Luckiest Of All- My Horse | A Colic Horse Story

By Gloria ColterMy 17-year-old chestnut Morgan gelding, Good Knighthawk, walked obediently into my horse trailer.  As I tied him, I said, “Little Buddy, this will be the ride for your life.  I just hope we can win this one.”  Only minutes before, my vet had given him an injection for serious colic pain.  Hopefully this would keep him easy until I could get him to the University of Georgia Vet School 40 miles away.

It was almost sundown as I pulled out of our driveway.  My mind went back to five years before, when I had made a similar trip with another favorite Morgan gelding, Foothill Jolly Joker.  He, too, was 17 that year, and after extensive colic surgery, recovered and was still usable for pleasure riding.  Would the Lord bless me again in the same way?  The percentage of horses that recover to full use after this procedure was very small.

Just a month before I had gone on my first short-term mission trip to the Ukraine with members of my church I had spent my last savings on that trip.  I knew from experience that the surgery would be well over two thousand dollars if the doctors would attempt to save Knighthawk.  Should I risk that much money and possibly lose my horse to boot?
I started praying as I drove.  I said, “Lord, I know that Knighthawk belongs to you and you only loaned him to me.  I thank you for that.  If it is your will for him to die from this illness, please don’t let me spend money that should be used for another mission trip to glorify you.  I will gladly give him back to you.  If it is your will that he get well, please let me know without a doubt that you want me to allow the doctors to do surgery.”

Then as an afterthought I said, “And Lord, please help me find the money for the operation if you tell me to go ahead.”  With that, I turned my problem over to Him and took care of the business at hand, which was get there safely, as quickly as possible.

Halfway there, a fast food sign just ahead caught my attention.  I knew I’d better grab a hamburger now because I was most likely in for a long night.  I pulled in and parked, cut off the motor and jumped out, and then it hit me what I’d just done!  The starter on my vintage Suburban had been acting up. I dared not cut it off because it might not start again until the motor had time to cool.  What would I do if Knighthawk’s painkiller wore off before I got there?

Surprisingly, a sudden calm settled over me.  I quickly placed my order and paid the clerk.  Scratching Knighthawk behind the ears, I told him I loved him and got back under the wheel.  When I turned the key, the car started the first time.  “Hallelujah! Thank you Jesus!”

As the highway stretched before me green fields swept by, my mind went back to the day when Knighthawk was foaled at our barn.  I had been ashamed of him because he was so small and his confirmation was questionable.  He’d never be a show horse.  We waited until he was almost three years old before we broke him to saddle.  Because I was so busy with my mother who was ill, I sent him to another trainer to break him to harness so I could sell him. Actually I just wanted to get rid of him.

The trainer surprised me with a call one day and said, “Lady, you’ve got yourself a show horse.”  Not ready to believe him, I went to his stable to watch a workout.  I was amazed that my runt of a horse could handle himself in such a grand fashion pulling that cart.  His gaits were so powerful he even looked bigger.  My trainer insisted that I drive him so I climbed into the cart and took the reins.  I cannot remember a greater thrill than when he hit his stride at the road trot.  I had seen and trained some real nice Morgans, and I recognized true talent when I saw it. “Yes,” I said, “we’ve got ourselves a real show horse!”

It was just turning dark when we arrived at the vet school.  Attendants quickly took my beloved horse into the examination area and began a lengthy evaluation.  All the while they were running tests and probing him, I was remembering how Knighthawk’s show career surprised everyone who knew us.  He won second place in “Three Year-old Junior Pleasure Driving” in his first regional Morgan show that year against trainers from all over the country.  He even beat his own trainer who was obligated to show another horse and talked me into showing him myself.

After that show, I had taken him home and continued his training myself.  He and I bonded into a formidable team, and he became a valued member of our show string.  There was no stopping this little 14.3 hand Lippitt-bred Morgan horse with the great big heart and a big lick at the trot, plus a gentle sweet spirit that carried over into everything we did.  He could draw himself up like a proud rooster and strut.  His whole attitude said to the judges, “Look at me.”  By the time he was nine years old he had won many first places and other awards in regional and local Georgia shows all over.  He beat a lot of horses that had more prestigious bloodlines, owned by people who could afford the finest trainers.

In 1985 Good Knighthawk was declared Georgia Morgan High Point Horse of the Year, excelling in both English Pleasure and Pleasure Driving divisions.  I retired him from the show ring.  He went on to make me proud once again in Carriage Combined Driving Eventing for three more years, most often winning the cones course.  Finally he was allowed to settle down to become a favorite family pleasure horse, gentle enough to lead the grandchildren’s pony on their first trail rides or to do “pony rides” at church functions.

My melancholy was broken when the Chief of Surgery came over to me and explained that it looked like Knighthawk had a blockage in an area that was operable.  He could give him only a 50/50 chance of recovery, but he was willing to try because I got him there in time.  Then he popped the dreaded question, “Is surgery an option?”  In layman’s terms, this translates to “do you have the money, Dear?” I knew he was thinking that NOBODY spent that kind of money on a 17 year-old gelding.  He didn’t know that I had already done that once before, in that same hospital.

I hesitated as I silently asked the Lord to tell me what to do, wondering if people watching for my response had any idea what was really happening.  The circulating fans blowing inside the huge building had made me slightly chilly because I was damp with perspiration.  Suddenly, I felt a pink triangle of warmth envelope my whole body, almost like an embrace from someone who loves you.  A quiet voice inside me distinctly said, “Fix your horse, Honey.”

Knighthawk surprised everyone with his quick recovery, that is, everyone except me.  I had direct “orders from Headquarters” to go ahead with the surgery.  God even supplied the money.  I was a real estate salesman and a sale had fallen through a month before.  Four days after the surgery, the loan broker called me to tell me they had worked it out.  We would be having a closing after all.  After tithe and tax, my commission was exactly the amount needed.

