Ponies, I have found, come in two categories: Those you love and those you can’t stand. This story tells of how one woman received both as a package deal. Horse2Heart salutes her winning ways.

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 They’re All Good For Something by Collen Archer

 Our riding school needed a pony for the younger children, and I nodded with approval as my daughter Elizabeth carefully backed a medium-sized brown pony off the horse trailer.  My approval quickly turned to horror when my husband backed off a second pony.  This pony was small and gray, with a mischievous-look in his eye that didn’t bode well. 

The brown pony, Bonnie, was soon giving lessons right and left.  Timbit, the gray pony, needed leaders and side walkers if he gave a lesson, and he was only used for very small children.  Some experienced larger children did attempt, on occasion, to ride him, but a fast and uninvited turn around the corner of the arena could leave them eating dirt.

“They came as a pair,” was the only explanation I ever received from Elizabeth and my husband.

The two “pones”, as Elizabeth called them, were turned out separately from the horses.  Tim ruled Bonnie, just as he tried to rule every person who came into the barn.  I was the one with him when he had his tiny wolf teeth pulled (unnecessary teeth in some horses that often get in the way of a bit), and despite a heavy-duty tranquilizer, I can guarantee you he put up one heck of a good fight.

The day came when Elizabeth closed the riding school and left to take a job on the east coast.  I was left with two ponies I no longer needed.  I sold the brown pony, but I couldn’t sell Timbit.  Why not?  I have no idea!

For awhile I trained Timbit for riding, despite looking ridiculous on him, but I never felt he was trustworthy enough to put other people on.  We had lots of horses for riding, so it seemed pointless to persevere.  What to do with him?

Former Canadian show jumper and Olympic champion Jim Elder once said he never met a horse he didn’t like.  They were all good for something.  Surely I could make Tim good for something!

Elizabeth and my husband both drove Tim on occasion, but I wasn’t keen on driving.  I had, however, always been interested in horses that performed tricks.

Armed with a book on tricks, I started teaching Tim a whole repertoire.  He absolutely loved it.

Several years have passed and we still have Timbit.  He puts on shows for seniors’ homes, nursery schools, and humane societies, and he is much loved wherever he goes.  At our last town Summerfest, Tim led the parade pulling my two-year-old granddaughter Bridget in a decorated cart.  He also did his trick show in which he runs an agility course, goes through a hoop, kicks a ball, shakes hands, blows his own horn, gives a kiss, fetches a dumbbell, gets me a tissue when I sneeze, takes a bow, and laughs.

“Timmy’s soft,” Bridget will say, giving him a big hug.  “Timmy’s nice.”

And, by golly, he is!

Author:  Colleen Archer and her husband Andrew own a small stable in Deep River, Ontario, Canada.  Colleen has written over 400 newspaper and magazine articles and short stories, plus four young adult novels.  The Horse Dealer was published by Borealis Press, and Foxy and the Missing Mask, Riding High, and The Touch of Something Wild were published by Penumbra Press.

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart Equestrian News and Great Horse Stories

They’re All Good For Something by Collen Archer

A great horse story about a plain grumpy old quarter Horse’s Power over children that somehow rescues an over worked camp counselor from the havoc of horse camp.

The Power of One Horse by Lise LeMay

I taught riding at a kid’s camp for 2 summers several years ago. Each session of two weeks created major havoc as 100 kids descended on the barn, staff and horses. With 40 horses and 12 counselors close relationships were sometimes hard to create or not at all possible.

On a rare occasion they were formed with the most unexpected people. We had a boy name Mike whose reputation from past years preceded him. He was 9 years old and was extremely hyper active and could wind up an entire group of children. We were told he was difficult with his parents and with his teachers too, they were investigating the possibility that he had attention deficit disorder. The counselors all wished me luck with this tough case. Dreading it I entered the session never dreaming I would witness the power of a horse work on such a difficult child.

The first few days were the disaster I expected them to be.  I tried to reach Mike and help him to pay attention, I wanted all the children to have fun and not feel like they were in boot camp. Nothing I tried seemed to work. On the third day I put Mike on one of our old predictable named Dakota.  Dakota was a horse we rented from a dealer for the summer camp.  He was a bombproof old quarter horse. At approximately 15 hands high he was a classic example of the old time quarter horse. I must admit to this point I had barely noticed this gelding other than that he was chestnut with four stockings and a blaze and a permanent grouchy expression on his face.

