Early in 2025, I posted a column titled “The Story Didn’t End.” The story referenced began with an incident in late May of 2024 in the stable where I used to ride. It was no ordinary hour in the saddle, but included horse-to-rider communication mediated by the talented young horse-whisperer who walked alongside us.
For many educated people, skepticism is the default. For me, I get to skepticism only after I’ve first tried everything else. In this case, why shouldn’t living creatures beside ourselves communicate and understand each other? Why should that ability be restricted to human beings? Or flow only downward from human to other creatures, but never upward? After all, horses have been in and around human lives for a very long time. They may well know a lot about us.
Coming back to the present story, my hours of riding-with-the-horse-whisperer came to an abrupt end after the whisperer expressed what I took to be callous condescension concerning Israeli victims of the jihadi atrocities of October 7, 2023. I suppose that dark day, and the days of global anti-semitism that followed, had been on my mind, which was why I talked about it during that last afternoon in the saddle. For riding with a horse-whisperer, it’s better to say what’s on your mind. If not, you’re wasting your time because the mare will mimic your reticence and you’ll get nothing from her.
About a month after that last ride, I felt obligated morally to write the horse-whisperer with an explanation of why my rides at that fine stable had come to an end. Since she did not respond, I felt I had done my duty in this matter and considered the case closed.
It stayed in that closed condition till the recent holiday season when a message was left on my phone from the nice woman who owned the stable, and was, as it happens, the mother of the horse-whisperer! After the second such message, I realized that this wasn’t likely to be a call to resuscitate relations with a one-time client. It was probably a personal call. Not to return it would be rude. What’s more, I had reason to respect this woman. Her horses were beautiful and exceptionally well cared for. For me, that was decisive.
What she called to ask was why I had stopped riding there. I explained the reason as discretely as I could, wanting neither to tell tales nor to be frustratingly evasive. What I learned (as told here about a month ago) was that her daughter had never received my letter because they got their mail at a postal box – not at the stable! Which meant I felt morally obligated to revisit these painful memories, possibly be disappointed again, and resend the letter that her daughter the horse-whisperer had yet to read.
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Accordingly, I sent my original letter a second time, and waited. When three to four weeks had passed in silence, I concluded that this time the silence must be deliberate. It looked as if the updated story had merely got its earlier unhappy ending renewed and reinforced. This frustrating plot-windup seemed closer to the style of contemporary novels, in sad contrast to the majestic resolutions of the great nineteenth century novels … .
Such was the conclusion I drew – until yesterday. The weekend’s mail included a reply letter from the horse whisperer. Her letter was as lengthy as mine had been, and just as effortful. She had been trying clumsily to translate the lead mare’s instinctive aversion to violence of any kind, for any cause. The lead mare’s job is to keep the herd safe. She had never meant to sound callous or indifferent to the Israeli victims with whom I identified – victims of cruelty that was deliberate, extreme, bragged about by the perpetrators and subsequently, dumbfoundingly, cheered around the planet. I could see that her letter was animated by a strong and evidently sincere religious sense. She apologized for inadvertent harm and hoped forgiveness could prevail between us. She thanked me for having twice taken the trouble to address the situation, by sending my letter a second time. She hoped I would ride again. What she wrote was effortful, respectful and sincere.
It repaired the situation.
Will I ride again? I don’t know. By now, I’m awfully busy. On the other hand, it’s a principle with me not to wait to do in heaven what one can still do down here!
Related Content: The Story that Didn’t End | Character Witnesses