And, you know what else happened?  When I drove back to Athens to see my horse the day after surgery, I stopped at a shopping center to buy a card.  You guessed it, the starter failed!  It took an hour to cool

Five days later, as my sweet horse stepped up into the horse trailer again; I thanked the Lord for our series of miracles that led us to this moment.  Stroking Knighthawk’s neck and kissing him on his velvety nose I said, “Little Buddy, you just won the big one!  Let’s go home.”

Gloria Colter

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Luckiest Of All- My Horse | A Colic Horse Story

I was ten when this all took place in a town called port orchard. I had two horses that I loved truly one was diamond who I had been currently riding in 4-h he wasn’t the best but he was mine & that’s all that mattered. My other horse was a 26-year-old pony named brownie he was the best ever & he liked coke. One mooring a couple of months after fair I woke up to my moms tears. I asked what’s wrong she said its diamond he got hurt really bad. I asked is a vet here she said no I couldn’t get a hold of one. She said I tried to get a hold of Deanna (are best friends) but the line is busy she said wait by the phone incase the vet calls.

Before I could ask her were she was going she was gone. Then are car pulled back in the driveway she asked if the vet called back I said no. Then I asked if I could see him she said yes so I went out to see him it was worse then I expected the back left knee was draining and right bellow it was a severe cut. I asked is Deanna her she said not yet but soon.

[private]My mom pulled me aside & said if its broke we cant let him suffer. I looked in his eyes & realized he understood but I didn’t. I went upstairs & cleaned my room till Deanna & Kristin came luckily they had Dr. Marian’s #. We waited till he came. he told us he was pretty lucky. He stitched him up & said he cut two tendons he also said he would have to be stabled for 6 months & couldn’t be ridden for a year.

A few months later my pony foundered I found out when I had been walking home from school I recognized the vets truck & immediately thought god diamond! I ran the rest of the way then I saw my mom holding brownie I asked what happened she told me. I said what are we going to do with these horses. He foundered a few more times.
A few months passed by and then it caught up with him. We found him lying down and he couldn’t get up so my mom and I tried to make him as comfortable as we could. We both knew what we had to do but we were stalling. I looked over at diamond and saw the same understanding look that I saw in his eyes when he got hurt. But it was different this time and he tried to get Brownie up with all his might. Then I realized that you can you can never give up on life unless its your time.

Later on we called the vet and the vet said that we had to put Brownie to sleep. After that we took diamond up to my great aunts where he lives today. I’ll never forget those two horses not even when I die.[/private]

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My Horses Are My Life | An Emotional Horse Story

Howdy, my name is Angela. I would like to share a story with you about a retired show horse named Bucky. When Bucky could no longer participate in horse shows, he discovered a special way to feel useful.

Mother told me that Bucky looked spectacular in his prime seasons. She described Bucky as a tall, muscular buckskin mount with a glistening coat and shiny hooves. He had a thick black mane and a flowing, black tail. Bucky’s large bright eyes revealed his pleasant personality. Mother recalled that Bucky was respected by his pasture mates, pampered by his owner, and received countless apples from kind children. Bucky had been a willing jumper. He gracefully leaped, and he always landed gently to ensure the safety of his young riders. For many seasons, Bucky was a successful show horse. His stable was filled with blue ribbons, trophies, and photographs of the happy children he once carried.

Although Bucky cherished his memories of show days, he had grown lonely and sad. He was the last horse to live on the horse farm. Bucky’s elderly owner could no longer properly groom him. Bucky’s former riders were too busy to visit. And, Bucky had not enjoyed an apple in a very long time.

When I started school last fall, I was assigned to the horse farm bus stop. Across the fence was where I first saw Bucky. He was already retired and “turned-out-to-pasture.” Bucky usually stood idle under a big oak tree. He was thin and his coat lacked luster. His mane and tail were tangled and partially torn. Bucky’s teeth were long and loose. His legs were stiff, and his hooves were cracked. He was swaybacked and obviously unrideable. Bucky did not look spectacular as my mother previously described. Most people would think Bucky was an ugly spectacle. However, I never thought that.

Jeffrey and Peter, who were older students, were also assigned to my bus stop near the horse farm. They would often shout to Bucky, “Hey, you sorry excuse of a horse. You are useless and ugly!” I pleaded with the boys not to mock Bucky. When I tried to reach over the fence to pet Bucky, the mean boys always blocked my way. The school bus would arrive so there was little time for me to comfort the old horse.

As fall turned into winter, Bucky became terribly lonely and sad. He had forgotten about his successful show days. He had forgotten his cherished memories of pasture mates and human friends. Bucky even forgot about apples. All Bucky could remember was that the schoolboys called him useless. When a horse truly believes he is useless, he feels the saddest a horse can feel.

That winter was bitter cold. Bucky’s coat became shaggy. Bucky desperately pawed the snow-covered ground in search of hidden pasture grass. He often cowered under the tree with his hindquarters toward the wind and his head hung low. His matted forelock covered his teary eyes. During the cold winter, the school bus stopped at our driveways instead of the horse farm bus stop. The schoolboys and I ran directly from our houses to the bus. Fortunately, there was no time for the mean boys to mock Bucky’s appearance. Unfortunately, there was no time for me to pet Bucky’s neck, whisper encouraging words, or offer apple slices.

When the long cold winter subsided, delicate buds emerged on Bucky’s tree. Birds began to perch on the sturdy limbs and sing. Their presence made Bucky less lonely and the bird’s joyful melodies helped ease Bucky’s sadness. As springtime progressed, green leaves appeared on the branches. Bucky’s shaggy winter coat began to itch. When Bucky rubbed his neck and body against the tree trunk, clumps of matted horsehair fell to the ground.