After placing Mike on this horse I began to notice Dakota’s expression was somewhat less cranky Mike had nice soft hands that didn’t bounce the bit like some other kids. I noticed immediately that Mike was paying attention to me. Everything I said was internalized and completed with full attention. Was I onto something here? After this first lesson I noticed if I had Dakota, I had Mike’s attention. After that I brought Dakota everywhere I could as my example horse, name that horse part, grooming, and tacking up were all done with Dakota standing quietly and all the kids paying attention.  The whole session went very smoothly and Mike was my star pupil; I made sure I made a fuss over all of his successes. His parents were delighted and I explained that it was all Dakota’s doing.

On the last day of camp I found Mike hugging Dakota’s neck.  For once the old horse looked somewhat happy, his lower lip was drooping and his eyes were half closed, ears rather than laid back were lopped off to the side. Mike seemed to have brought the best of Dakota out too. A strange sniffling sound came from Dakota’s neck. I asked Mike what was wrong. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes,  “Who’s going to look after him now that I am not coming back?” Having left a few favorite horses behind myself I knew the heart break he was feeling. I cut a small piece of hair out of Dakota’s tail and gave it to Mike as a keepsake.   “I will take care of him,” I promised.

All summer I thought about my promise to this boy. And in the last two weeks of camp when the rented horses would be going back I convinced my boyfriend that we should take this horse as a companion for my horse. To my astonishment he agreed. I called the dealer and although he wouldn’t sell me Dakota (Unfortunately a horse as quiet as Dakota and the size to carry an adult are priceless in the horse rental business) He did allow me to take him to my farm and keep him for the winter, which I did. Although Dakota never became really friendly with us he did become fast friends with my gelding and the two would play like foals for hours at a time.  Having made the mistake of putting a western saddle on him one time, we decided he must have been a gaming horse in his past life, while he was quiet in English tack; he still had some get up and go when he felt the western tack on his back.  He was certainly not a packer then!

One day I noticed he was having a hard time swallowing. I felt around his mouth figuring he must have something stuck in there, but I couldn’t find anything. I went inside and called the vet. The vet said it sounded like he was choking and he was on his way but in the meantime to reach into his mouth as far as I could to see if I could find something.

I went back out rolled my sleeve past my elbow took hold of Dakota’s tongue and reached back… way back… almost up to my elbow down his throat… I found it! He had gotten a small twig about the width of my finger stuck back there! I pulled it out. Dakota just stood there shocked and if a horse could say thank you, he would have. He looked into my eyes and nuzzled my hand and watched as I walked all the way back to the house to call the vet, and was still watching the door as I called the vet. It seemed to me that he was exuding gratitude. The next day he was like an overgrown lap dog and wanted scratches and pets and love, completely out of character from the horse that most of the time studiously ignored us. Dakota did return to a somewhat less grumpy form of himself after that day.

At the start of the summer I begged to buy this special horse again, but it was not to be. I wanted to take Dakota back again after camp that year but mid way through the summer his heaves made it so he couldn’t work there anymore. The dealer moved him on to another job. We never saw him again, though I heard he had gone to be a trail horse. I keep my eyes open for him, but I will likely never see this old guy again.

Although that was my last year at camp I was told Mike did return to camp the following year and as I understand it became fast friends with another horse and had another successful camp. His parent’s felt he had grown up very much and had done better in school, they no longer felt he had attention deficit disorder. I am sure they never drew the connection but I always felt Dakota may have started this boy on the track to success.

One thing I can say for sure, no matter what other horses come into my life no matter how fancy, talented or friendly, I will never forget the plain grumpy old quarter horse; who won the heart of a troubled boy and reminded me where this passion for horses all started.   Lise LeMay

CHILD’S NAME HAS BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT HIS IDENTITY.

