard Hopkins was one of the most well-known names in the furniture business. He owned over half of the Keller warehouses and spent his days primarily in his home office, only leaving for a brief meal and occasionally to the bedroom. He was the richest man in Worthington and made his fortune from the stock market. He was quite a character -a nice man and loyal to the few he trusted. If you had the opportunity to get to know him, it was a true pleasure. Few, however, were given this opportunity. His wife, Anne, was quite possibly one of the most bizarre people I have ever had the misfortune to meet. She treated everyone she came across with the notion that she was their superior. She had a knack for finding the finest people and degrading them in public. Nobody dared stand up to her for fear of losing their jobs (a large portion of the town worked in one of Mr. Hopkins’s furniture outlets). Elizabeth, their daughter, was an accident and a burden. She entered the family at an inconvenient time; Mr. Hopkins was in the middle of a huge business offer, and was treated from the moment she entered the world like the misfortune she truly was. Growing up, Elizabeth barely knew her father. He was always working and never found family important enough to incorporate into his busy schedule. Her mother believed that if Elizabeth was given everything she wanted, she would be happy and stay quiet in her room. Elizabeth went through these phases. Every time Elizabeth would get a new "toy" she would constantly play with it until she became bored. Once the boredom came, she threw the "toy" aside and received something new. She always got what she wanted right when she wanted it.

Elizabeth grew up alone. She did not have any friends nor wanted any. If she wanted to swing on the school playground, she would pay one of the kids to push her. What use was there for friends? Why bother when money could buy everything?

Elizabeth was nearly twelve years old when I first met her and her family. Winter had just begun and I was already anxious for spring. Each day was reaching a record low. I was finishing my nightly round of the outside pastures, making sure all the horses were there, that the water heaters were not clogged, and the warm water was steadily circulating. My whole body was overwhelmed by the stinging sensation that followed each gust of wind. As I scurried to find refuge inside my barn, white flurries began to fall. Excitement and frustration overcame me as I looked up my driveway and saw heavy clumps of white snow. Before I could turn away, a red Porsche sped down the driveway.

Reluctantly leaving his car in the snow, a tall, slender man walked towards me. He extended his hand and proudly stated, "Hello… ma’am… my name is Richard Hopkins. Do you know where I could possibly find Miss Paul?" I curiously replied, "Good evening, Mr. Hopkins, I am Sarah Paul. How do you do?"

We carried on a good, ten minute conversation about "the lovely weather we are having." Finally, he told me why he had come. He had a daughter, she was eleven, approaching twelve, and decided for her birthday that she wanted a pony. He was looking for some help in the matter and was told by several sources to speak to me. I recommended that she take a few months of lessons with me before leaping into such a commitment. His deep chuckle filled the empty aisle. "There is no need to wait, Miss Paul. My daughter wants a pony. I want my daughter to be happy, especially with her birthday coming and this will make her happy." I regretfully asked, "Well, do you have a horse in mind?" To my surprise, he did. His sister owned a small farm and was dealing with an overpopulated barn. She needed to get rid of a few horses and had a pony that would, supposedly, be perfect for his daughter. His sister was going to trailer the mare to the barn where it would be boarded. The problem was, Mr. Hopkins did not have anywhere to board the horse. "So I was wondering," asked Mr. Hopkins, "if I could board the horse here…?" I pondered his question for a few seconds. I really needed the extra money. In the past week, a family who boarded three horses had moved to California and I was left three empty stalls. I reluctantly agreed.

With the coat the color of dark chocolate and a smooth mane and tail of the richest ebony, Billy was an outstanding horse. She stood 14 hands tall. She had come from one of the PMU farms in Manitoba, Canada, and was barely halter broken. She was three years old and a handful. It was obvious that Mr. Hopkins’ sister had rarely touched the horse and that I had my work cut out for me.

The grueling task of unloading Billy was left up to me. I decided the best way was to attempt to lead her off. After successfully clipping on the lead rope, I put a little pressure on the rope to urge her forward. She took a little step. Slowly, we inched our way off the trailer to an empty stall. The task took nearly an hour! She seemed to be a smart horse and quick learner. After closing the stall door behind her, I fetched some grain and hay. I made sure Billy was comfortable in her new home and set off to meet Elizabeth Hopkins.

