Moody Blue wasn’t my horse. I didn’t own the 24-year-old gelding. I don’t even remember my grandfather buying him in Jordan, Minnesota in 1977. But I remember when he taught me how to ride. I remember when I was with him in the last minutes of his life.

Moody Blue was a solid black Appaloosa, born on April 10th of 1977. He was purchased by my grandfather as a 5-month-old colt whose dam had died when he was only 3-months-old. My mother was the one who taught him all he knew. Moody was the one who taught me all I know.And if horses could truly be movie stars, Moody would have been one. He had a charisma and aura around him that made people automatically fall in love with him.

[private]Moody, as he was affectionately known, had a ‘Black Beauty’ tale. He was sold to a woman who horribly neglected him. He remained in those conditions for several years before my mother finally found the money and offered to buy Moody back, although he was in poor health and had lost a considerable amount of weight. When my mother purchased him back, she promised not to sell him until his death.

Lovingly, she kept her promise.Then, when my grandfather died in 1993 of lung cancer, Moody remained the only living thing to remind the family of my grandfather, since he was the one who had chose him as the gangly little colt in the photos.

It was Father’s Day 2001 when the impossible happened. My mother went up to our barn to feed our horses and Moody was basking in the sun – or so she thought. When he didn’t run into the barn to eat, she knew something was definitely wrong. A glance at his side and she saw his right back leg jutting out at an awkward angle. When she called us outside, we noticed Moody was sweating profusely and his hock was swollen to the size of a grapefruit. Hoping it was just some twist or torn ligament, we assisted him as he hopped into the barn on three legs and then began to eat his grain.

After calling out Dr. Stone, DVM, the diagnosis was in, and it wasn’t good. “He has shattered his tibia,” Dr. Stone told us. My mother, father and I were already crying softly. The prognosis was even worse. “There is nothing to be done.” By then, I was loudly sobbing. This couldn’t happen to Moody. He was the ultimate horse. Nothing could kill him.

The veternarian returned with a dose of morphine to reduce the pain in Moody’s right hind leg and an anti-imflammatory solution to bring down the extreme swelling. When Dr. Stone asked if we wanted to put him down that moment, my father said no. We had plans and we were going to do something – anything – to save our beloved Moody Blue.

Hope still shone through. On the internet, we read stories of horses who did survive after breaking their tibias. Our hearts faltered when we also read that it occured mostly in racehorses, with a slim survival rate. When my mother went outside that evening to check on Moody, she came back in tears. He had made the tough decision for us. His injury was a compound fracture – a fragment of bone was working it’s way out through the inner part of Moody’s hock.

That’s when I began to think: when do we stop living for ourselves and start living for something else? Human beings are incredibly selfish. It never occured to us at the moment that Moody was suffering, yet we continued to keep a vigil. If we extended the days, he would soon heal up and get better. What we feared most did happen and our stubborn hope deteriorated. We had been defeated and now we were left with empty hearts.

For two more days, Moody would remain in his stall, the extreme pain only subdued by a Bute paste. Moody had changed so many lives – he was once a lesson horse, so a few prior riders trickled in to see him, to say their goodbye’s to the “wonder horse.” Moody would often peek around the corner of the barn to watch a small backhoe dig his final resting place beneath the shade of a sassafras tree in our back yard.

A close friend of the family, Jenna Faulkner, came by on the 18th of June with a bag full of peppermints, Moody’s favorite treat. He eagerly ate handfuls of the candies as we discussed his injury with teary eyes, then gave us strength with one of his infamous whinnies as we left the barn.

The day of reckoning was June 19th, beautiful and sunny. Jenna and my father both agreed to stay with Moody during his final moments, for my mother and I weren’t stable ‘nor strong enough to remain with Moody. He had been with the family nearly all his life and was more than just “any other horse.” He represented a significance to our family… he was the last living piece of my grandfather and that was deeply important to us.

We stood at the stall with Moody, feeding him peppermints. He paused for a moment and stared off in the distance. With his head tossed into the air, nostrils flaring, eyes bright… he let out a few shrill whinnies. My mother, Jenna, and I all weakly smiled as he continued this routine for nearly three minutes. Then, as if it were choreographed, the veterinarian’s truck pulled in our driveway.