During the warm spring mornings, the schoolboys and I spent more time at the bus stop. The mean boys resumed their mockery of Bucky. Peter shouted, “I see a hairy mess of an animal.”
Jeffrey added, “That ugly old horse is falling apart”.

Together, they both shouted, “You are useless! Useless! Useless!”
One morning, I reached into my lunch box to offer Bucky the apple slices my mother prepared for me.
Jeffrey scornfully said, “He won’t eat those. Don’t you know that old horse has bad teeth?”

I tossed the apple slices over the corner fence anyway. The school bus arrived and whisked us away to school. Bucky managed to eat the delicious apple slices. He enjoyed the sweetness of his horse slobber. He was reminded of the apple treats he received in his successful show days.
Later that morning, Bucky noticed some bird activity in his tree. The birds were busy building nests. Two chirpy little sparrows flew around Bucky’s head. Bucky propped his achy legs against the tree trunk and strained to listen carefully.
“Hey, Bucky, It is a beautiful morning. Why do you look so sad?” called
Mrs. Sparrow.

“I am old, ugly, and the school boys called me useless,” replied Bucky.
“We have watched you for many seasons and we know that is untrue,” chirped Mrs. Sparrow.
“I suppose you remember when I used to be a spectacular show horse,” uttered Bucky.
“You were spectacular,” agreed Mr. Sparrow.
“But, now I am useless which is the worst condition for a horse,” mumbled Bucky with downcast eyes.
“To us, you are extra-spectacular!” Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow sang in perfect harmony.
“Why do you say that?” questioned Bucky.

“Every spring, Mr. Sparrow and I prepare our nest in this tree. Do you know why?” she asked.
“Because this tree is sturdy?” answered Bucky.
“This tree is certainly sturdy, but we nest here because of you,” chirped
Mrs.Sparrow. She continued, “We use your horsehair to insulate our fragile eggs and your wonderful horsehair helps keep our hatchlings warm.”
“We would never be able to build our warm and tidy nests without you, Bucky!” Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow gratefully sang.

Bucky’s eyes opened widely, “Oh! Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow, I am so happy, I could jump for joy,” whinnied Bucky. He leaped and kicked-out his legs with glee.
Bucky’s landing was not so graceful, but that did not seem to bother him. Bucky realized that he did not want to be a spectacular show horse anymore. He just needed to feel useful.

Later that fall, the sparrow family waved good-bye and flew south. During future winters, Bucky no longer felt sad and useless. He proudly grew his hair long and he dutifully rubbed his old body against the tree in anticipation of spring. For many more seasons, Bucky happily supplied the birds with horsehair. And, Bucky’s nests were spectacular!

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Bucky Builds A Nest | A Story About A Retired Show Horse

The first time I ever touched her was on a damp winter night. She had just been ridden in her fourth jumping lesson that day, and the teenaged girl who had gotten off of her had handed the reins to me at the trainer’s request.

The mare stood completely still, but I as I reach out to pet her spotted coat, I could feel the taughtness of her neck muscles, and could see the anxiety in her eyes. This horse, who had been given the name Rosie because of her rose-colored mottled coat, had a hard life. She had been a part of the boarding stable for seven years, having come from a feed lot where the killers picked out horses for slaughter. Though she had been spared the slaughterhouse, her new life as a lesson horse was difficult for her. She worked many hours a day, seven days a week, jumping fences, bending poles, little children jerking on her mouth all the while. She had been twitched and hobbled by stable hands who did not have the patience to talk her through her profound fear of clippers. She’d been relegated to the smallest, cheapest paddock in the stable, because, after all, she was a just lesson horse.

But as I looked at her that night, I saw something more. She was an Appaloosa through and through, from her white sclera to her mottled muzzle to her striped hooves. Her conformation reminded me of the illustration of the ideal Appaloosa I’d seen in ApHC publications since I was a kid. When I looked at her, I saw royalty. So I bought her.

In the beginning, she didn’t pay much attention to me. When I would come to get her out of her stall, she would just stand there, a dull look in her eye. She didn’t acknowledge me in any way as I slipped the halter over her head. I was just one more stranger, just one more person who had come to rent her by the hour.

There were times when I wondered what I had done. I’d wanted an Appaloosa my whole life. I had waited 25 years for this horse. But she didn’t seem to be there, mentally. She dutifully performed all the tasks asked of her, but there were no emotions. She was like a robot.

Then one day, six months later, as she was tied in front of my tack shed, I noticed a change. I had walked away to get something, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her watching me. For the first time, she seemed to notice that I was there.

After that, everything began to change. When I came to her stall, her head would go up, her ears would shoot forward. There were times when she even walked toward me as I approached her stall. It wasn’t long before I saw a light come on in her eyes. And then one day, she put her head against my chest as I stood next to her, and I could feel her give her heart to me.

Our bond seemed to deepen with every passing day. The anxiety she’d had under saddle vanished, and she became quiet and happy. After several months of patient work, she learned not to be afraid of the clippers. She’d stand quietly as I trimmed the hairs on her muzzle and bridle path, and then would politely ask for a carrot as her expected reward.

Throughout our first two years together, Rosie had bouts with various maladies, little hints of what was to come. While these were isolated incidents, one problem kept recurring: corneal ulcers. Little did I know that a year later, she would lose one eye, then the other to a mysterious eye infection that baffled my veterinarians and eventually robbed her of her sight.

The day she lost her remaining eye and stood blind in her stall, it was nearly three years to the day that I had bought her. She’d been through three surgeries and five trips to the hospital, and had been subsequently diagnosed with a serious auto-immune disorder that had contributed to the loss of her eyes. On her last day on Earth, I cried and hugged her, knowing that I couldn’t ask her to live in a world of darkness, filled with prodding needles and terrifying trips to the hospital. She had suffered enough.