Elizabeth stood about four feet, five inches tall and fit somewhere between my elbow and shoulder. She had strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. She was a pretty little girl and knew it. Standing to her left was an equally pretty woman whom I assumed to be her mother. She was a little bit taller than me and had long brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. I extended my hand to Mrs. Hopkins and kindly asked, "How do you do?" She looked down at my hand and a horrified expression spread across her face. She waved my hand away and commented, "Just fine, just fine. Now can we get this over with?" I nodded and led the family to my tack shop/office.

I gave Mr. Hopkins the forms for boarding, feed, liability, and the ferrier’s form. While Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins filled them out, I took Elizabeth to Billy’s stall and we became acquainted.

Elizabeth told me all about herself. She attended the local elementary school and was in the sixth grade. She "despised school." She thought it ridiculous to learn something you can pay someone to do for you. I frowned upon this. I said, "Well, what if you cannot afford to pay someone to do everything for you." She laughed and quickly added, "Unlike you, I will never have that problem." Raising my eyebrows, I gave her a look of disapproval. Overall, I did not care much for the Hopkins family. They seemed to be self-absorbed, unaware of the people who surrounded them or their feelings.

Over the next three weeks, I worked with Billy ever day. She had a heart full of love and loyalty. Every task I gave her, she eagerly tried to master. These tasks consisted of halter training, leading and tying, clipping, grooming, and lunging. By the end of the three weeks, she was able to perform all these tasks successfully. On the fourth week, Elizabeth began to ride her in lessons.

Billy was great under saddle. She was calm and had a proud air about her; she knew this was where she belonged. Elizabeth, however, was not so sure. It was one of those unusual frosty days when you can see your breath white and sparkling in front of you even though it is the middle of the day. The ground was slushy and I was waiting in anticipation for Elizabeth to enter the arena. It was our first private lesson and we were both nervous. I helped Elizabeth into the saddle. I started off by instructing her how to turn. In addition to gently pulling the reins -left to go left and right to go right- the rider also lightly squeezes with the right leg to go left and the left leg to go right. Elizabeth had great difficulty understanding this concept. She would squeeze with her right leg and pull the right rein. Poor Billy was confused out of her mind. I tried telling her to squeeze Billy like a tube of toothpaste instead of kicking her. Obviously, Elizabeth squeezed the heck out of her toothpaste. Somehow in the hour lesson, she managed to get the idea that left rein means left and left leg means right. She successfully got Billy to go where she wanted her to go! Or, I could tell, if Billy did not go the right way, Elizabeth would just pretend she wanted Billy to go where she went. It was an interesting lesson and I decided Elizabeth Hopkins may not be all that she seemed.

Throughout the next three months, I gradually saw more and more of Elizabeth Hopkins. She started visiting Billy once or twice a week, including our weekly private lesson. As time passed, she started coming by the barn three times a week, then four, and eventually I began to see her almost every day. Throughout the months, Elizabeth’s attitude changed from cocky and spoiled to respectful and kind. I enjoyed the change. Her riding also improved. She had progressed a lot in the past four months. She became confident in the saddle and truly seemed to be enjoying herself. With spring closely approaching, I had high expectations for both of them.

Elizabeth stopped me one day on my way up to a student lesson. She asked, "Do you speak to your horses, Sarah?" I replied that I do and I asked her if she did. Elizabeth replied by saying, "Well, actually, I hardly ever say a word because I feel I never have to." With a smile on my face, I headed up to my lesson.

It was a warm spring afternoon. The flower buds filled the trees with an assortment of colors. Each day was getting warmer and warmer. I was about to have my customary lesson with Elizabeth when it began to rain. We had an indoor lesson on clicker training. When a horse is being trained, he has no idea what the rider wants him to do. Horses don’t speak English!! Clicker training uses positive reinforcement to tell the horse exactly when he has done something correctly. A good example of this can be getting the horse to touch a cone with his nose. Horses are extremely curious animals. The beginning step is to hold the cone in front of your body. The very second the horse goes anywhere near the cone, whether or not he was paying attention to the cone or not, click the clicker and give him a treat. Soon he will associate going to the cone with the clicker and the clicker with the treat. If he does not go anywhere near the cone, do not click the clicker. Before long, he will have his nose on the cone.