It was time to get Moody out and prepared for his final walk. As my father stabled his left side and I provided some stability against his right flank, we slowly began the process of walking him down towards the gaping hole. His buddy, my own horse Pokey, was snooping around the gate worriedly. He wanted to know where his best friend was going. Jenna baited Moody with peppermints, but I don’t think he needed them. There was a look in his eyes… a grateful look, thankful that we weren’t going to put him through such misery and agony. He never once flinched, never once fought against us, never once eyed the backhoe or the hole next to him. Moody was a smart horse; he knew we were helping him and this struggling walk would soon lay down his tired body.

As the final moments drew closer, I wrapped my arms around Moody’s neck, silently thanking him for taking care of me when I rode him, for taking care of my mother when she was several months pregnant with my sister, thanking him for everything he’d ever did. I promised him he was going to feel better. After my mother literally had pried me from his neck, we both walked to the house. I heard my horse Pokey call from somewhere near the barn and began crying harder. This couldn’t be happening… not to Moody.

Never to Moody.

It was over in a matter of minutes and I heard Dr. Stone pulling out of the drive and leaving. We went outside and Jenna told us he was so cooperative, as always. It was a peaceful death… and a noble, dignified one, too. And as my father covered Moody’s body with his quilted blue blanket, we knew this wasn’t the end. It was the beginning of a new, rejuvenated life for Moody. He wasn’t in pain. He had four good legs and could frolic in pastures more green than anyone could imagine.

Even though the pain still lingers, and probably will always be there, Moody is still with us. It was his indominable spirit that was his fate… what everyone revered so much had to bring him down. But, in the words of Robert Frost: “Nothing gold can stay.” Moody will always remain in our hearts and our minds as the sleek, cunning black horse who loved to run.[/private]

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

One late afternoon in 1977, a few weeks after I entered my freshman year of high school, I glanced outside the livingroom window on my way to the kitchen. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. My Appaloosa mare, Nee Noo, stood in the corral twisting her neck around to bite at her side.

After making a few swipes, her head sank halfway to the ground. I knew something was terribly wrong.

[private]I summoned my mom, who called the vet, and when he arrived he diagnosed Nee Noo with spasmodic colic. Dusk had fallen by then, and the vet could do no more than advise us to walk Nee Noo all night to make sure she didn’t lie down and roll: doing so could cause an intestine to twist, which would be fatal.

My mom couldn’t spend the night walking Nee Noo. Every night she went to the hospital to visit my dad, who’d contracted a rare disease, Guillain-Barre syndrome, just weeks before. He’d been in the ICU ever since, paralyzed from the neck down.

Hurriedly and apologetically, Mom dragged out our barbecue grill and started a wood fire in it. Then she brought me Dad’s sheepskin-collared coat and set out blankets and a patio chair near the fire. I had already started leading Nee Noo in circles around the sycamore tree. Before she left to visit Dad, Mom brought me one more thing, a transistor radio.

The sky grew blacker, and the neighborhood sounds of barking dogs and passing cars gradually ceased as our journey around the corral continued. I was too bent on performing my task to feel anything for awhile, but I did recognize the irony of the situation.

My dad’s beloved Appaloosa, Silver Eagle, had died of colic ten years before.

Devastated, Dad spent weeks searching the state for a relative of Eagle. He finally found Nee Sad Song Nancy Swart.

Noo, Eagle’s half-sister, registered as Wamblette (A Little Eagle in the Apache tongue) in Rialto, CA. Her corral faced an area where pigs were slaughtered routinely, and we always wondered if the trauma of watching the butchery accounted for Nee Noo’s neurotic personality. Of course, her mixture of Arabian and Thoroughbred blood might have contributed too.

In any case, the Rialto ranch was an odd place to find a horse with such impressive bloodlines. Her grandfather, Arab’s Arrow, had once raced against Seabiscuit in the Stars and Stripes Handicap at Arlington Park. He’d come in third, just a neck behind the legend himself.

My twin sister and I were seven years old when Nee Noo arrived, and we soon attached ourselves to the two horses my parents owned. In a few years Kathy started showing the even-tempered gelding Hobbit, who did anything she asked him to, while Nee Noo and I usually struggled for any ribbons we brought home.

After an hour or so pacing the corral, Nee Noo came to an abrupt halt. I looked back and in the dim firelight saw her legs start to buckle. “No!” I shouted. I managed to get her moving again just in time, wondering how I was to keep a 1,000 pound horse from lying down and rolling.