Rosepine Ranch | Equine Consultant

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The Power of One Horse

I am the mother of a daughter with special needs. About 6 years ago my older daughter had been taking riding lessons for more than a year and we decided it was time to start looking to purchase a horse of her own. Her sister Toni-Anne was non-verbal at this time and petrified of the barn and the horses. She would spend the entire hour or her sisters lesson screaming. She would prefer the discomfort of bathroom accidents to entering the barn to use the facilities.

We were sitting in the car waiting for someone to bring a horse for us to try out. As this big beautiful Palomino came up the driveway Toni-Anne stopped crying, jumped out of the car and ran to this horse throwing her arms around his neck as he lowered his head to nuzzle her and they kissed. It has been a match made in heaven. Skippy has become the love of our lives. He has shown my daughter the love and patience that is unimaginable.

[private]One day they were happily trotting a course of 8 small X’s . As they finished the last one Skippy stopped. Toni-Anne just quietly slid off the side unassisted and landed on the butt. Just the little jarring caused her to have one of her many unprovoked nosebleeds. He nudged her trying to get her to stand up, cleaned her face with the cutest expression on his face that said , “hurry you’re making me look bad.”

Toni-Anne and Skippy have been showing Palomino now for 2 seasons and also local Special Olympics. My older daughter has sadly outgrown Skippy but he will remain a big part of this family for a long time to come. We have recently purchased another Palomino but could never replace Skippy. He is definitely a tough act to follow. The sweetest kindest animal you could ever find. We wouldn’t sell him for all the money in the world.[private]

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart Equestrian News and Great Horse Stories

Match Made In Heaven | A Nice Horse Story

let me tell you about something that happened to me a couple of years back. I was probably about nine or ten years old. It was summer vacation, and I had decided to spend it with some relatives in a part of Mexico where everything is still done the old-fashioned way. I woke up early one morning to drive out to my uncles` pasture, to help milk the cows.

What I didn’t know was that my uncle had just bought some wild horses. They were loose in the pasture. While my cousins began gathering the cattle, I silently sneaked away and walked to the far end of the field, where the horses grazed peacefully. There were three of them. Two black ones, which looked like twins, and a bay one. They were unlike any horses I had ever seen. Their backs weren’t arched from riding, their coats gleamed with the rising sun, and their eyes were lively with mischief. They were never scared of me, but they watched me intently.

[private]The bay nickered softly, as if greeting me. I know I was at least ten feet away from them, but I felt as if I was right there beside them, with them, as if I was one of them! I don’t know how long I stood there, but I wish I could have stayed forever. I know I turned back when I heard the calls of my cousins, but I can almost swear I felt a breath on my neck. It was wonderful and exhilarating. That was a very important part of my life because that was the root of my love for horses. Ever since that day I have longed to see those horses once again. They let loose a part of me I didn’t know I had, a wanting. I feel that every horse has a little wildness inside; you just have to help them let it out.[/private]

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Dealing With Horse In Mexico | A Nice Horse Story

I’d competed in Team Roping, ridden in “The Sweet Assortment” equestrian drill team, done some gymkhana as a child and even run barrels. Dad raised Thoroughbred racehorses, but at 5’10” I was too tall to be a jockey and one of the few times I rode English the horse slipped and fell on me.

A friend mentioned that Team Penning was just getting organized in our town. I hadn’t heard of it but it sounded like fun. It was the job of a 3-person team to enter a herd of 30 numbered cattle, bring 3 to the other end of the arena and put them in a catch pen. This all needed to happen in about 40 seconds to be competitive and you couldn’t have more than 4 cows cross a foul line. It was fast paced, competitive, and there was a team of three (I am very social), so I accepted the challenge. I would need an athletic horse and probably some lessons to learn to “read” cattle.
[private]I signed up with a great trainer who had begun Team Penning herself and trained cutting horses.

It was Shocking to me that after riding 35 years I was still not a horseman! Oh, I had great balance, and I could sit a horse, but I’d learned the “cowboy way” having narrowly escaped serious injury many times with our racehorses. (When we were kids, Dad also had a bad habit of buying horses at the Friday night sale. He’d run an ad over the weekend and we’d have to ride the broncs for prospective buyers!)

