Naming Tara
When I listened, my horse listened
Tara’s name wasn’t always Tara.
I was reading the paper one afternoon (this was about 18 years ago, when there were still papers) and happened on an article that caught my eye. I have no recollection of what the article was about, but it included English translations of a few Indian name including Chandra, which means moon in English, and Tara, which means star.
I had a friend whose sister was named Chandra, so that was interesting.
And I had a horse named Star.
Star was about three years old at the time. I’d known her and her half-brother, Fuersti, since they were about a year and a half old. How I met them and how they came to be mine is a long story for another time, but I was boarding them at a large facility, about 20 acres, with 20 or so other horses. They’d never been stalled, but their paddock and pasture had only been about three acres, so they went wild with all the space and companionship at the new place.
I loved Fuersti’s name. His first human, who was Austrian, had named him. Fuerst means prince in Austrian. The “i” on the end is a diminutive — my little prince.
I didn’t love Star’s name. I mean, talk about unimaginative. And it didn’t fit her. For one, Star, it seemed to me, was a name for a Western horse. She was, and still is, a Thoroughbred/Hanoverian cross, breeds that are most often used in English riding — jumping and dressage. And also, she didn’t have a star, that blotch of white on a horse’s forehead. Her mom’s name was Kinsale Star, so they’d named her filly Star, but it seemed to me they’d just taken the lazy way out.
Once a day, I’d go to the property where my two lived to feed them (they had all the hay they wanted, but I fed them a meal that included supplements) and play/work with them. When they were all the way down the hill in the huge pasture, I would walk down with halters and lead ropes, put them on, and lead the two of them up top, where I put them in a smaller area away from their rowdy friends.
About half the time, a bunch of the horses would be in the largish paddock up top, where the hay was, where the water was, where a run-in shed was. Then, I could just call them and put their halters on when they came to me. Fuersti always walked right over. Star was a different story.
She’d look at me and then turn her back and trot away. When she eventually stood still, I would approach her to put her halter on. She’d toss her head and scoot sideways, trot away. She thought it was funny. But after a few weeks of this, her nonsense often brought me to tears. My Nikos, the horse who had brought me to horses, to Reiki, to my new life, had recently died. He had followed me everywhere, anywhere. I didn’t even need a halter or lead. I was still very fragile after losing him. Star was breaking my heart.
One day, I said to her, “It’s OK if you don’t want to be with me. I’ll find someone else for you to live with.” Then, of course, I cried.
A communicator friend who boarded her horses on the same property, spoke to Star. My friend said Star told her she was just being silly, just playing around. I don’t remember if she apologized for hurting my feelings. I do remember that her behavior didn’t change.
When I read the name Tara in the paper, saw that it meant Star, something in me clicked. I got that sensation up my spine that tells me I’m on to something.
That afternoon when I went to the property to feed, a bunch of the horses, including my two, were in the upper paddock, hanging out. Star was about 20 feet from the gate, her back to me. I opened the gate. Walked in. “Tara,” I said. “Tara.”
She immediately turned and looked at me, locked eyes with me, and then walked up to me. I stroked her neck. “Tara,” I said.
Tara is 21 now. Some days she will be silly for a minute, pretend to ignore me, but most often, she will gallop across a pasture to me when I call her name.
Reprint of September 22, 2021 “Bits & Pieces” newsletter.
WingedHorseHealing.com