From that point on I walked close to Nee Noo’s head, muttering soothing nonsense, patting her sleek neck, and tugging at the leadrope anytime she tried to stop. At last perceiving how much pain she was in, my initial numbness gave way to anxiety and guilt. How could she understand that I was doing this for her own good? When I considered how stormy our relationship had been (half the fault mine, for my behavior was often as chaotic as her own), a
deep regret stole over me.

Unbidden, memories of bad days and bad shows returned. At one particularly monotonous stage in her training, Nee Noo began turning into the center of the arena, where she’d come to a complete stop. Typically I’d slap her on the behind with my whip, and she’d buck in response. Slap. Buck. Slap. Buck. The equine Jack-in-the-Box-routine would go on until I finally gave up and put her away.

Another time, when she refused a brush jump at a show, I made her repeatedly jump a set of rails in the practice ring, furious that we’d lost any chance to win anything. During the award presentations later, I was shocked to hear the announcer call my name. When I rode up to the judge, he handed me a glistening gold-and-brown ribbon as long as my arm. We had won 12th place, despite Nee Noo’s refusal of the brush jump.

Although we often came home without a prize, Nee Noo thrilled me more than once with perfect performances that seemed to come out of the blue, for they certainly had nothing to do with me.

During a practice session of our mounted drill team, we crashed head-on into another horse. Everyone involved in the accident walked away unhurt except for Nee Noo; as I led her home she limped all the way, favoring one front leg. Although she suffered no permanent injury, I felt tempted to quit the team anyway, because her flightiness during the workouts had so often angered and embarrassed me. But at the competition only a few months later, in a huge and unfamiliar showground, Nee Noo didn’t merely come through for me: she was spectacular.

She glided through the routine, speeding up or slowing down before I even cued her. For the first time, she galloped with her head tucked down to her chest, her nervousness only apparent in her clipped, bounding strides. Our drill team won first place.

Other times, she amazed me with her singular, hilarious intelligence: she would kiss me on command, eat only pink jelly beans, drink wine, and play basketball with my parents, using her rear end as the backboard.

Yet how could Nee Noo know how proud she’d made me, or how much I loved her? She’d have to be psychic, I decided, especially after this night of torment. I had to yank on her halter many times to keep her moving, each time cheating her out of the chance to roll, which she surely believed would relieve her suffering.

For the fourth time that night, John Denver’s “Like a Sad Song” came on the radio. I already associated it with our lonely trek that night, when thoughts of Dad and the way he looked in the ICU last week mingled with my concern for Nee Noo. Now the emotions of that night are packed together and contained in that one song, like bittersweet memories stored in an old trunk one might pause before now and then, but rarely venture to open.

Tired, I thought I’d lie down on the lounge chair for a little awhile and hear the song out, since I had caught it at the beginning this time. Nee Noo stood over me, so miserable that if I moved, she would bare her teeth and nip at my shoulder, her ears laid back flat. Carefully, I got up and continued walking her, wondering if she’d ever forgive me for this torture.

The answer seemed clear the next morning.

When Mom woke from the livingroom couch at dawn, she looked out the window and saw me asleep in the patio chair. Nee Noo, recovered from the colic, was lying on the ground beside me, so close that the leadrope still lay coiled in my hand—as if she’d tried not to wake me.

After that, I had no doubt that she could read my heart, if not my mind.[/private]

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

Let me take you back to my childhood, to my life without a horse, to my life with only a dream….

For as far back as I can remember, and from stories that my mother has told, I have been a horse lover. As a toddler I would ride on the rocking (wonder) horse for so long that I would fall asleep. Just to give you an idea of just how horse crazy—games played with or without friends were centered around horses, at the toy store I could be found in the model horse section looking for the next member to my collection, my favorite shows on T.V. were the westerns with horses in them, favorite movies and books were of horses, if I saw a horse anywhere, I would have to run up and pet it.

[private]But for me petting was just not enough—I needed more. There was a feeling deep inside me that yearned to be near horses. My next-door neighbors had two horses, and when I was allowed to go with them to care for them it felt so right, so natural, but still not enough. I longed for more. At the age of twelve, I began working for a local riding stable. It was there that I was able to spend more time, and was also taught how to care for horses properly. This included nutrition, safety, grooming, habits, tack fitting, tack care, illnesses, and this is where I started officially learning how to ride.