Billy and Elizabeth did amazing!! Before the hour was up, Billy had her nose on the cone and could distinguish a cone from a ball. Elizabeth would say ball or cone and Billy would press her nose against the object. During these moments, I realized something. A very strong bond had developed between horse and child. I no longer saw a spoiled rich kid, but a compassionate little girl. A child cannot possibly know what he is learning as life’s moments fall into their special order. No one ever knows what appearance the teacher will assume since God sends every kind. In this case, it just so happened to be a chocolate colored mare.

Billy had come a long way from being a "spaghetti noodle" three year old to the balanced horse she soon became. It was a slippery afternoon after a Minnesota rainstorm, and I had my lesson with Elizabeth on one of the few dry patches. We were out in an empty pasture working on jumping. I instructed Elizabeth to point Billy toward a tiny log on the ground. Elizabeth rode her perfectly straight to the jump and as her front feet began to lift off the ground, she suddenly slammed to a stop. This startled Elizabeth and she jolted forward. As she regained her balance she looked up at me, disappointment filled her face. Billy had never refused a jump before. She dug her heels into Billy’s side and urged her to jump. Billy hesitated and then warily popped over. The footing on the landing side was extremely soggy, too soggy. Billy’s legs slipped out from under her. Both Elizabeth and Billy went tumbling into the mud. I ran to the scene, helped Elizabeth to her feet and caught Billy. They were both a little shaken but in one piece. I could tell by the look on her face that she felt extremely guilty for having made Billy jump when she knew better. Elizabeth later told me that she had learned a valuable lesson: "When you have created trust in a horse, respect it."

Later that night, as I was enjoying my dinner, the telephone rang. It was the stable help who closed up the barn for me. He said that Billy was sick. I thought that it must be colic and quickly ran down to the barn. As it turned out, it was a severe case of colic. I immediately called the vet. Billy had a history of bouts of colic, but never before was it serious enough for the vet to do anything besides give her an injection of medicine. Billy was flown to the St. Paul Animal Hospital just 70 miles west of Worthington.

I stayed with Billy through the whole experience. I had earlier called the Hopkins’ house and was told that if all else failed, then I had their permission to put her down. I prayed that I would not have to make that decision. But two hours after we arrived, Billy was put to rest.

I returned to the barn by late the afternoon. Knowing that the news had already reached Elizabeth, I searched for her. I found her in Billy’s stall.

As I turn to the final page of Elizabeth’s journal I take a deep breath and continue reading. The page reads: "The next few hours were a blur. I remember begging my mom to take me to see Billy. She tried to reason with me, saying that Billy would not be there, but eventually she caved in. My whole body was numb as I sat in the driveway, waiting to see the trailer pull up, but knowing that when it did, it would be empty. As I waited to hear the clatter of the two-horse trailer, at least five of my barn friends came and sat with me. All I could do was stare down at the road and remember the past four months I had spent with Billy. I cannot remember what any of them said, or even who they were. I just sat and stared. After long hours of waiting the telephone rang and the afternoon feed help handed me the phone. I begged my legs to run as my hand slowly reached for the phone. I started to walk towards Billy’s stall and listened to my teary trainer and dear friend tell me what I already knew. Billy was not coming back. At this time I was almost at Billy’s stall. I was begging God to let Billy be there when I opened my eyes. Slowly, I forced my eyes open. All I saw was an empty stall. I could still see the imprint of her body lying in the shavings. She was probably trying to relieve the stomach pains caused by the colic. I took a deep breath and fell to my knees. Tears flooded from my eyes and I sat there and cried. I probably cried for hours. In between breaths, I felt a warm hand touch my shoulder. As I turned around, I saw the welcoming face I had learned to love. My trainer, Sarah, was standing above me. She eased me from the ground and led me to her office. She held me close, like I was her own child. I cried in her arms. We talked for over an hour about the day’s events and she walked me home for dinner."

The heat from the fire in the parlor is overwhelming. Big drops of sweat fall from my face as I realize the enormity of my experiences with Elizabeth Hopkins. She is becoming a truly gifted horseman and has done nothing but add to my world of horses. As I shut the journal I take a deep sigh.

The next week I receive a letter from Elizabeth (most of my personal letters are from Elizabeth Hopkins). I unfold the letter and read:

Dearest Sarah,

The anniversary of Billy’s death is drawing near. It has been ten years since the incident but the day seems all too close. Since then, I have ridden many horses and had greater successes than I could have ever had on Billy. Nevertheless, such a special bond could never be duplicated. I am reminded of this each time I find myself talking to a horse. I hope to hear from you soon.

Always Love, Elizabeth