Whether five minutes or five months after his arrival, when an animal looks me straight in the eye in a way that says, "I get it--I'm finally safe," I am instantly bliss on two legs.

The night before I left for vacation, I entered Noah's stall with a flake of hay--his 6th or 7th that day--small meals frequently--and walked to the back of the stall to place it in the hay rack. He didn't want it there. The old horse wanted it on the floor, so I placed it there, in the corner. Noah tore out a huge mouthful, and while chewing with gusto, lifted his head, looked right into my eyes, and blinked slowly.

Aaah, the blink that says so much, all of it good. I believe animals use it to mean everything from "I love you" to "Thanks for the food" to "I'm happy here."

I blinked back, laughing delightedly, saying, "You're welcome, big boy. You're welcome. We're so happy you're here."

I removed his halter. He scratched his head against my side, and no matter how good it felt to him to have contact with a caring being and to scratch his itchy skin, it felt at least as good to me.

A 21-year-old stallion locked in a dark stall for perhaps his entire life. I'm not sure his hooves have ever been trimmed; I am sure he's in some degree of pain. But there's no anger in this beast who could kill us if he wanted to. There's just gratitude and joy and an immediate awareness that he is finally in a good place, all revealed in that slow blink and the rub, rub, rubbing of a big old head against the back of one lucky woman.