Now that she is gone, I have to live my life without this gentle creature at my side, without hearing her soft nicker and feeling her tender muzzle against my hand. It feels as though my heart went with her on that bleak January day that she left me. People tell me I’ll get over it, that time heals all wounds. But no matter what anyone says, I know that there is a part of my heart

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Rosie Still In My Heart | A Sad Horse Story Of An Appaloosa

I held my hand in front of me, unable to perceive its shape, its size, color or dimension. My heart crumbled. My blindness was real. like a candle blown off by an unexpected draft, my self-confidence, motivation and purpose melted leaving my world as shapeless wax.

“When the retina ceases to function properly, there is no vision,” explained the ophthalmologist. “It~s like the film in the camera, without it there is no image to be transmitted to the brain.
These words echoed in my mind and haunted my soul. The only escape from this torment were the memories of my days as a little girl with full sight.

“I got something for you, honey,” announced Daddy with his deep but tender voice.

I sprang from my bed. His voice always seemed to caress my heart with comfort. But this announcement made it beat a little faster.

“Daddy smiled big, do you like it?” He knew a gift for my four-legged friend, Scout would please me more than one for me.

I was sick in bed when he brought in the most beautiful saddle I~d ever seen. Bright red and black with diamond cutlets trimming the rim. Its beauty brightened my room as the unique scent of fresh leather filled the air. I felt the new saddle with my hands as Daddy placed it at the foot of the bed. With a smile of delight, I ran my fingers slowly across the cool slick seat for the first time.

“I guess even the flu can~t keep you from a new present,” he said. He laughed and played with me, bouncing the empty saddle on the bed as if a horse was bucking it around.

At 11 years of age, this bright new saddle took away whatever ailed me.
“Scout will love this,” I repeated to myself as I carried the treasure out the next day.

Scout seemed weak and scared when I came into the dark barn. Hiding in a shadowed corner, I found him way in the back stall. As soon as I caught a glimpse of him, I quickened my steps. I could feel the soft dirt under my feet.

“Hey boy, look what I have for you!” I carefully placed this royal mount on his back. I took one step back to see his reaction. His wiry legs looked stronger. He held his head higher looking from side to side with pride. The colors of the saddle accented the shiny dark brown of his hide. He transformed from a scrawny skinny and scared horse to a strong radiant battle warrior ready to defend a king.

As we spent precious moments together, Scout became my warrior, my defender and confidant. The countless rides through the familiar paths became our routine, and he grew to know me better than anyone.

Years swept by taking away some of the radiance of that saddle. By now I was 17, and those same years took the brightness of my world as well. My peripheral vision had begun to close in. As expected, it eventually diminished to nothing, permanently turning off the lights in my world.

Daddy walked in my room, “Do you need any help picking out your clothes?” He asked with a soft voice.

“No, I can do it myself!” I shouted, unfairly venting my frustration.
He quietly walked out.

With anger, I threw the clothes on the bed and sobbed. I could no longer distinguish colors or shapes. Coordinating my clothes was now impossible.
“Anytime you need to go anywhere, just let me know,” friends offered. “You know I~m here for you,” they would add with a compassionate tone.

They seemed supportive. But they didn~t know what was in my heart. Scout was the one, the only one who felt the intensity of my fear, anguish and frustration.

When I cried into his neck, he nickered softly and nuzzled my shoulder with his velvet nose. I confided in him. I opened my deepest pain and the desperate longing as I felt my life sink into a dark tunnel. I sensed his tenderness.
“I~ll be here for you. I~ll be your eyes,” he seemed to be saying.

His gallop seemed more careful, more cautious. He knew he had now a rider without sight and unable to direct the path. I couldn~t guide him to avoid dangerous traps. But little did he know he was protecting me from devastating emotional traps as well. He displayed his protective nature against anything or anyone who might threaten to harm me. With each ride he gave me the comfort and joy making me forget my heart~s burdens.

No one but Scout knew how to take away the sting of learning to live a life without sight.

“You can go too if you want,” offered a friend.
“No, that~s okay, I~ll just go home” I replied quickly as my friends made plans to see a movie.

With tears rolling down my cheeks, I hugged the muscular neck of my loyal friend feeling the warmth of his hide. Scout stood very still, listening to my sobbing whispers. He understood more than just my words. With gratitude, I stroked the face of my best friend. It was wet from the tears he cried with me. Each teardrop signified, “you~re not alone, I~m hurting too~”

Like the saddle I once placed on his scrawny back, he also placed a shining glow of compassion and love on my broken world. When the time came for me to leave home for college, Daddy drove the car next to the fence. Scout placed his head through the window on my side. As I hugged his neck, his tears once again, were mixed with mine. Not a word was needed. We both knew his heart and mine would be forever braided together with the rope of unconditional love.

Leaving him was painful for me. Scout knew my heart and helped me carry my dark burden. He became my eyes allowing me to see what sighted people could not. Even when I couldn~t express my darkest feelings, he read my heart, sensed my pain and he cried my tears.

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Heart-To-Heart Connection | An Emotional Horse Story

I remember what it was like when I was eight years old, literally yearning for a horse. I knew I couldn’t have one, since my dad was out of work for two years due to a bad injury in his knee. We had no money for a horse. My mom had loved them as a child and still does, and she promised me once my dad was healed and got his job back, I would get riding lessons. So for two long years, I prayed and prayed, and my dad finally got his job back. Now it was my turn. My sister and I took riding lessons at my mom’s friends’ house for a year. I rode their awesome little pony named “Stoney” and my sister rode a little paint pony mare named “Coco.” I loved it, and riding lessons once a week was a whole lot better than spending hours in my room reading about them and looking at pictures, sometimes even crying over not having one. I was one step closer to horses, which was good enough for me.

