Chapter 22 Big Horse Energy
big horse energy
ROXANNE
The next morning, Leo and Allie gasp when I open my door. For what feels like the longest time, they stand there, gaping at me in the hallway.
“Will you two come in,” I say, scooting them through the door. “Someone’s going to think you’re a fish and cast you a lure.”
“Sweetie!!” Allie says, throwing her arms around my neck. “You’re not hiding anymore!”
I glance down at my more sensible ensemble of jean shorts, tank top, and flannel. My scar is still mostly covered, but hey, it’s better than a turtleneck.
“It’s too hot,” I mumble, already feeling my cheeks warm from the attention.
Leo grins behind her. “Whatever your reason, it’s good to see you like this.”
“Thank you,” I say, agreeing that I do feel a little lighter and cooler.
Over the next several days, we follow along with Topper and Rusty as they show us what a typical week on the ranch looks like. Allie, Leo, and I get to work, capturing the humming, busy life of Firebird Ranch.
Topper is a farrier, which means that he’s skilled in shoeing and caring for the horses’ hooves. He’s set up outside the barn in what he calls the shoeing bay—a shaded area with rubber mats and a hitching post, designed to keep both horse and human safe during hoof work.
He demonstrates how to pick out debris with a hoof pick, check for thrush, and balance the hoof before filing it down. Horses are majestic and all, but holding a horse’s leg while it leans two tons of body weight against you? That takes some trust, and Topper has the talent and strength to do it.
Allie, meanwhile, is leaning up against the stone wall outside one of the stalls. She’s suspiciously silent for someone who usually narrates everything. I glance over, and sure enough—her eyes are fixed on Topper’s arms like they’re the eighth wonder of the world.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“Oh, I appreciate the tutorial,” she says. “Very … educational.”
“I almost believe you except you keep gasping like you’re front row at Magic Mike: Ranch Edition.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of how incredible his forearms are,” she says, biting her lip.
“You need to keep it together,” I say with a smile.
After the horse has new shoes and happily trots out into one of the paddocks, we move on to the duck pond where a couple of other vets are feeding the ducks with a package of peas. Rusty explains that the ducks are the natural pest and weed control for the ranch.
As the week progresses, I realize how important all the animals are to the everyday functioning of the ranch and how the vets enjoy caring for them.
The other thing I realize? Duke has gotten avoiding me down to a science.
He’s up and out of the house when I get there to check my morning emails and all I hear is the click of his bedroom door at night when I go to write.
I’m happy I’ve started my first round of interviews, which keeps my mind busy so the constant stream of Duke TV does not play over and over again in my head.
Except that it does.
The logical part of my brain knows that I need to keep him at a distance. I’m here to do a job, and I’ll be leaving in a couple months anyway. But I can’t stop thinking about how his calloused hands wandered up my thighs and started to claim parts of my body that night in his truck.
After nearly a week of observing the rhythm of ranch life, today’s focus is on something different. After breakfast, Topper picks us up at the lodge and drives us to the south horse paddock where the Equine-assisted therapy staff is doing a demonstration for us.
“Y’all are in for a treat today,” Topper says.
“Can’t wait,” Allie says.
“You’re going to meet Dr. Irene Yazzie our Licensed Clinical Social Worker and Director of Mental Health Programs. Her grandfather was a Navajo Code Talker.”
“Wow,” Leo says.
“She works with Beckett Shaw, Equine specialist and one of our veterinarians. He served in the U.S. Army Veterinary Corps, patching up service dogs and cavalry horses overseas. These days he says the horses patch him up instead.”
“And what exactly happens in a session?” I ask notebook in hand ready to jot down Topper’s answer.
“Beckett handles the horses, Irene handles the humans. It’s not about riding or training the horses.
The client—usually one of our vets—works with a horse on the ground.
Could be grooming, leading, or just standing still together.
The horse reacts to whatever energy that person’s putting out.
Gets nervous if they’re tense, calm if they relax.
Irene helps them unpack what that means after.
It’s kinda wild—like the horse becomes a mirror for what’s going on inside. ”
“That sounds incredible,” Allie says, eyes on the paddock coming into view.
“Yeah,” Topper says, his voice softening. “Some of the breakthroughs I’ve seen out here—people remembering how to breathe again for the first time in years—it’s powerful stuff. Trust me, you’ll feel it.”
