One Saturday morning as I sat in my kitchen after morning stable chores, a strange car with a horse trailer in tow pulled into my driveway. As I watched out my window a rather dignified looking man, perhaps fifty years old at the time, emerged from his car and after asking directions from one of the kids that hung around the stable, started to make his way up the steep stairs that led to my door. He was dressed in white riding breeches, a scarlet jacket with white shirt, stock and tie and wore shiny black riding boots complete with brown hunting tops and spurs. He was stooped over with his hard hat tilted back exposing a rather ruddy completion. He looked like a character from an old British ‘Fallow Field Hunt’ engraving and as it turned out, he was just returning from a ride with the North Toronto Hunt Club. When I opened the door to greet him his demeanour suggested that he may have indulged in a few stirrup cups at the conclusion of the hunt and although he looked very tired, he was feeling no pain.
He introduced himself as Graham Gower and then walked boldly over to the table and plopped down in a chair and removing his hat, said, “Say, you wouldn’t have a sandwich or something to munch on, would you?”
At first I was a little astonished at his effrontery but I complied and as I busied myself buttering bread, digging out cold cuts and making a pot of tea, he chatted away and I found myself delighting in his totally confident and unaffected manner. Previously I had only seen his kind of behaviour in the movies but now I had someone in my kitchen that actually prefaced requests with “I say old boy?” He had the kind of confidence that old money engenders. He was by no means a snob, a little eccentric perhaps, but definitely not a snob.
What impressed me most about him was that he had no hang-ups or baggage of the sort that I carried around with me. I would never dream of barging into a stranger’s house and demanding to be fed. Most of the people in the circles I travelled in when I was growing up, had little enough for themselves and yet, for some reason, I found Graham’s assuming manner not to be offensive in anyway. He was straightforward, honest and direct with me and from the moment we met, I felt that I could treat him the same way. That Saturday morning saw the beginning of an unlikely but lasting friendship.
Graham had two horses he wanted to board with me; I didn’t really have room in my already crowded stable but I decided that if his horses would be content with being housed in narrow standing stalls instead of their customary luxurious box stalls, I would squeeze him in. I don’t know how the subject came up, but one day he revealed to me that he was a doctor, more specifically a psychiatrist and that he had a very busy practice out of a nearby hospital. His horses were his way of relaxing and getting away from other peoples problems. He used to ride everyday, sometimes in the early mornings and sometimes late into the evenings and he always dropped into my cottage afterwards. I didn’t have to make him sandwiches anymore-- he knew where the fridge and the liquor cabinet were located and would help himself.
At first I was a little astonished at his effrontery but I complied and as I busied myself buttering bread, digging out cold cuts and making a pot of tea, he chatted away and I found myself delighting in his totally confident and unaffected manner. Previously I had only seen his kind of behaviour in the movies but now I had someone in my kitchen that actually prefaced requests with “I say old boy?” He had the kind of confidence that old money engenders. He was by no means a snob, a little eccentric perhaps, but definitely not a snob.
What impressed me most about him was that he had no hang-ups or baggage of the sort that I carried around with me. I would never dream of barging into a stranger’s house and demanding to be fed. Most of the people in the circles I travelled in when I was growing up, had little enough for themselves and yet, for some reason, I found Graham’s assuming manner not to be offensive in anyway. He was straightforward, honest and direct with me and from the moment we met, I felt that I could treat him the same way. That Saturday morning saw the beginning of an unlikely but lasting friendship.
Graham had two horses he wanted to board with me; I didn’t really have room in my already crowded stable but I decided that if his horses would be content with being housed in narrow standing stalls instead of their customary luxurious box stalls, I would squeeze him in. I don’t know how the subject came up, but one day he revealed to me that he was a doctor, more specifically a psychiatrist and that he had a very busy practice out of a nearby hospital. His horses were his way of relaxing and getting away from other peoples problems. He used to ride everyday, sometimes in the early mornings and sometimes late into the evenings and he always dropped into my cottage afterwards. I didn’t have to make him sandwiches anymore-- he knew where the fridge and the liquor cabinet were located and would help himself.