My parents’ kept looking for me to grow out of this phase that they thought I might be going through. This was definitely not a phase—HORSE was still showing up at the top of every Christmas and Birthday list. And, the daily pleading still continued, until finally at the age of seventeen it paid off. I was searching through the ads in the paper one day after school, and right there in front of my eyes appeared: For sale Registered ½ Arabian, ½ Quarter horse gelding $300.00! I couldn’t get to the phone fast enough to call my mom at work and tell her about the horse that I had to have! And to my complete astonishment, she said, “o.k. We’ll go take a look at him.” We called and scheduled an appointment right away. My dream of owning a horse was about to come true!

The first day of what I can only describe as my new life was the day that I first met Lighty (short for Lightning). He was nothing like what I had pictured as my dream horse. He was a Three and a half year old, very thin, not yet fully developed chestnut gelding, with a big white blaze, and he was completely from head to hoof covered and standing knee deep in mud. I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight, but it didn’t take long for me to see through the mud and to realize the beautiful prospect standing in front of me. Anyhow, at this point I didn’t care, I was about to get a horse, and that is really all that mattered to me.

The thing that got to me the most was when I first called his name, he came running, slipping, and sliding to the gate to greet me with the most wonderful, full of life whinny that I have ever heard. I felt right at that moment that we were destined to be together. SOLD!!! The man who raised Lighty from a foal was very ill and was selling him for so little money because he was an untrained/barely halter broken horse. I couldn’t wait to get started. I new I had a lot of work cut out for me and I was ready! This was the most exciting day of my life!

Well, I new that there would be difficult times, especially since I had no experience with training horses, but I just didn’t think they would start right away. After arriving to the new stable we were informed that there wouldn’t be any box stalls available due to the bad whether conditions. We had no other alternative but to put him into a muddy field with very little protection from the elements and with other horses that he didn’t know.

My very nervous, barely halter broken horse and I were standing ankle deep in mud when I took off his halter and tried to console him (1st lesson learned…don’t ever try to pet a snorting horse after taking the halter off!) He jumped up, kicked out, and ran like a bolt of Lightning (hence his name) up the hill as I fumbled in panic to replace my dislocated kneecap, which was completely out of its socket, back into place. Not a pretty beginning. Over the next few months, I learned a lot more in the lessons department, but fortunately with no more injuries. I had my horse, I felt complete, and that was all that mattered to me.

I happily spent everyday after school with him, working with him on his groundwork, which consisted of lead line, lunge line, and ground driving training. After a lot of book reading, advice from more knowledgeable people, and a lot of patience. We were finally, after one and a half years, ready for that first of many rides together. It took a lot of courage for me to get up in that saddle, but I did it! Lighty was a very hot blooded, young, and energetic horse, so our riding career was not without incidence. But without all of those experiences, I would not be the rider and trainer that I am today. Everything I learned, I owe to him.

Through the years, Lighty, who never failed to greet me everyday with his wonderful whinny, also stood by me through all of life’s many changes. He was there through my relationships, there when all of my kids were born, there through my twenties and thirties, and into my forties. We shared so much together. I took care of him and he took care of me through thick and thin. We were a team! No matter what was going on in life he always lifted my spirits with the knowledge that he was just as happy to see me, as I was to see him.

He loved having the kids around and the kids loved him. When Lighty was about twenty-four he became permanently lame from the cartilage wearing down in his pastern from a series of bad shoeing jobs. He couldn’t be ridden anymore, but I wasn’t in this relationship just for the ride, I loved Lighty, and he was a big part of my family. My family and I, this included my parents when I was sick, would still go up to clean his stall, turn him out and hand walk him for exercise, brush and bathe him, feed him treats, and as usual I/we were always greeted with a whinny.

I began to feel guilty and to question what was really best for Light. Maybe what he really deserved was a more horse-like quality of life. One which in my mind consisted of more open space, with a group or herd of horses, and all-you-can-eat grass. I felt that I was being selfish, just trying to keep him close for my own benefit. I really struggled with this until one day someone told me about a retirement home that I should check out. Well, I did, and even though I still didn’t know if this would be the best thing for him, I started planning for the move.

It was a place that was still close enough for at least a weekly visit, but I still wasn’t sure, considering his age and soreness, if a move was best for him in the long run. This was a huge decision for me, but I finally concluded that I would at least start preparing him. He had been dropping weight, so I had some needed dental work done, which would also allow for better grazing. And, two days after the dental work there was an immunization and worming clinic scheduled for him to get his required annual immunizations. I felt that it might be a little to soon for a horse his age, but the vet felt that it would be fine so I had him immunized.

