My friend Eleanor works with disturbed -- meaning anything
from juvenile delinguent to schizophrenic -- adolescents.  She
became interested in my work with crazy horses and watched
with particular interest the effects on young riders when they
learn to straighten out their horses.

I became interested in her work, too, and went around with
her to the homes of these children, bringing trained dogs with
me.  I also told the children, during those brief periods when it
was possible to speak to them, that I was a horse trainer.

Some of the boys (almost all were boys) responded with
interest to this, and Eleanor brought one of them to a horse
show, to watch the riding and jumping.  He slipped his lead
and ``stole'' a horse, a young stallion who, when the boy opened
his stall door, make a wild dash for freedom.

There was a lot of uproar and excitement about this, and
Eleanor, aware that in the horse world there can scarcely be a
crime more heinous, tried to explain to the boy the gravity of
what he had done.  I advised against this; the boy was plainly
in no frame of mind to comprehend and appeared to be hallucinating.
I suggested that in a day or two Eleanor should bring
him with her to my stable so I could give him a riding
lesson.  She did, and I put him on Peppy, who is not only a
former holder of the title Craziest Horse in the County but also
my more reliable school horse.  (I give lessons to a blind friend
on Peppy.  That's what I mean by reliable.)

When the boy showed up, he was displaying a full range
of schizoid behavior.  I got his attention and had him mount,
and for an hour Peppy took him around, mostly at walk and
trot, and carried him over a few low rails.  At the end of the
hour, the boy was so sore he could scarcely walk -- but he was
talking, making eye contact, responding to _what was said to him_
instead of to the internal voices he heard, or whatever it was
that goes on inside.  His body was symmetrical, and there was
congruence between his movements and his sentences.  He was
that strange, wonderful thing, a whole, proud, defiant, glorious
young human male.

His foster father, one would have said, was the kindest,
most understanding man in the world.  He never punished the
boy for his various difficult behaviors, and was infinitely tolerant
and patient.  I accompanied Eleanor when she drove the boy
home, and when we reached the house he was still glowing,
congruent.  He started to tell his foster father that today he rode
a horse.  ``And I made him _jump_!  A great big strong horse, and
I made him jump!''

I was puzzled because the father frowned and somewhat
shortly told the boy he had better go take a nap, he must be
tired.  The boy obediently began to look ``tired'' -- that is to say,
spaced out and schizy.  But apparently the boy wasn't fully
obedient, because I learned the next morning that the foster
father had beaten the shit out of him, and he was taken the
night before to emergency.  This began as an argument between
the boy and his father about his continuing to take riding lessons
(which I had offered him free).

The foster father said that the beating was necessary and
blamed it on Eleanor and me, who had confused the boy cruelly
just as he was doing so well, taking his naps and so on.  That
argument didn't stand up in court, as it happens.

There was another young boy named Joey.  He had been
diagnosed as autistic.  At the age of eleven, he had never been
known to speak a single word.  Joey's therapist had a dog, a
German Shepherd, whom she trained under Dick Koehler.

The dog was the only living creature Joey had been known
to attempt intimacy with, so the therapist went to Dick, and
they discussed getting a dog for Joey and having Joey train
the dog with Dick.  Dick went out looking for the right dog --
it should be a German Shepherd, one that resembled the
therapist's dog, and it needed to be emotionally stable and
quite bold.

A dog was found and named Jason (by Dick and the therapist).
Joey and Jason, with the therapist, started appearing in
one of Dick's training classes.  Dick treated Joey the way he
treated everyone else in class, coming on like an enraged gorilla
who has studied the tactics of Marine sergeants in boot camp.
He stomped arond yelling, trampling on people for blowing
it with their dogs.

By the third week of class, Joey spoke his first words.  They were
to the dog.  He gave the commands, ``Jason, Heel!''  ``Jason, Sit,''
Then he advanced to ``Good dog!'' and ``Way to go, Jason!''

Next came sentences like ``Jason, you're the best dog of all!''
and ``Did you hear that?  Mr. Koehler says you're super!''

About halfway through the thirteen-week course, he spoke
to a human being for the first time in his life: ``Mr. Koehler,
he chewed my socks.  What should I do?''

I doubt that this was a full-fledged case of autism,
but it is important to note that Joey's range of austic behaviors
was impressive.  In any event, Joey at this point initiated
conversation with his therapist.  The trouble began at home when
he started walking and talking like a human being instead of
a self-destructive lampshade.  What he talked about was how much
he wanted a dumbbell and a set of jumps, so that he could
go on to advanced work with his dog.

I don't know what went on at home in much more detail
than that, but the parents started insisting that Dick and Jason
were making the child much worse.  They pulled the boy out
of training class and away from his therapist.

Joey stopped talking.  A year later, Dick asked the therapist
what became of Joey.  The news was that he was hospitalized,
drugged and continually retrained because of his attempts to
smash his skull open.

I told an uncannily effective psychiatrist about these two children,
partly because I wondered if maybe dogs and horses or trainers
_were_ bad for messed-up kids.  He said, ``I learned a long
time ago, especially when dealing with children who are still
in their family situations, not to do too much to threaten the
symbiosis if the child can't be adequately protected.''

Vicki Hearne, ``The Sound of Kindness'' _Adam's Task_ pp186-189