About a year passed, and Birgit and Arnold (the people that gave us lessons) moved to another town that was about a forty-five minute drive. We still took western riding lessons, but not quite as often. We weren’t even close to being considered as “great riders” but we had the basic skills down, and we were good enough to ride on trails if we were riding calm horses. That Thanksgiving, I was ten, and my mom bought a beautiful little filly. She was the daughter of a mare named Mac, who is what some call a “babysitter” horse.
That means they’re so calm, you can trust about any age of child with them, knowing they’ll be just fine. The main reason we bought Swiss Miss, the filly, was because it was Mac’s daughter. She was a year old at the time. I was so excited about it. We finally had a horse! She was a little mean at first, okay, she was vicious. She tried to bite me three times. I knew she’d grow out of it though. She was just being a baby. We bought her from my dad’s cousin Christine, who owns a horse ranch in Northern California. The problem was that we lived in southern California, (500 miles away.) It would be at least a few months before Swiss Miss would be moved where Birgit and Arnold lived. However, we went home happy as ever, she was so cute!

Christmas came fast. The weather was cooler, and we hadn’t seen Swiss Miss since Thanksgiving. My sister and I were overjoyed when we received a beautiful Arabian mare named Dapples on Christmas Eve from our parents. She too, was living with Christine at the time, since Christine was the one who had found her, bought her from the owner, and sold her to my mom. Dapples had been abused and wasn’t in good shape, but I loved her before I even met her. A few months passed and Dapples was brought down to live with Birgit and Arnold, and their many horses. They took good care of her for us. They gave me riding lessons on her whenever time allowed, let her out to play with the others, and she ended up a real beauty. We had become really close. She followed me, nuzzled me, and trusted me. Then colic, a deadly sickness to the horse, stole her right out from under me.

By then, Swiss Miss was living at Birgit and Arnold’s, as was a beautiful appaloosa named Blaze. God knew we needed him when Dapples left. Blaze was given to us by his owners a week before Dapples died. They told us we needed him, and he needed us to take care of him. They loved him, but couldn’t afford to give him the best of care, and older horses have certain needs. You could never tell he was twenty-one by looking at him. He’s so healthy, elegant, and proud. You’d think he was two!

Life was going pretty darn good for me. We had Blaze, the perfect horse. We had Swiss Miss, a soon-to-be perfect horse. However, Blaze was rightfully my sister’s since he had healed her of being terrified of horses. She had been kicked by a young mare the day Dapples arrived, and all through Dapples’ time with us, wanted nothing to do with horses. But then Blaze came along, and being his sweet self, got her right back in the groove. She was riding again, and she loved horses again.

Swiss Miss was my mom’s horse from the start. It wasn’t like I was trying to be a brat or anything, but Marcy would barely ever let me ride Blaze. She was so in love with him, she didn’t want to share him. And Swiss Miss wasn’t old enough or trained enough to ride. Actually, we were still working on building a relationship with her. Then one day, I saw a beautiful palomino. Little did I know how much he would change me not only as a rider, but as a person.

It was cool outside the day we went out there to go see Blaze and Swiss Miss. When we got there, we went about our normal routine. Arnold and Birgit buy and sell horses a lot, so it’s not a surprise to see new faces in the barn. We got out of the car and saw Arnold out exercising a horse they had recently bought. He told us he had a new one-eyed friend. I didn’t know what he was talking about, until he pointed to a stall in the corner of the property. My sister, mom, and I went to go see him. The moment I saw him, I wanted him. I don’t know if it was his beauty, his attitude, or strangely enough his missing eye that made me fall in love with him. I’m not one of those people to judge a horse or any animal or person for that matter by their looks. I thought his eye made him unique and different, just like me. I couldn’t care less what kids at school say about me, because in my eyes, they’re all a bunch of fools.

Magic was different, and I admired it. A few weeks passed, and Magic was officially my horse. I was completely in love with him. I wrote poems and stories about him, I sang love songs picturing me on my big muscular golden horse riding together, and boys were not in the picture. I loved going to see him once a week, and even got my mom to take me during the week sometimes.
Everything was going great until Magic started getting stubborn. Before when I had ridden him, he would gallop, turn, and slide-stop. But now, he didn’t seem to want to ride at all. He stomped his feet when I tried to make him go, and sometimes refused to move at all. I tried to ignore his attitude, but as it got worse and worse, I felt helpless. I was still a beginning rider, and he was 1001 pounds of stubborn horse. I felt like there was nothing I could do. Then even worse problems came. Before, Magic had been a great trail horse. He would walk contently with the rest and calmly go where I asked him to. But now he would get competitive with the other horses and try to take off with me to beat them home.

I never fell off on the trail, but every time I was terrified to where I didn’t want to ride the trails anymore. I tried to justify his problems with his missing eye. Maybe that was the problem. But then why would he have problems now with it, but not before? My head was swimming with questions. Was it my fault? Was I doing something wrong? My mom became worried, and felt scared, like he was going to hurt me. The thought of selling him crossed my mind at one point, but I knew I would never do it.

I didn’t want to picture some other girl riding my horse. I had developed such a strong love for him, that I knew I would feel like a failure to him if I sold him. Finally one day, I thought about it real good and hard. And in my head, I said, That’s it. I’ve had it. No more thinking, it’s time to do something. The next few times I went out to the horses, I made sure I gave him lots of attention, to let him know he was the center of my world. When I rode him, I wasn’t rough, but gentle. I tried my very hardest to ride as best I could. I remembered everything Birgit had taught me during lessons. Heals down, hands down, lean back.

If I wanted him to turn, I pulled really gentle on either side of the rein, and gave him a little kick on the opposite side. Slowly, I started noticing differences in his performance. He didn’t fight the bit anymore, but did what I asked, and I would always reward him with a pat on the neck. I spoke with a gentle voice to let him know I would be patient if he made a mistake. I didn’t want him to feel like he had to be perfect, I wanted him to give everything he had. Then one day, I got up the courage to ask him to gallop. I couldn’t have been more thrilled when he immediately held his head up and galloped as fast as he could from one side of the arena to the other. I couldn’t believe it. I had done it. I had taken what I knew, put it to use, and now Magic was galloping again. I’ll never forget that day, and how happy I was. It felt so great to know I was a good enough rider to work him through a problem like that. He was back, Magic was back.