I had other doctors and nurses using the stable and through them I learned that Graham was well known and well respected in his chosen field; I was quite impressed but I didn’t let him know that.
I have heard since that many doctors enter the field of psychiatry because they themselves have experienced many of the problems that they now set out to cure. I think Graham was a prime example of this syndrome.
I don’t know why, but after we got to know each other better he began to lean on me for advice on a wide range of subjects, not always to do with horses. I suppose it was a way to counter the endless hours he spent listening to other people’s problems and advising them; everybody needs someone to talk to. The humorous irony didn’t go unnoticed by either of us; sometimes when he would phone me in the middle of the night, wanting to discuss some problem that was keeping him from sleeping, I would listen half awake until he got everything off his chest and if I didn’t have any other pearls of wisdom, I would simply say, “Okay, Graham, take two aspirin and call me in the morning!” I would always hear him tittering away on the other end of the phone as I hung up.
If he could have left his work at his office and not dragged it around with him all the time he would have been a much happier man. He didn’t seem to be able to switch the psychiatrist button to the off position even when he was in the stable dealing with his horses.
One day, as we stood looking into the stall that held his mare, Jala, he confided in me, in all seriousness, that he felt that she had a very strong ‘Love/Hate’ thing going for him and that he didn’t know what to do about it. He showed me several large blue bruises on his arms where she had been biting him while he attempted to saddle her. He said, as he displayed his latest wound still red and throbbing, that he been consulting the writings of B.F. Skinner but Positive Reinforcement didn’t seem to be working.
I rolled up my sleeves, took the saddle from him and stepped up beside the horse, saying “This looks like a job for Pavlov!” The mare was busy with her oats but as she saw me lift the saddle up and over her withers, she flattened her ears, barred her teeth and struck out at me with the
I have heard since that many doctors enter the field of psychiatry because they themselves have experienced many of the problems that they now set out to cure. I think Graham was a prime example of this syndrome.
I don’t know why, but after we got to know each other better he began to lean on me for advice on a wide range of subjects, not always to do with horses. I suppose it was a way to counter the endless hours he spent listening to other people’s problems and advising them; everybody needs someone to talk to. The humorous irony didn’t go unnoticed by either of us; sometimes when he would phone me in the middle of the night, wanting to discuss some problem that was keeping him from sleeping, I would listen half awake until he got everything off his chest and if I didn’t have any other pearls of wisdom, I would simply say, “Okay, Graham, take two aspirin and call me in the morning!” I would always hear him tittering away on the other end of the phone as I hung up.
If he could have left his work at his office and not dragged it around with him all the time he would have been a much happier man. He didn’t seem to be able to switch the psychiatrist button to the off position even when he was in the stable dealing with his horses.
One day, as we stood looking into the stall that held his mare, Jala, he confided in me, in all seriousness, that he felt that she had a very strong ‘Love/Hate’ thing going for him and that he didn’t know what to do about it. He showed me several large blue bruises on his arms where she had been biting him while he attempted to saddle her. He said, as he displayed his latest wound still red and throbbing, that he been consulting the writings of B.F. Skinner but Positive Reinforcement didn’t seem to be working.
I rolled up my sleeves, took the saddle from him and stepped up beside the horse, saying “This looks like a job for Pavlov!” The mare was busy with her oats but as she saw me lift the saddle up and over her withers, she flattened her ears, barred her teeth and struck out at me with the
quickness of a snake. I was ready for her and thumped her soundly on the nose before she could reach me. She shook her head and sized me up once or twice more and then went back to her food. With a little coaxing I talked Graham into using the same technique and before the day was out the cure was complete and the problem never reoccurred.
I cautioned Graham that, despite the instant success we observed with the horse, it was probably a little premature to think about changing any of the techniques he was currently using at his clinic! He just laughed but he had a strange glint in his eye.
In fact, the day did come when the stables and his clinic merged. I had been running special riding classes for people with various handicaps and one day as Graham stood at the side of the ring watching me instruct a group of blind people, it occurred to him that this type of activity might be beneficial to some of the people he had in group therapy.
