No, this is not a pub name.
But you know how it goes. You wait all year for a horsey headline and they all come galloping towards you at once. The main equine news this week was the quite frightening tale of some Household Cavalry horses bolting through the streets of London after being spooked by some construction workers.
But less reported was Prince William’s visit to a farm in the West Midlands, where young people struggling with mental health issues can spend time with therapy animals. As he sat stroking Snowflake the guinea pig, he told staff and students that when he was younger and stressed out, he would lie down with the household horses and listen to them breathing, the gentle heaving of their tremendous lungs bringing him a sense of calm.
The Times described it as a ‘bizarre admission’, but anyone who owns a horse will no doubt be able to relate to HRH. It is not just horses: cow therapy, or cow cuddling or something, is a similar phenomenon, whereby stressed-out souls sit down with a cow, canoodling and cooing with it as if it were a golden retriever. Those who have done it are converts, speaking lyrically about the unique peace they felt in the presence of those beautiful, benign bovines.
I am not a prince and I did not grow up with horses, nor do I have regular access to a cow. But I did have cats, whose somnolent purring has a similarly soothing effect. I can still hear their gentle purrs, the calming quiver of their throats as they sat on my lap, quietly enjoying my presence and I theirs.
So, what is it about animals? I have often looked into the eyes of a cat or dog, wondering this very question, and what they, in turn, might be thinking. (My conclusion? Probably not a lot.)
But animals are not tainted by experience in the ways we humans are. They say nothing to us, and in so doing say so much. They do not care what we have done, mistakes we have made, opinions or prejudices we might hold. They do not judge us for any of those things. They are simple creatures, and unless they are yowling for food, their presence is undemanding, and they are patient and silent. Modern society is many great things, but I am not sure simple, non-judgemental, patient and silent are among them.
By ‘modern’ world, I invariably mean the one that half-exists in an online space, one dependent on the network of virtual bridges we have built between ourselves. Our increasing reliance on this virtual world is part of the reason we find ourselves in an age of ill mental health. A noisy, furious-paced sphere of over-information and self-comparison that fosters virtual bonds over human ones. A world that has fundamentally shifted the way we communicate, that has dissolved nuance and eroded our attention spans, a world that has dug a deep chasm between our virtual realities and our real ones (which I have already written about here). It is little wonder people feel so helpless about just about everything; most of all young people, who have been weaned on Silicon Valley milk.
The solution, in that matrix at least, is online therapy. Research suggests the sector is already worth $9bn and growing. And yet, these services, silver bullets though they seem, are surely born from the same problem.
I think the rise of virtual counselling poses an interesting question about modern loneliness (another post, perhaps), but my main gripe here is that these services only ask us to spend more time with our devices. They only further a dependency on the distant connections that already dominate our lives, to shut ourselves off from the real world. If people find succour from paying to talk to a stranger on their phone, then I should not be one to complain, but by welcoming more technology into our lives, are we ensconcing ourselves deeper into a world that is clearly already causing us so many problems?
Before we impulsively turn to a Californian businessman for help, it is worth seeking answers outside of ourselves — family, friends, neighbours, the outdoors, exercise — anything that forces us to stop being in our head all the time. To stop thinking our story is the one, constant narrative. Animals offer that: curling up with a cat (or cow), walking a dog (or cow), or listening to the rhythmic breath of a horse (or cow) reminds us of the bigger picture. Of another life, beating away beside us.
I will happily watch any animal go about its existence, badgering or beavering away, but I personally find huge comfort watching the tiny, feathered lives play out on the bird feeders, in the trees. Birds are heard or seen everywhere, which makes them an ideal source of distraction. When I watch them, free and boundless, I am diverted from everything else and reminded that my story is just one of billions, if not trillions, on the planet.
We would also do well to remember that these services are like any other out there. For all the calming piano music and soft patter about self-care, app developers have investors to pay. Authors have books to sell. Psychologists have clinics to run. They have spotted (or created?) a pathological zeitgeist and are using a highly optimised advertising platform to push the buttons of a vulnerable and increasingly neurotic audience. A belief that these organisations care more about our welfare than a relative, friend or even a pet is a troubling sign of the times.
A dog, cat, bird, horse or cow cannot take the place of a health professional. That is not what I mean. But they can offer us something no doctor or tech bro can. They can take us away from ourselves, no strings attached, no pound signs shimmering in their eyes. And that can be priceless.
Love this <3