It’s been about a year since that glorious day. Magic is still with me. He is now eighteen years old, and I’m twelve going on thirteen. He’s getting better and better everyday. Every time I ride him now, I notice how he puts his heart into it. I have also grown as a person as well a rider. Animals are wonderful teachers. That horse has left hoof prints on my life. And long after he’s gone, and I’m grown, I’ll always know and remember how much he has changed me. We’re the best of friends. I talk to him about everything. I’ve told him about school, friends, problems, and without saying a word, he’s gotten me through it all. I know that no matter what I look like, no matter how I dress, or no matter what I do, he’ll always love me. He’ll always be loyal, and he’ll always be a shoulder to cry on. He’s one of the best things that ever happened to me. Friendship is found everywhere, even in a golden quarter horse gelding, missing his right eye.

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

The Magical Friendship| A Great Horse Story Of A Trail Horse

When Scottie, the little Morgan, was found abandoned in Vermont, there wasn’t much hope that Scottie would live.
Scottie had been abused and neglected.  Scottie hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for a long time.  No one had brushed her.  No one had cared anything about her.  She’d been left outside.  In the rain.  In the cold.  Alone and sad.  And very, very sick.

At this same time, in Upstate New York, a kind man was looking for a horse.  It had to be a special horse – it would be his first horse.  He’d been taking riding lessons at a nearby horse farm from a woman – who, like his wife, loved horses.  He’d never been around horses, but because his wife cared so much about horses, he wanted to learn all about them so they could share special times together – together on horseback.  So, this first horse had to be the perfect horse.

One day, while brushing horses at the horse farm, the woman told him of a sad story she’d just heard.  It was about an abandoned and abused little horse who probably was going to die.  It was about Scottie.
The man was so upset.  He couldn’t understand how anyone could be so mean to a horse.  He was learning how special horses are – he was learning how much he loved them.  They talked a long time about Scottie – he asked all kinds of questions.

“So what do you think Scottie’s chances are?”, he asked the owner of the horse farm.

“It’s hard to tell” she answered.  “I’ve seen some very sick horses live if shown some love.  A horse can sense love.”
That was it, the man decided.  He’d found his horse.  He wanted Scottie to be his horse.

“How are you going to take care of him?”, she asked.

“Will you help me?” he questioned in reply.

The woman smiled, telling him that if he’d do the work, she would show him how to help Scottie.

“But remember, the little horse is very sick.”

The man didn’t care.  He wanted Scottie.  He wanted to take care of Scottie.  So the man found a way to bring Scottie to the horse farm.

How sad little Scottie looked.  He was even sadder than the man had thought she would be.  She had sores all over.  The man was shown how to gently take care of the sores.

Scottie began to eat. She ate every day.  Her meals were healthy.  She had plenty of water.  Because her hooves hadn’t been trimmed in such a long time, her body was bent.  Twisted.

Now, her hooves were trimmed.  Now, she could stand straight and it didn’t even hurt.

Since Scottie had been left outside, her hair was falling out.  So, very often, the man shampooed his little horse with a very special shampoo.  Then, he would gently rub her from head to hoof with oils.  Scottie liked this.  So did the man.  He loved his little horse.

To build Scottie’s muscles stronger, every day, both before and after dinner, the man would walk Scottie through poles laid on the ground.  Scottie couldn’t wait for the man to arrive on the farm.  She loved to walk with him.
After quite a long time, the man gently put a saddle on Scottie.

Soon the man’s children joined in.  They all loved Scottie.  The man’s wife helped work Scottie through the poles.  To make Scottie even stronger, the man began placing his children, one by one, on her back- then walked Scottie.  As Scottie gained strength, the next heaviest child sat atop Scottie.

Finally, the man rode Scottie.  They were soon trotting about the fields.  They were now best friends.  Scottie knew the man really cared about her. The man knew Scottie was very happy.  It showed in her smiling eyes.

Two years later, the man and his family move to the country.  Because they all loved horses – and had seen just what love can do – they started a special farm – a farm for children who, like Scottie, need special attention.  Some children are in wheelchairs.  Some blind.  And some, also like Scottie, have been mistreated.

Scottie is just one of the beautiful horses on their farm.  But, it’s Scottie who really understands the needs of the children.

Scottie shows this in her eyes as she gently carries a blind child around the ring or when she stands extra still as a disabled child is mounted on her.
Scottie even realizes when a crippled child is unable to reach up and pet her.  She lovingly puts her head in the child’s lap.

Scottie gives the children love – just like the man gave her.  Scottie is the little horse that can always be counted on – and all because of a man who took the time care.

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

Neglected Scottie In Vermont | An Emotional Horse Story Of A Little Morgan

It was early 1996…
“If you got a horse, what type would it be?”
I paused while making the bed, and pulled a blank. I had never really thought about it before, but it made sense. It had to be specific, a “horse” could be anything, and in this case I knew in my heart not just any horse would do.

Secondly, it wasn’t my husband or a family member asking me this question, it was the Lord. I know it was because I had given up the dream of owning a horse quite a few years before, when our children were arriving in this world. I had weighed the importance and balance of time between children and having larger animals, and the family won out. Besides, I had been richly blessed by the other creatures that had entered our household, and I was definitely busy enough to let some things go. Or so I thought.

What I realized was that a dream placed in your heart was a dream God wants you to fulfill, and He wanted me to pick that dream back up.