He could hardly wait for the class to end so that he could pitch his idea to me. I didn’t take much convincing. I was always up for something new; regular riding classes, in the numbers we were dealing with, could become boring and tedious. “Run it by them at your next session and if they’re game so am I” I said.
A week later when he came back with the news that his group was anxious to give it a go I scheduled a time and lined up a suitable number of volunteers to assist me with the group. I always paired an experienced rider with any of the people in special classes to act as a guide or to assist in any way they could. It wasn’t hard to find kids to help me. The ones that hung around the stables, mostly girls, were always anxious for some extra riding.
Graham phoned one day to say that it was very important that the members of the group handle all the arrangements themselves, that it would be part of their therapy and that he would merely act as liaison relaying the details of the planned outing back and forth between us.
I was very excited about the possibilities of this new form of therapy and so, in a burst of generosity, I told Dr. Gower, as I now felt it appropriate to call him, that the first lesson would be on me.
I hung up the phone elated and full of ideas and eager to get started. My euphoria diminished to a certain extent the next day when Graham phoned to tell me that his group was really pissed off with me. “Gee, I’m sorry. What have I done?” I asked. “They feel horribly insulted that you offered them the charity of a free lesson,” he said, “And you know what?” he continued with a bit of an accusatory edge to his voice, “I’m inclined to agree with them. How are they ever going to feel normal again if we don’t treat them normally?”
I cautioned Graham that, despite the instant success we observed with the horse, it was probably a little premature to think about changing any of the techniques he was currently using at his clinic! He just laughed but he had a strange glint in his eye.
In fact, the day did come when the stables and his clinic merged. I had been running special riding classes for people with various handicaps and one day as Graham stood at the side of the ring watching me instruct a group of blind people, it occurred to him that this type of activity might be beneficial to some of the people he had in group therapy.
He could hardly wait for the class to end so that he could pitch his idea to me. I didn’t take much convincing. I was always up for something new; regular riding classes, in the numbers we were dealing with, could become boring and tedious. “Run it by them at your next session and if they’re game so am I” I said.
A week later when he came back with the news that his group was anxious to give it a go I scheduled a time and lined up a suitable number of volunteers to assist me with the group. I always paired an experienced rider with any of the people in special classes to act as a guide or to assist in any way they could. It wasn’t hard to find kids to help me. The ones that hung around the stables, mostly girls, were always anxious for some extra riding.
Graham phoned one day to say that it was very important that the members of the group handle all the arrangements themselves, that it would be part of their therapy and that he would merely act as liaison relaying the details of the planned outing back and forth between us.
I was very excited about the possibilities of this new form of therapy and so, in a burst of generosity, I told Dr. Gower, as I now felt it appropriate to call him, that the first lesson would be on me.
I hung up the phone elated and full of ideas and eager to get started. My euphoria diminished to a certain extent the next day when Graham phoned to tell me that his group was really pissed off with me. “Gee, I’m sorry. What have I done?” I asked. “They feel horribly insulted that you offered them the charity of a free lesson,” he said, “And you know what?” he continued with a bit of an accusatory edge to his voice, “I’m inclined to agree with them. How are they ever going to feel normal again if we don’t treat them normally?”
I wasn’t quite sure whose side he was on, but I acquiesced, saying, “I’m sorry, Graham, terrible faux pas on my part, please apologize to the group on my behalf and tell them, of course, they will be charged the regular rate, the same as everybody else.” Graham managed to salvage the project, even though some of the group was now murmuring that my prices were too high, and the date was set.
When my stable bums found out that I was recruiting them to help with a bunch of mental patients they weren’t as accommodating as they normally would have been and I was forced to pay them real money. Ah well! It was all in the cause of science.
When the day finally arrived my whole crew stood at the ready as Dr. Gower, as I had cautioned everyone to call him, arrived in his yellow school bus accompanied by about twenty of his patients.
Coincidentally I had just seen ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’ and I was prepared for the worst but as they filed out of the bus and headed for the stable, all seemed normal, not a Psycho Ceramic among them.
Things are not always as they seem. I kept up a bright and cheery banter while I paired my helpers up with the various patients but I could see from the looks on some of their faces that they weren’t particularly happy about the arrangement in general and some of the partners in particular.