I helped start our Team Penning Association and worked with my trainer on teaching my horse, “Annie” an appendix Quarter Horse, who at 6 was not trained and was very high strung. “Giving to the bit” and “bending” were unknowns to her. My trainer is as competitive and goal oriented as I am. Annie and I were catching on and within a year I was winning locally and decided it was time to travel to out of town events. Looking back I may have been pretty impressed with my self; after all I’d already won a buckle, ridden in the Silver Spur Rodeo and had a few teams.

I had a portable stall that hung on the side of my horse trailer. Annie and I would camp at the arenas for the two-day events. We were good friends; I’d sit by her stall and talk to her. At night if she became agitated I would talk to her through the window and she’d settle right down. I was her “herd” and she followed me everywhere and we could talk about anything.

My horse had become very “cowy”, that is she could read a cow. Because of her cow horse bloodlines she was a lot smarter than me. One of our first out of town competitions was held at a large Equestrian Center. The solid walled arena was surrounded by acres of horse corrals. The cattle were kept at one end of the arena under a huge timing clock. Banners blew and the sound system blared. During warm-ups Annie was high and startled at every moving object. That is until they put the cattle in the arena, and then she was oblivious to anything but the bovines standing at the back fence.

The competition began and our team was called; we entered the arena ready to win. My horse, Annie stood intently at the starting line, seeing nothing but the cattle bunched at the other end of the arena. “Timers ready, flaggers ready, your number is 7, 7, 7” the announcer called. That meant go and we did! On our team we had someone designated to be the “point person”, it was his job to enter the herd first and bring out a cow. The “holder” kept the cattle from scattering and I was the second person to enter the herd. It all happened so fast.

We got all 3 cows out and were heading to the pen in less than 25 seconds. All that was left was to get them in the pen. Unfortunately one cow escaped at a dead run back towards the herd. Since I had the fastest horse I took off down the fence after the cow. Something must have caught my eye and I looked away. All I remember is Annie decided she was far enough past the cow to turn him around. She spun around; stepped into the cow’s path and I guess the centrifugal force whipped me off. I was right up against the fence.

I remember opening my eyes seeing my horse’s front hooves in the air above my head. Friends say she was rearing backwards to avoid stomping me. It was evidently a miracle that she had been able to avoid crushing me the way I had flown in front of her. She whinnied as if to say “are you all right mom”? And then waited for me to remount so we could finish our run. We got a time on our run! We didn’t win the penning.

I will never cease to be amazed at the bond Annie and I had developed. She loves to run and she loves to work cattle, but when it came down to it, she loves me best![/private]

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Annie Loves Me Best | A Story Of A Quarter Horse

Jacob was eleven years old when he found his horse lying down in the pasture in a puddle of blood. War Pony’s foot had gotten tangled in the barbed wire fence and a big chunk of his back hoof was missing. He was too weak to move. Jacob ran as fast as he could to the house. I immediately called our veterinarian who lived about 30 miles away.

It seemed like an eternity, but when the veterinarian finally arrived he took one look at the injured horse and shook his head. He thought that War Pony had lost too much blood. I whispered to him, “Whatever it takes, just get this horse better for my son.” The veterinarian met Jacob’s pleading eyes and then took out his bag and went to work.

[private]War Pony was Jacob’s first real horse. He wouldn’t win any beauty contest though. This Appaloosa is partially blind in one eye, had no mane, a short tail, and a big head. We joke that we don’t have to worry about anyone trying to steal him. But in Jacob’s eyes, his horse is beautiful. He rode him on trails, horse shows and parades. When friends come over, it is War Pony that they ride because he is so gentle and will take care of them.

It was a long road to recovery. Jacob devoted his entire summer to caring for this injured horse. Unselfishly he fed and watered his beloved friend, cleaned his stall, changed his bandage, administered medicine, and read to him. Our ferrier even welded a special shoe to help distribute the weight more evenly to help compensate for part of his hoof being gone.

The veterinarian was amazed at War Pony’s rapid progress. He commented, “I’ve seen horses not hurt half that bad that didn’t survive.“ It was a boys love for his horse that pulled War Pony through. After months of recovery Jacob got the go ahead to ride again. Later that year the dynamic duo of War Pony and Jacob went on to earn the high point trophy for speed horses at the county 4-H fair and placed in the top ten at the State Fair in both pole bending and barrel racing.

