Psychologist and grief counselor Joanne Cacciatore is walking across the sprawling land of her Selah House Respite Center and Care Farm, on the outskirts of Sedona, Ariz., toward the high metal fence of the horse pen. There’s a fall heat wave, and her deeply tanned arms — tattooed with an artful array of black-ink images that range from St. Francis of Assisi communing with birds to the Psalms quote “God is nearest the brokenhearted” — glow in the blazing sun.
Four mellow horses stand grazing in various shady corners, but we’re headed for one in particular: Chemakoh, who is a beautiful reddish-brown with patches of white.
“He’s my soulmate,” says Cacciatore, and calls out his name as we get closer. He’s waiting for her at the gate, and she leans right into his broad face, cooing, “How are you? How’s my baby?” He shudders and flicks his tail and looks back at her intently through fist-size eyes. Continue reading...
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Four mellow horses stand grazing in various shady corners, but we’re headed for one in particular: Chemakoh, who is a beautiful reddish-brown with patches of white.
“He’s my soulmate,” says Cacciatore, and calls out his name as we get closer. He’s waiting for her at the gate, and she leans right into his broad face, cooing, “How are you? How’s my baby?” He shudders and flicks his tail and looks back at her intently through fist-size eyes. Continue reading...
Back to Lifestyle
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