I ignored this sign of potential trouble and got on with the first order of business, which was to get each of the patients onto their horse. We only had two mounting blocks available and since everybody in the new class was a novice, my assistants were having a lot of trouble getting their charges mounted. There were a few morbidly obese people who monopolized the mounting blocks, requiring the added assistance of the men who looked after the stable to lever them onto some pretty reluctant looking horses.
The rest of my crew were resorting to the traditional method of assisting a person into the saddle called ‘Giving a leg up.’ This requires the person wishing to mount to stand facing the side of the horse and, grasping the front and back of the saddle, bending a leg to allow an assistant to take hold of the inside of their knee, to be hoisted onto the horse.
At first, things seemed to be going fairly well as I stood looking down the long line of horses tethered to the top rail of the paddock but then I heard I heard screaming coming from the far end of the column and rushed down to see what was going on. One of the more dignified ladies in the group had just slapped one of my helpers when she touched her leg and was busy berating Graham who had arrived at the scene before I did. “I’ve told you a hundred times I’m not a lesbian!” she yelled. ‘If this is just an elaborate plot to test me, you might have picked a more attractive girl to trick me; even if I were what you think I am I wouldn’t be attracted to that snip of a thing!” At that my little helper threw the reins she had been holding into my hands and ran crying into the arms of her mother who stood watching from the stable door. I left Graham to deal with his crazy lady while I went to the barn and tried to appease two very upset regular customers.
When my stable bums found out that I was recruiting them to help with a bunch of mental patients they weren’t as accommodating as they normally would have been and I was forced to pay them real money. Ah well! It was all in the cause of science.
When the day finally arrived my whole crew stood at the ready as Dr. Gower, as I had cautioned everyone to call him, arrived in his yellow school bus accompanied by about twenty of his patients.
Coincidentally I had just seen ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’ and I was prepared for the worst but as they filed out of the bus and headed for the stable, all seemed normal, not a Psycho Ceramic among them.
Things are not always as they seem. I kept up a bright and cheery banter while I paired my helpers up with the various patients but I could see from the looks on some of their faces that they weren’t particularly happy about the arrangement in general and some of the partners in particular.
I ignored this sign of potential trouble and got on with the first order of business, which was to get each of the patients onto their horse. We only had two mounting blocks available and since everybody in the new class was a novice, my assistants were having a lot of trouble getting their charges mounted. There were a few morbidly obese people who monopolized the mounting blocks, requiring the added assistance of the men who looked after the stable to lever them onto some pretty reluctant looking horses.
The rest of my crew were resorting to the traditional method of assisting a person into the saddle called ‘Giving a leg up.’ This requires the person wishing to mount to stand facing the side of the horse and, grasping the front and back of the saddle, bending a leg to allow an assistant to take hold of the inside of their knee, to be hoisted onto the horse.
At first, things seemed to be going fairly well as I stood looking down the long line of horses tethered to the top rail of the paddock but then I heard I heard screaming coming from the far end of the column and rushed down to see what was going on. One of the more dignified ladies in the group had just slapped one of my helpers when she touched her leg and was busy berating Graham who had arrived at the scene before I did. “I’ve told you a hundred times I’m not a lesbian!” she yelled. ‘If this is just an elaborate plot to test me, you might have picked a more attractive girl to trick me; even if I were what you think I am I wouldn’t be attracted to that snip of a thing!” At that my little helper threw the reins she had been holding into my hands and ran crying into the arms of her mother who stood watching from the stable door. I left Graham to deal with his crazy lady while I went to the barn and tried to appease two very upset regular customers.
When I returned, Graham had taken his upset patient to the mounting block and without touching her further, had her mounted on her horse; she now sat serenely smiling as if nothing had happened.
In the meantime, except for a few minor indecent assaults on both male and female assistants, the process was uneventful and all were on their horses and ready to go. I mounted my horse and in John Wayne, shouted “Yo!” and then led the long column up the hill toward the quiet bridle paths.
Graham rode beside me and when he twisted in his saddle to see how things were coming along behind he seemed pleased. He had decided that a trail ride was the best way to start the project because he felt that his patients would resent the structure that a formal lesson would entail.
