'I am in control' is Little Bit's mantra

Originally published Saturday, January 15, 2000

By KRISTIN DIZON
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

WOODINVILLE -- Tears drizzled down the face of a slip of a girl on a horse named Cat.

Cat had suddenly darted off, leaving 12-year-old Katie Byrne scared and speechless for a few minutes. Because of a disability, Katie is deeply affected by the unexpected.

So in stepped instructor Jenny Nell, who talked and reassured and cajoled until the panic subsided.

"Pretend you're me for a second. Take a breath," Nell's slightly raspy voice carried across the arena. "Repeat after me, `I am in control.' "

Nell walked up to the petite girl on the tall horse, and, using a dab of saliva, wiped the tears away.

A few minutes later, a smile brightened Katie's face and she was off cantering around the arena.

"Woooohoooo," shouted a beaming Nell, applauding. "You're my queen."

In the wings, Katie's mother, Robin Byrne, watched. This is a girl who didn't walk until age five. A girl brain damaged by encephalitis that wracked her thin body with volatile seizures.

Byrne knows her daughter, who has fallen before, is OK. Her momentary worry is eclipsed by faith in Nell.

"She doesn't let the kids be wimps. She doesn't just let them melt down," Byrne said. "She gives them enough coddling and spitting on their faces to clean them."

Riding academies and stables abound in Woodinville, but at the Little Bit Therapeutic Riding Center, tribulations often become triumph. The non-profit center, founded in 1976, teaches people with cognitive and physical disabilities to ride. It can change lives.

Little Bit, with a $400,000 annual budget, serves 125 riders a week. Nearly 200 volunteers. Most riders are children, but at least one 83-year old woman climbs onto the saddle.

Students from as far away as Bellingham and Federal Way come with their doctors' approval. Staff members evaluate the person's needs, which can include adaptive equipment. Those who lack fine muscle control are given unusually thick reins. A rider with poor balance uses a stabilizer slipped under the saddle. Some riders are allowed to "walk only" with people on either side to prop them up.

"For some, it's a safe way to reconnect with animals and humans; for others, it's learning to reach out of the world that their disability may have trapped them in," said Kathy Alm, the center's executive director.

For Katie, it doesn't get much better than riding horses.

"I like their colors and I like their size. I like big horses," she said. "One of the horses drinks Coca Cola and eats Smarties."

Because a horse gait mimics the movement of the human pelvis, for some riders it can be a first-time experience similar to walking upright. Many see improved muscle strength, coordination, balance and posture, among other benefits.

It isn't just physical. Riders often experience a sense of accomplishment, acceptance and self-esteem. For some it is as dramatic as trading a wheelchair for a 1,100-pound animal that can run like the wind.

Jenny Nell has seen her share of those magical moments.

Take the case of one girl who couldn't sit in the saddle on her own and frequently passed out. Today, the little entrepreneur gives lessons to her neighborhood friends and rents out her own pony, Nell said.

Another girl's first words to anyone outside her family, "walk on," were said to a horse.

Nell's bond with the kids comes from her whirlwind energy, and perhaps from the time she was thrown by a racing Thoroughbred.

"I got bucked off the horse hard. I heard my collar bone snap on the way down," she said. "He whirled around and then stepped on me."

Nell, then 22, also suffered broken ribs, a torn rotator cuff and a cracked pelvis. Three days later, as she was being driven home from the hospital, the car was hit by someone running a red light.

It took a month in bed and a year of rehabilitation to heal Nell's injuries, but the accidents brought her into the world of therapeutic riding.

Her rehabilitation mandated walking two or three hours a day, so she found a therapeutic riding center where she could walk horses, combining her lifelong love of horses and her physical therapy. Soon after, she became the stable manager.

"I quit my very good job (as an accountant) for a $5-an-hour stable job," Nell said with a laugh. "And I loved it."

Years later she took an instructor's course in therapeutic riding.

Nell, now 40, came to Little Bit in 1991 and met Katie there a year later. She used to ride behind the girl, cradling her in the saddle.

Nell left the center two years later to pursue a horse training business, but returned last summer after judging a horse show there and realizing she missed the rewarding work.

The center had changed since her first stint. Then, seven staff members shared a 400-square-foot office with a portable rest room. Today, the 4.5-acre complex includes an indoor riding arena and a handsome gray stable.

In addition to being the center's program manager, Nell is a widely known rider and trainer. From the time Nell wakes up in the morning until she hits the hay, her life is horses, horses, horses.

Little Bit's 12 horses are a tame lot. Most are older than 18, and some are in their 30s.

"You would think they were all old and dopey -- well they're not. They're like bell peppers vs. chili peppers -- a little spice but they won't burn your tongue," Nell said. "Every one of them has a generous spirit. Sometimes they need to make decisions for our riders."

On a recent morning, Nell was in the center of the arena, in turn a ring leader, cheerleader, comedian, best friend and entertainer. While she keeps the kids busy with games like "red light, green light" or polo, she keeps parents laughing on the sidelines. Along with the candy Kisses passed out after class, Nell also doles out a lot of hugs.

Just talking about her work at Little Bit is enough to make Nell's blue eyes water and her voice go scratchy.

"It teaches them that anything is possible," she said. "These kids who limp and roll in here get up on a horse just like you or me."