War Pony is now 24 years old. He has a slight scar on his hind leg, but that doesn’t keep him from enjoying leisurely rides through the country. Any ordinary horse would have died from that injury, but War Pony is no ordinary horse and Jacob is no ordinary boy.[/private]

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The Unconditional Love | A Story Of An Appaloosa Horse

Horses are my life. I know that seems like an extreme, overused statement, but in my case, it’s really true. I remember every stage of my life with respect to what horse or horses were around at the time, and the lessons I learned from those horses.

For example, when I was 7, I got my first pony. Her name was Candy and she was a little bay Shetland with a heart of gold and a stubborn streak a mile wide. She was a great pony to start with and we had all kinds of fun together. At least I had fun. She would probably argue that point. My father also had an Appaloosa gelding named King Bob. When I was 9, my parents divorced, and during that same time period, both Candy and King Bob died. It was my first exposure to how difficult life can be, and I realized just how little control I had over what went on in the world.

[private]When I was 11, my father bought an 11 year-old AQHA mare named Cindy Lea Dexter. at a local auction barn. Suddenly, after two extremely difficult years, I had something to look forward to, and I began to regain a sense of my place in the world, at least as it related to horses. I may not have been able to control what went on at home, but Cindy let me lead her and ride her all over the place. I’ll never forget the day I learned to canter, and more importantly STOP! I was on top of the world when I was on top of that horse!

As time progressed, I joined a 4-H club. I was extremely shy, and I remember being very scared of people and not saying a word at meetings. At my first Fair, Cindy and I were second in Showmanship and won Grand Champion in Halter! I couldn’t believe it and that was the start of not only a show career that continues today, but the blossoming of a child who was afraid to try anything new or meet new people.

Cindy and I were a team for another ten years, qualifying for the State 4-H Horse Show and placing well at many fairs and open shows. During this time, I learned about competition; the good, the bad and the ugly. My father was an alcoholic and it was extremely difficult to predict when he would be capable of taking us to horse shows. As a result, my mother, who really was not a fan of the horse hobby, learned to drive the truck and trailer. She and I became closer and her role as the “Ultimate Horse Show Mom” continues to this day. I have horses, in part, to thank for that.

When I began college I continued to be active with horses for a year or two, but it was difficult to schedule everything. The horses took a back seat, as is often the case during this period of life. When I was 21, three of my grandparents and my father passed away. In November of that year, we had to have Cindy put down. I can honestly say that I cried just as hard for that horse as I did for my relatives. She was such an important, positive part of my life, just as they were. Horses often teach us much about grief.

When I graduated, I went to work for a company that sold veterinary equipment and horse vaccines. During this time, I didn’t have a horse at all, and it was one of the more turbulent stages of my life. After a couple of years, I decided to attend graduate school with the goal of obtaining a Master’s degree in Animal Science. I hoped to become an Extension Specialist, although I fully recognized that there was only one Horse Extension Specialist in our state. This would be a dream position…to be able to help kids and families learn more about horses and enjoy the things they have to offer as much as I did! That would be the ultimate! It wasn’t very likely, though, given the fact that the current Specialist was young and seemed to enjoy the job very much.

During this time, I met the man who would become my husband. He had shown horses growing up, so unlike my previous boyfriends, he understood the “addiction”. His parents were also active in showing horses, and they were kind enough to let me borrow one of their horses to show. I was back in the horse business and life was back on track! As I worked toward my degree, I assisted with horse Extension programs and helped teach classes in the Horse Management Program at Michigan State University.

Once I received my Master’s degree, I went to work as the Research Assistant in the newly created “Equine Research Lab” at MSU. Now I was able to spend my days AND evenings with horses! I never would have believed it. I was able to purchase “Dream of A Leaguer” aka Patsy, a 3 year-old AQHA/PHBA mare, with the intention of showing the Palomino circuit and possibly a few AQHA shows. That goal was a ways off, I thought, as I always believed that showing the AQHA circuit was way out of my league. As usual, horses taught me otherwise. We did well at Palomino shows and before I knew it, I won my first class at an AQHA show! The following years were spent making new friends and showing at AQHA shows in several states. I continued to set goals for myself and before I knew it, I was preparing to enter the ring at the All American Quarter Horse Congress…another dream come true!