After a few minutes he looked back to check the line of horses and this time when he looked over to me, he wasn’t smiling; obviously something was wrong.
I called the column to a halt and when I looked back I could see that several arguments were breaking out between the patients and their assistants. As Graham and I turned our horses and rode back down the line to see what was going on, we could see that although all the arguments were different and peculiar to each pair, they all had a common theme: just because they were mental patients didn’t mean that they had to take orders from kids half their age and they were all damned mad and they weren’t going to take it anymore! They became so outraged and abusive that one by one my assistants peeled off and headed for home. Finally even the most stalwart of my crew, two young ladies who had been planning a career in psychiatric nursing, abandoned ship and headed for the stable at a fast gallop.
That left just Graham and me to care for group. Thank God they were all mounted on quiet old horses that had been over the trail so many times that they just followed along nose to tail.
The patients began to surrender to the rocking rhythm of their horses’ gait as we passed through the winding wooded trails. The only other troubling incident, which involved one of the male patients exposing himself, went virtually unnoticed by the rest of the group. Fortunately he was riding at the end of the line and only drew the attention of the occasional bird watcher we passed along the way.
In the meantime, except for a few minor indecent assaults on both male and female assistants, the process was uneventful and all were on their horses and ready to go. I mounted my horse and in John Wayne, shouted “Yo!” and then led the long column up the hill toward the quiet bridle paths.
Graham rode beside me and when he twisted in his saddle to see how things were coming along behind he seemed pleased. He had decided that a trail ride was the best way to start the project because he felt that his patients would resent the structure that a formal lesson would entail.
After a few minutes he looked back to check the line of horses and this time when he looked over to me, he wasn’t smiling; obviously something was wrong.
I called the column to a halt and when I looked back I could see that several arguments were breaking out between the patients and their assistants. As Graham and I turned our horses and rode back down the line to see what was going on, we could see that although all the arguments were different and peculiar to each pair, they all had a common theme: just because they were mental patients didn’t mean that they had to take orders from kids half their age and they were all damned mad and they weren’t going to take it anymore! They became so outraged and abusive that one by one my assistants peeled off and headed for home. Finally even the most stalwart of my crew, two young ladies who had been planning a career in psychiatric nursing, abandoned ship and headed for the stable at a fast gallop.
That left just Graham and me to care for group. Thank God they were all mounted on quiet old horses that had been over the trail so many times that they just followed along nose to tail.
The patients began to surrender to the rocking rhythm of their horses’ gait as we passed through the winding wooded trails. The only other troubling incident, which involved one of the male patients exposing himself, went virtually unnoticed by the rest of the group. Fortunately he was riding at the end of the line and only drew the attention of the occasional bird watcher we passed along the way.
I couldn’t get this ordeal over quickly enough and I breathed a real sigh of relief as we rounded the final bend and the stables came into sight.
We weren’t long getting the group dismounted and into the safety of the bus. While Graham debriefed his group, I began a long series of apologies to my assistants and their parents with some of them looking as if they could use some trauma counselling themselves.
The crowning event of the day occurred when Graham returned from the bus to tell me that the group was refusing to pay because they had returned from their one-hour trail ride five minutes early...
I watched the big yellow bus belching blue smoke. As it headed out of the valley, I realized that I had lost all my enthusiasm for developing new techniques of psychotherapy and was coming to appreciate the more traditional methods like electric shock, hydrotherapy, lobotomy or out and out confinement in straight jackets!
We weren’t long getting the group dismounted and into the safety of the bus. While Graham debriefed his group, I began a long series of apologies to my assistants and their parents with some of them looking as if they could use some trauma counselling themselves.
The crowning event of the day occurred when Graham returned from the bus to tell me that the group was refusing to pay because they had returned from their one-hour trail ride five minutes early...
I watched the big yellow bus belching blue smoke. As it headed out of the valley, I realized that I had lost all my enthusiasm for developing new techniques of psychotherapy and was coming to appreciate the more traditional methods like electric shock, hydrotherapy, lobotomy or out and out confinement in straight jackets!
No comments:
Post a Comment