So began a search of sorts. Arabs and Quarter horses, lots of them, and beautiful, but just not it. It had to be something more of what I believed the original horse looked like, modeled by the hand of God, with form, solidness, a sense of hidden power, something unusual. I knew it existed, but I didn’t know what it was. Then it dawned on me, perhaps a Friesian was what I was thinking about. I had seen the movie “Lady Hawke”, a friend had given us the tape because he said there were some fantastic images of the hawk that I would probably enjoy (I had been doing wildlife painting for a while and birds were the main subject), but I couldn’t help noticing the stallion “Goliath”. Ahh, he was magnificent.

OK, I want to know more about the Friesian, who do I talk to? I started with the American Horse Council, and they referred me to the Friesian Horse Association of North America. I checked out Riding magazine, and called up a girl who had Friesians listed in her ad. She had just sold a Friesian cross, and was very helpful, although I gulped a bit when she told me what he went for. She recommended getting together with the Tuls, breeders in the San Jacinto, California area. A plan of action was beginning to take shape.

The Tuls were wonderful, Tillie showed us their barn of beautiful animals, even had our family enjoy a drive around the arena in a training cart drawn by one of her mares. But nothing made the heart smile……….yet.
FHANA was joined, and shortly afterwards the Southern California Club. Meetings at Marie Callenders, feeling out of place, remarks about Friesian wanna-bees, made me consider that perhaps this was not the place to be. Maybe we weren’t rich enough, what were we doing wanting a Friesian? We didn’t even have a corral!
The Friesian Extravaganza in Reno was approaching for April 2000. I knew now that we were going to go with an eye to buy. I was already stepping out in Faith, had begun accumulating a couple halters, feed buckets, lead ropes, even having dreams about talking with friends while rubbing horse faces. Then one day I happened upon an advertisement for an Open House at Sunshine Horse Ranch, in Cherry Valley, California. It was a weekend that threatened rain, so we didn’t even go Saturday, deciding at the last moment to go Sunday. But now, for some reason, something was different. I knew I was looking for something specific, and I expected to find it!

There was a lively atmosphere surrounding the ranch, and so many horses! Lots of people, lots of activity, and I seemed to be in a hurry. I walked past the tables and displays set up in the front of the property, walked past the refreshments, walked and looked, looked quickly, and afterwards realized I was like a hound on a scent. I peered over the rails at faces that looked at me as if to say, oh, another, I’m tired…. I remember barely thinking, nice, nice, nice, nice, ……. and then we were down at the very end of the aisle way, at the last corral. Two mares, standing at the back end of their enclosure, looked at us and then ambled over to say “hi”. And we fell in love. Beautiful faces lowered over the rails to press against our chests, and heads that hugged in for rubs. I began crying.

Finally, it was our daughter who pointed out that there were numbers on their halters, and she had seen information sheets on a table when we first arrived. Now to head back to find out who these ladies were, and more importantly, was anyone else interested in them. Oh, I hoped not! Now I had to play the role of “don’t seem too interested, or someone else may become interested, too”. But I continually found myself back at their gate, aching with longing and scared at the same time.

We were the last to leave, and closed up the Open House that afternoon, as Sonja Zinke and Nina Miller (owner of Friesian stallion Wander 352) were enjoying coffees while sitting on the patio. It began to rain, and I decided now it was safe to leave the horses, only a crazy person would stand in the rain looking at a horse they didn’t own. I was wet.

Three days wrestling with thoughts, and three nights without sleep indicated that this was a decision I had to make, and an opportunity to not let pass by. My wonderful husband listened only long enough at the end of the third day to say, “You’d better call them back.” We met with Sonja the next afternoon, and not only bought BOTH mares, but made new friends! We have been blessed with much more than we expected.
Now, I finally had a good night’s sleep.

And as they say, the rest is history, but in our case it is only the beginning. The girls are still learning to carry people, I’m trying to find my post, they run to me to kill the horsefly, and their breath is sweet. They holler at the other cars while riding in the trailer, or holler at me when they see me appear, they blow big goobers on my clean pants, and rest their big heavy heads on our shoulders while we’re rubbing their ears. I wear hay wisps with pride, and I no longer ache deep inside when I see others riding, or trailering, or buying horse supplies. I was self-conscious to buy just birdseed at the feed store, now I’m buying birdseed and hay!

This has no end, for it was begun long before I was aware of it, long before I was born, and I am only a small part of it, as we all are. But what a wonderful thing to share, the love for a horse, and what a wonderful thing to discover, that our dreams are to be pursued, to be believed, and ultimately, to be brought to life, snorting, whickering, and nuzzling.

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

The Dream That Came True | A Friesian Horse Story

Trusty came to be my new riding horse after he spent five years of failed attempts to be a race horse. His previous owner kept him racing even though he had never won a single race in five years. He said it was a good tax write off. Still, Trusty gave his all, and even endured injuries trying his best to win. Finally the owner decided to sell his outcast racehorse. I was there to take him home looking forward to introducing Trusty to English riding.

Upon coming to our ranch he seemed very relieved to be in a large paddock of his own, instead of a 12×12 dark stall. He could now breeze around his own place at his own pace. With his head held high and his mane and tail blowing in the spring air, he pranced around and let his presence be known to the other 109 horses at the ranch.

Trusty was examined by our ranch veterinarian. It was determined he could be ridden and even jumped. We kept a close watch on his previously strained legs. We used wraps to support his legs when necessary.
Trusty was a very spirited horse and enjoyed his new life as a show horse. Jumping was fun and riding on the trails was great enjoyment, much different than the pressure of the racetrack. Trusty and I went many places and explored many trails together.

As the years passed and Trusty became older his old racing injuries started to act up. During one of our trail rides I reluctantly realized Trusty was limping.

The ranch veterinarian said, “It would be best to stop riding Trusty and maybe consider putting him to sleep since his useful days appeared to be gone. After all he was a gelding and three of his legs had problems and you have many mouths to feed.”

Something inside of me would not let me do this to my old friend. He was not in pain as long as he was not being ridden on a regular basis. Surely he should have a purpose. After all he has given so much of his life to others.