I’ve earned to many points to participate in the AQHA Novice Amateur program now, and Patsy is going to enjoy life as a broodmare. I have a new 2 year-old that I hope to show in futurities and eventually as an Amateur. My head is telling me things like “You’ll never make it there, those people have way more money/talent etc. than you do”, but my heart is telling me something else and I know that the horses will too. After all, horses have helped me overcome every perceived obstacle I’ve ever had. Remember when I said there was “only one Horse Extension Specialist in our state”? I will be completing my third year in that position in June.[/private]

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Horses Are My Life | A Glorious Horse Story

It all happened one day when i went to my riding lesson. I saw the most beautiful palomino mare in the stall. i asked my instructor if i could ride her and i could! Palominos have been my favorite horse ever since. Of course being young and wanting to know everything about horses i asked all the questions i could about her. her breed, age, height.

I found out she was a 22 year old palomino quarter horse/arabian mare standing at 14.2 1/2 hands high. She was my favorite. A couple of years later i moved to a different town about an hour away so my visits were less and less frequent. but i still kept in touch with her owners and went to give her carrots and apples as often as i could. One day though when i went to visit i was told that it would probably be my last visit with her.

She was sick all winter and they didn’t think that she was going to make it but she pulled through but she had no meat on her bones and she wouldn’t eat and it also didn’t help that her owners were moving and they couldn’t take her with them because she wouldn’t make it so they were going to have to put her to sleep because it seemed like there was no help for her. she could barely walk. so a couple months later i was sitting at home on my birthday when i got a phone call from the owners.

They hadn’t known it was my birthday but they called and asked me if i wanted to have the horse. It was hard talking my parents into it but I did. So now “Golden Girl” has been mine for a while and she is happily 28 years old. I have taken her to parades. we’ve been in competitions, jumped 3 feet, gone on endless trail rides. and she is my horse. I will never forget everything she has taught me. i love her so much. thank you Gold

A bit about me: my name is danielle thibault and i am from P.E.I. Canada. i am 16 years old and own 2 horses. I have been riding for 8 years and am still loving it.

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart Equestrian News and Great Horse Stories

Golden Girl | A Nice Story Of An Arabian Horse

I acquired him like I acquired my other horse. I was going to work with him, but I fell in love. With Sierra, it was just lust. She was a big beautiful mare. She should have been a, then, thirteen year old girl’s perfect first horse, had it not been for her horrible attitude under saddle. I was bucked off of her more times than I had ever been bucked off of any horse in my ten years of riding. But with Bear, it was love. From the first time I saw him, to today when I went out to the stable and rode him and fed him. True love never comes easy though. You always have to give up something, in my case; it involved a lot of pain.

I got him because he bit and he kicked, and he was just an all around aggressive horse, not suitable for a young rider. I was just going to train him, but I fell in love with him. Something about his big brown eyes, his bouncy trot, and those wrinkles around his eyes and his nostrils. He was a special horse, I could tell that from the start.

He arrived the last weekend in February. A cool day, a typical February day. His owners gave him a bath for me, and he came still half wet. I put a blanket on him so he wouldn’t get cold, and I put him in the ring so he could meet my other horses over the fence without going out into their field and meeting them. They got along just fine. They trotted up and down the fence line together, and he lay down and rolled, getting sand in his mane and his clean coat. This was the start of a long month.

I rode him that day. He was too shocked at the home change to do anything bad. It was the second time I’d ever ridden him, and it was just like I expected. He didn’t know what I meant when I pulled the reins for him to go one way. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to be doing. But he was good on the ground for the most part that day. We stayed and watched the horses for a few hours to make sure they got along pretty well, and they did. We left the little barn that evening around six in the afternoon, and we returned the next morning around eleven.

