The Conversation at the Water Trough

“Trust is built in the smallest of moments.” - John Gottman

We're in the middle of summer here in Portugal, with long hot days. I recently came to the horses one hot afternoon and found the trough empty. No water, and some members of the herd waiting on it in one way or another. Gemma, the lead mare, was standing right beside the trough, not because she was thirsty, but because it was the shadiest spot on the hill. Even empty, it was worth holding.

I went to turn on the tap. And that's when I noticed Lua.

For those of you who don't know her yet, Lua is our rescue mare, and in this herd she sits low in the ranking. She was standing a little way off the water trough, but closer than I would have expected her to be, so I could tell she was thirsty, but not close enough to claim the space Gemma was already occupying. As the water started running, Lua began to move slowly. Toward me, standing next to Gemma and the trough. Slow, careful steps, her head turned slightly to the side, blinking softly, hoping Gemma wouldn't notice. She wasn't hiding behind me exactly, but she was using me as a kind of shield. A reason she was allowed to be there.

I stood between them. I could have sent Gemma off to allow Lua to drink, and she would have gone. But I didn't want to. I wanted to see what would happen if I didn't take control of the outcome and instead just... stayed present in it.

So I started talking. Softly, to Gemma. "I think Lua is really thirsty. Look how she's trying to get closer. Is it okay if she has a drink?"

Gemma didn't move. She didn't answer, not in any way a person looking for a quick sign would recognise. But she also didn't send Lua away. She held her ground and I could see it cost her something to do that. Every inch Lua gained, I felt Gemma's stillness get a little more deliberate, a little more chosen.

I kept talking. To Gemma, to Lua, to both of them really. "I know you're the leader, and normally you would have to send Lua away, but as a leader it's also important to take care of the others... Maybe she could have a little drink?" I whispered to Gemma. And "Maybe you can try having a drink," I said to Lua, inching closer again. Slowly. Watching Gemma the entire time. And then, almost to my surprise at Gemma's leniency, she was there and she started to drink.

She drank for a long while. Paused. Breathed. Drank again. I stood there watching this small, enormous thing happen in front of me, and I felt it fully: Gemma would normally never allow this to happen and I gathered she was doing this for me. Not for Lua. For me. If I hadn't been standing there, holding that space open with my voice and my presence, there is no version of that afternoon where Lua drinks before Gemma is finished with the shade.

And also Lua actually trusting me to keep it safe for her! I was double baffled, and touched.

Near the end, once Lua had had her fill, Gemma turned and sent her away. Not harshly, just clearly. A gentle correction, but a correction all the same. And I let it happen. I didn't step in. It felt right to let Gemma close that loop in her own way. She still has a herd to lead, a position to hold, and that doesn't disappear just because she did something generous for a few minutes. I didn't need her to be endlessly soft to make the moment meaningful. Gemma gave a sigh and started chewing to release the tension.

Oh, and there was actually one more part to it. While I'd been talking to Gemma, I'd also made her a promise: if she let Lua drink, I'd hose her down afterward. I guess it was a bit of a bribe, but it was a scorching day, and she loves the water on her skin. So once she'd sent Lua off, I kept my word. I gave her a long, cool shower, and she stood for it, clearly enjoying it, clearly also just... settling. Processing, maybe, the same as I was.

Then she wandered off, and Jakob, our donkey, finally got his turn at the trough.

What stays with me from that afternoon isn't really about water. It's about the fact that Gemma and I have built something between us: call it trust, call it a kind of credit in a shared account that let her stretch a little further than she might have on her own. She didn't abandon her role in the herd. She just made room, for a few minutes, because I asked her to and because there was something between us that made asking mean something.

And Lua - cautious, careful, still learning that she's allowed to take up space - got to drink at the trough before the leader of the herd was done needing it. Not because I forced anything. Because three of us, in our own ways, had a conversation.

♡

If this story resonates with you, if you’ve ever questioned the old ways, or felt that quiet discomfort in your gut, you’re not alone. There is another way. One that begins with listening. With slowing down. With consent.

And that’s where the real connection begins.