While I would love to believe grooming a horse could lead to real change for a person, I remain skeptical as I finish my notes.
The golf cart slows to a crawl as we approach the south paddock.
Sunlight flashes off the steel rails, and the low, steady thud of hooves carries on the breeze.
Two figures stand inside the corral, and between them, of course, is Goose.
The same chestnut menace who baptized me in a horse trough my first week here.
He looks far more dignified now, head high, tail flicking lazily, as if he knows he’s the star of the show.
The man holding his lead rope moves with quiet confidence.
His jeans are dusty, his boots scuffed, but he carries himself like someone who’s spent a lifetime earning the right to be comfortable in his own skin.
A few feet away stands a woman in a soft denim shirt tucked neatly into dark jeans. Coral and turquoise catch the light at her throat and wrists, the kind of craftsmanship that speaks of roots, not fashion. Her braid, streaked with silver, glows faintly in the morning sun.
Topper climbs out first, swinging the gate open with his usual flourish. “Mornin’, folks!” he calls. “Brought our visitors to see the famous Goose in action.”
Beckett looks up from the horse, offering a nod more than a smile—the kind of greeting that says welcome without wasting words. Goose shifts beside him, perfectly calm.
Dr. Irene Yazzie steps forward, wiping her hands on her jeans before offering one. Her palm is warm, steady. “Good morning,” she says, her voice low and textured, like gravel softened by water. “You must be Roxanne Denning. I’m Irene.”
“Yes, great to meet you,” I say, trying not to sound nervous.
Her mouth curves gently. “We’ve heard about your adventures with this one.” She nods toward Goose, who flicks an ear as if to confirm the accusation.
Allie laughs. “He’s kind of a big deal around here, huh?”
“He reminds us every day.” Irene gestures toward Beckett. “Goose and Beckett work as a team, which you’ll see in a moment. For now, we’ll do a short demonstration—give you an idea of how an Equine-Assisted Therapy session unfolds.”
“Is this therapy for the horse or the human?” Leo asks.
“Depends on who needs it more,” Beckett says without looking up, his voice carrying that easy Colorado drawl.
We run through a few more formal introductions as Leo and Allie also shake hands with Irene and Beckett before Irene walks us through more details about the demonstration.
“Beckett will play the part of our client today,” she explains. “I’ll walk you through what we observe, and then we’ll talk about how it connects to emotional awareness and regulation. The goal isn’t to make the horse obey, it’s to see what the interaction reveals.”
Topper winks at Allie. “Told you this was good stuff.”
“This sounds great,” Allie says. “Give us a few minutes to set up our equipment and we can get started?”
Irene and Beckett nod as Allie and Leo start to unpack their equipment.
Leo kneels outside the paddock gate, camera balanced on one knee, scanning the arena through the viewfinder.
He adjusts the focus ring with a flick of his fingers, testing the light against the dust in the air, while Allie checks the levels on his mic pack and waves for him to drop the gain.
“We’re getting some wind noise off the barn,” she says, tapping her tablet.
“Let’s pivot five degrees and use the rail as a shield. ”
My attention shifts as Irene moves closer to us, while Goose swats a fly away with his tail.
“Okay if we come in?” Leo asks.
“Of course,” Irene says.
Leo steps in followed by Allie who crosses to Irene and clips a tiny lav mic to her shirt collar, tucking the wire discreetly out of sight. She repeats this process with Beckett and then gives Leo a thumbs up.
“And we’re ready in 3, 2, 1 …” Allie says before pointing to Leo.
“Equine-assisted therapy isn’t usually about riding,” Irene says. “It’s about connection. Reflection. The horse becomes a mirror for the person working with them. If you bring tension into this space? The horse picks up on it. You lie to yourself about how you’re feeling? They’ll call you on it.”
For the sake of the camera, Irene instructs Beckett on what to do.
Slowly, they both walk with Goose around the paddock as Leo films until they arrive back at the gate.
Irene continues the demonstration talking about how equine-assisted psychotherapy helps veterans rebuild trust, regulate anxiety, and reconnect with the present moment.
Irene then steps back and lets Beckett step up to the camera.
Goose nudges Beckett’s shoulder, and he huffs a quiet laugh. “He’s reminding me I’m not in charge. Back in the Army, everything was about control. Here, it’s about letting go and that’s a whole different kind of hard.”