My sister opened the gate, and walked into the field to get her horse, expecting nothing of Bear. She turned her back, and as soon as she did he flew at her. His ears were pinned. I threw my hands up and he backed off, and slunk into the corner of their run-in shed. I went to get him, he pinned his ears, but didn’t run at me.
As I groomed him, he kept his ears pinned the whole time. When I tacked him up, he tried to bite and kick as I put the saddle on and tightened the girth. I got on, and he was perfect while I rode him. As soon as I got off the cycle started again.

The next day, he did the exact same thing. Except this time, when my mom came out in the morning to put medicine on his cut he got on the ride over to our farm, he picked her up in his mouth and dropped her on the ground. She got up, dusted herself off, smacked him, and left. But the next morning her whole side was bruised from his aggression. This was just the start of a long process of getting him to calm down.

I remember one day, my sister and I sat in the grain room and watched them eat in the paddock that surrounded the grain room. “I wish Bear would just die or something,” my sister had said. I replied with “He would be worth the money we paid for him, if he was a stallion, but he’s no stallion. So as soon as Mom pays him off, I’m going to sell him.” Those words still haunt me today.

Bear’s training progressed. He learned how to walk, trot and canter correctly and he began to learn to jump small jumps, but his attitude didn’t get better. Finally I decided to sell my other horse. After she left he started to improve, and every day I was able to spend more and more time with him. Brushing him, and talking to him, getting him used to people.

My mom and my sister weren’t the only ones left with scars and bruises. I also was bitten numerous times. But never once did I lose my temper, or did I ever give up on him. There have been many times, when he’s been “for sale,” but never once did I actually sell him, and never once did I not cry for even thinking about selling him. I am convinced that he is my soul mate.

Now when I call for him, he comes up to the gate, sometimes at a slow walk, sometimes at a gallop. He knows my voice and me. He’s still aggressive and will bite or kick if you aren’t careful. But he’s getting better every day. He’s learning to be a real horse. He’s learning how to get along with people.

Like I said, true love isn’t without it’s set backs and it’s problems. My love for Bear has had plenty of set backs and even more problems. But every problem, and every scar I have from his bites, and every bruise I have from falling off of him for whatever reason, has been worth all the pain.

Because now I have something worth every doubt I’ve ever had. I have a horse that will be mine till the end and who will never judge me for how I look. I’ll always have a horse who will just sit and stare at me, like he understands when I talk about my bad day and he’ll always be the horse who does something to make me laugh when I’m crying. He’ll always be my horse, and I’ll always love him. Like they say, love will always find its way.

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart Equestrian News and Great Horse Stories

Love Will Find It’s Way | A Nice Horse Story

Have you ever met a horse that was absolutely destined to be yours—yours not only once, but twice and forever more?

My abilities and show ring desires had outgrown my first horse, and at a mere fifteen years old I was already on a search for my second. Being from a middle-class family we didn’t have a lot to spend on my future show horse, but I was looking for an Arabian who was at least 15 hands high and had the potential to be an English horse. While the task seemed daunting to all of the adults I knew I was not to be deterred. For two years, we searched for a horse—calling almost every classified in the local papers and seeing a good number of horses. All of the horses were in our price range, but none of them fit the bill until one day when I read an ad that listed several horses for sale. As I read through the list, I stopped when I got to the description of a chestnut named Fire Site (a.k.a., “Apollo”) and I knew we had found “my” horse. We scheduled a visit and went off to find my knight in shining copper.

When we arrived at the farm my Mom and I walked into the barn and started down the aisle. As we paused to read the names on the horses’ stalls a chestnut horse approached his door and started “blowing” at my back. I turned around and looked at him, then at the name on his stall—Fire Site. I said to my Mom, “If this is truly Fire Site, this is my horse.” They took him out and let him loose in the arena so that we could get a better look at him and see him move. A 15 hand high, chestnut with two hind socks and a star, strip, snip, he had coloring, charisma, and movement to burn.

The purchase was not a straight-forward matter, and at one point I had almost given up hope of getting this horse. For three more months we continued our search. After looking at several more horses I knew I had to have Apollo—no matter what. Friends of ours came forward to assist us in his purchase and at last he joined me for the first segment of our lives together. Quickly my beautiful horse started competing and winning tough classes both in-hand and under saddle. Although the gelding was catching a lot of people’s eyes my parents had promised me that I could take the horse to my first Arabian National show. However due to my ensuing future in college and our meager financial status I was told that he would have to be sold immediately after the show.