It was time to start thinning out some of the horses on the ranch. We put an ad in the local newspaper with a variety of horses available. Of the many calls received one stands out in my mind. A man called looking for a horse for a birthday present. His boy was turning 21 and wanted a horse. This was an unusual request for a person of his age.

Upon setting an appointment they were told we would be glad to show him all of the sale horses. He came out the next day. One thing he forgot to tell us was that his son was mentally disabled. I mentioned to the family, I did not think that we had a horse that would suit his sons’ special needs. Since they had traveled so far we invited them to view all of the horses. His son did not talk much during our tour of the ranch.
We had seen all of the sale horses and also included the breeding and show stock. He kept his head down with an occasional glance toward some of the horses.

Then we got to the paddock where Trusty was kept. When we got within sight the boy seemed to come to life. He asked about Trusty. “What is his name?” I said, “Trusty”. Excitedly he exclaimed, “Trusty! My name Rusty. Trusty, Rusty. Rusty, Trusty.” Over and over again he repeated this, pointing to the horse and himself.
His family asked me, “how much for this horse?” I had to explain this horse is not for sale. In fact he is a high spirited horse who has bad legs, is not for a beginner, and is not very sociable.

Just as I was explaining this here comes Trusty to the rail where Rusty was repeating “Trusty, Rusty. Rusty, Trusty.” To my amazement the horse hung his head over the rail for Rusty to pet him. Never had he shown so much affection for any person.

Rusty wanted to take the horse out of the paddock. Reluctantly I said, “We can try it.” After showing Rusty how to hold the rope and where to stand for safety we went for a walk to a grassy area. Trusty was a perfect gentlemen. Well, Trusty was in love with Rusty and Rusty in love with Trusty. Now what!!?
His family told me Rusty would only be able to come out to ride once or twice a month since he live in a state run facility due to his condition.

With concern for Trusty’s physical limitations I consulted with our ranch veterinarian. He felt light riding would be fine for Trusty.

Armed with this information I explained to the family that Trusty would not be sold to them, but I would give them Trusty to use as long as they kept him on our ranch. I coaxed the skeptical parents to let me give Rusty private riding lessons. They could not believe their son would be able to learn the same things as my other students. We started with the basics. First haltering, leading, brushing and cleaning hooves. He also learned the parts of the horse. We then moved up to saddling and riding. Rusty never wanted to go faster than a brisk walk, which was good for Trusty who willingly obliged.

Rusty was doing so well emotionally his physician was able to lower his medication. He also was able to enjoy helping in the kitchen of the facility where he lived. This was something the family was told would never happen.

For his next birthday he wanted to have his friends at the facility meet Trusty. Some did not believe him when he said he owned a horse. So, we drove one hour and thirty minutes to show his friends his horse. This was when I saw he needed Trusty closer to his facility home. What a hard decision to let go of my friend, He needed Rusty and Rusty needed Trusty. I remembered a friend that had her stable nearby and made her aware of this special situation. She agreed to keep Trusty and continue helping Rusty as long as they are on this journey together.

What a beautiful site, seeing them together, both needing each other, their spirits alive and connected.
I have learned a lot through this experience. Never say never.

Who would have thought this old broke down horse could be a soul mate to this young man. And who would have thought this disabled young man would be able to travel on a journey with this horse. Here’s something to think about. Just when you think nothing can come out of a bad situation, Remember Trusty and Rusty.

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

Trusty- The Struggling Race Horse | An Amazing Horse Story

We first heard about a herd of horses for sale a few weeks prior to this round-up. Because we didn’t know the condition the animals were in, and we all had our own horses to care for, we didn’t realize the urgency of finding homes for these horses until a few of us drove by one day and were horrified by the sight…

Thirty plus appaloosas–7 or 8 stallions, several pregnant mares, and 10-12 yearlings and weanlings–roamed the 127 acres across which the wind never stopped blowing, and over which the airplanes from the local air base never stopped flying. The stallions were constantly battling, and many of the yearlings wore fresh wounds and scars from their bites. On two separate afternoons we witnessed a stallion bite down on a yearling with enough force to kill if we had not waved our arms and yelled to scare him away.
Two yearlings and a mare were literally skin on bones. All shied away from any closeness with humans, having been fed moldy stock hay, and occasionally a scattering of grain, when they were fed at all…And yet, with some arm waving and “spirit fingers”, along with some stratigically placed grain, we were able after 2 hours to coax this first mare and her baby into our trailer. A week later, we had rescued 13 more, including 2 of the more docile stallions.

One evening, as we were haltering the yearlings, one of the most emaciated yearlings closed his eyes, and a single tear slid down his cheek as we spoke softly to him and stroked his bony, matted frame. This was his first experience with being touched by a human, and it was heartbreaking to see his look of resignation of what he must have imagined his fate would be replaced with a look of ecstacy when he realized we meant him no harm. He was the herd scapegoat, the most picked on, the last fed, and he would not have survived the winter had we not rescued him. Each day we worked with these horses until most would eat from our hands; some would consent to be brushed and would soon learn to walk on lead.

One month later, we have found homes for 12 of these horses. All of the horses look better–with enough good food their coats are more colorful and their hooves are growing in healthy. Even the 3 who were skin on bones have put on weight. I am keeping one filly, a red roan with curious eyes and a sweet nature. She nickers when I walk by and comes to the side of her paddock when I call her name, Tokala, which is Lakota for “Little Fox.”

When we look back over the past month, the progress these “wild” appaloosas have made in such a short time is astounding. With some coaxing they walked into trailers, began to trust us and to eat from out hands, learned to feel comfortable and safe in enough a paddock to lie down at night, and allowed us to brush them, doctor their wounds, and walk them on lead ropes.
Love truly does conquer all.

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

Love Conquers All | A Heartwarming Horse Story