My friend came by again this morning, in response to my request for advice about Bridget's wound. She agreed it looked like a kick. We hosed the wound thoroughly and applied Neosporin, pending my trip to the feed store for something more appropriate.
This morning, I was able (having spent some time thinking it over) to explain more clearly to my friend how my views have changed. I think we are not so very far off in how we see things, and I think part of the answer lies in the fact that she is being honest and true to herself in her current state of mind when she does what she does. Whereas I cannot be honest and true when I simply follow her suggestions or instructions. I have to learn not only to be "on solid ground" in my dealings with the horses, but also in my dealings with other people.
My friend thinks Rose just decided that it was time for Bridget to grow up, not be babied, and to accept third position. I think (although I didn't say so) that Rose saw Bridget being chased yesterday and decided, in that case, that it was ok for her to do the same. As we do, so shall they follow.
Later, on returning from the feed store with my "next generation" (!) antibiotic spray and anti-fly goop, I went in to apply it to Bridget. Of course, first I had to deal with George. After asking him very softly to move back about six times (which he did each time), I finally convinced him to stay away long enough for me to put on Bridget's halter. That didn't last long, and he was soon trying to join in again. Somehow, however, I eventually convinced him, by mild-mannered means, to keep a few feet away. I'm no Klaus Hempfling, and I'm sure my signals, body language, etc. are confused and confusing; KFH could keep George in position by asking one time with a twitch of his little finger. But throughout the clumsy process, George and I stayed connected, and I felt that even though he was at a little distance, there was an invisible thread joining us - I hadn't "driven him out of my space" but rather was holding him in my space where I wanted him. If controlling horses' movement through body language were playing the violin, I am still on the simplest version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. But ... I read something today in Dancing With Horses that speaks to this:
There is a distinguishing feature of our work. When what we are doing is right and good, then it will always look right and good - and beautiful - no matter at which level we are working. If our child, at five or six, at the very beginning of his journey, performs his first tap steps for us, even if it is not an actual dance, does not his performance nevertheless have great charm? Is it not beautiful in its own way, despite its awkwardness? (p.19)I hope so.