During the summer of 1987 we earned many honors at both “A” rated Arabian shows and at Regionals. When it came to the Nationals I was upset because Apollo had to be sold, and the sale posters went up. A true buyer’s dream he was sold before the show was even over. I cried on his shoulder that fall day in Albuquerque with the beautiful mountains in the background, saying my last good-byes and clipping some tail hairs to keep for always. I promised him that some day I would get him back although I had no idea how that was going to happen. He had been sold for a lot of money, more than a young girl could afford. When we got back home my parents put almost all of my equipment and riding suits up for sale—everything but my cutback saddle and Apollo’s full bridle. After all, I was told, I was now “O-U-T, out of horses” and had absolutely no legitimate explanation for how I was going to get any horse—let alone that one—back.

I became pen pals with his new owner and even visited him at a horse show in Springfield, Illinois. I will never forget visiting him at that show. It had been nine months since we had sold him and everyone told me that horses aren’t able to remember people like people remember horses.

When I found the stalls everyone from their barn was up at the show ring except for the groom. Their groom was a very nice southern black gentleman whom you could tell took good care of the horses. As he walked me down the aisle to show me “my horse” he talked the whole way. All I did was walk along and nod my head. Other than my footsteps, I didn’t make a sound. As we approached Apollo’s stall I could see his rear end was closest to the door and that his head was down as he munched on his hay. As we got closer I could tell that Apollo had paused while eating his hay. He was listening and thinking that he must be mistaken. When we arrived at that stall I said hello to him. He spun around so quickly to face me that the groom said, “Missy I ain’t never seen that horse turn around that quick for no one. Let me go and get you some carrots before he takes your arm off.” ‘My’ horse clearly had remembered me.

After that show I continued to keep in touch with his owners throughout 1988. Then their communication began to slow down and then finally it stopped until one day in 1989 when we got a phone call from them. Being that the new owner’s parents weren’t horse people and the trainer loved the horse so much that they didn’t feel she would really try to sell him the family donated him to an all girl’s college. They assured me that they did a lot of research and selected the one they felt would be the best home for him.

That was it! My college education was suddenly changed and I was going to transfer to a different school. If I couldn’t own the horse I could go to school with him! So we scheduled a visit to that campus and started all of the paper work involved with becoming a transfer student. When we arrived for our visit I couldn’t wait to get to the barn to see “my” horse. I am sure one of the first questions I asked when we got to the barn was “Where is Fire Site?” The college told me that he was out on lease. He was not very good with their beginner riders—he kept running away with them. I was crushed, but continued on with my plans to attend that college.

Well, fate can have a funny way of working itself out in a person’s favor—even if we don’t see it at that exact moment in time. Another friend, whom I had not known too long encouraged me to call to find out if the horse was for sale. I was now nineteen years old and I was so scared. I knew how much he sold for and I knew what he was worth, but I made that call and the horse was actually for sale. I’m sure to this day the horse trader that had him thought he pulled a fast one on me. He paid a mere $250.00 to get him out of the school and was selling him for almost fifteen times that! I on the other hand thought I was getting a great deal on “my” horse.

Of course seeing that I didn’t have all the money for the horse at the time I had to ask my parents to co-sign a loan for me. I sat my Father down and at first he was sure that I’d bought a car. He was relieved to find out it was only Apollo I was after. Then because of the new “low” price he asked if the horse still had four legs. I told him I guessed he did, and if he didn’t I really didn’t care. He was and is my buddy and I wanted him back!

So, the gallant chestnut gelding returned to my life. We showed successfully, finishing his Legion of Honor and earning a Canadian National Top Ten, riding and showing for a couple more years before arthritis got the best of him and he had to be retired. He made many friends for the Arabian breed as a boarded horse in three different states. His arthritis requires special stall set ups which are hard to find in a common boarding setting, so in order to help him be comfortable and have a longer life in 2001 I purchased a small farm and set up the barn to accommodate his special condition. He now lives a happy, well-earned life of leisure and retirement, and he’s still my best friend. Friends for life.

Charli Ann Stevens

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