The beginning of what I now know as the end came all of a sudden, when about a week after the immunizations, I went up one evening and was not greeted at the gate by his whinny. I found Lighty barely standing, backed up and leaning his weight on his paddock fence with his head hanging low and pain in his eyes. He Nickered softly in greeting and my heart completely sunk. After soothing him and looking him over, I found all four of his legs were extremely swollen, which was the reason for his discomfort and inability to stand with out constantly shifting his weight.

I thought he was going to die, and I was not prepared for this at all. The vet came and treated him with anti-inflammatories to bring down the swelling, and set an appointment to be up the next morning to check on him. Under the veterinarians care, I treated him throughout the next couple of weeks with various drugs that might help his symptoms, which we still don’t know for sure what the cause. At one point it seemed to be helping and there was hope, but all of a sudden, one evening, the evening of February, 21st, 2002, I went up to give him his daily dose of medicines, hand walk, and graze.

He didn’t seem up to the hand walk, but I took him out for a graze, but all of a sudden he stopped eating his own, which has never happened, and started to walk back toward his stall. This walk back was very hard on him. He had to keep stopping and I really felt that he was not going to make it. We finally, made it to his stall, but he was very agitated and kept trying to scratch his hind legs, which were still very swollen. After scratching the itch for him, trying to ease his discomfort, I wrapped his legs in support wraps and called the vet, who would check on him first thing in the morning. This didn’t feel right. I stayed with Lighty for a long time, and then told him that I would see him in the morning. I hugged him tightly, and told him that I loved him like I always did, but I couldn’t help but feel unease, knowing that his condition was not good at all, and fearing that the end was near. I didn’t want to leave.

The inevitable, dreaded last day arrived, and this is the day that I consider to be the worst day of my life. I got up and went to work, but received a call from the stable informing me that Lighty’s condition had worsened and I needed to get up there right away. The vet was already on her way, and I left immediately. During my drive I tried to prepare myself for the worst. Still feeling that there might possibly be hope, but knowing in my heart that this was just not the case. The vet called my cell phone wondering when I could get there, and started talking about the possibility of Lighty being moved to their hospital for extensive treatment. There was HOPE!

But, the voice in my mind new that this was probably not the best thing for Lighty, it was just so hard to let go. At the same time this was the longest drive of my life, but one that I didn’t want it to end. I knew what was waiting for me and I didn’t want to accept it. After rounding the corner to his stall, I could see Lighty lying down outside in his paddock. When I parked the car the vet walked towards me with an expression that explained it all. She said, “Rene, it’s time. We’ve been trying to keep him comfortable, but it’s time. We’ve done all that we can do.” I was not surprised, or shocked, by this.

I was however relieved that I didn’t have to tell her to do it. Relieved that I didn’t have to make this decision. Relieved that Lighty would not have to suffer anymore. When I first approached him, he was shaking uncontrollably and I knew without a doubt that this was the right thing to do. He needed relief. I petted his face, and stared at his beautiful eye, and told him how much I loved him. I feel that he was at peace to have me there and was ready to say goodbye.

The vets were wonderful throughout it all. They explained to me every process that was being done, and told me what to expect. Then they told me that he was out of his misery. I was so sad to have him go, but the one thing that made me smile was when the vet said, you know Rene, he was an amazing horse, when I arrived to his stall, even in his pain he greeted me with a whinny.” Even though I didn’t get to hear it, I will always be touched by the last whinny.[/private]

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

I have never in my life believed in love at first sight, but was proven wrong the first day I laid eyes on Johnny. He was a massive Quarter Horse gelding at 9 years of age. Sixteen hands , one inch and 1300 pounds of Chestnut brawn with a huge white blaze down his massive face. He had belonged to my husband at that time. I knew he had this horse, and since we had a place in the country I begged him to have him brought over to out new home. Upon Johnny’s arrival I was so excited that finally, after 31 years of waiting I had my very own horse.

I immediately starting educating myself in the ways of horses and went to the library to find out everything I could about proper nutrients, shelter and tack. Little did I know at that time that Johnny would become the teacher. I joined a local horse club the “Callaway County Ruff Riders”. It was music to my ears to hear about other peoples horses and I was a human sponge thirsty for all and any information about horses.

[private]The club was getting ready for their show season starting in the Spring of 1992. As soon as the days where long enough, it was endless hours of riding over the farm land of North Callaway County, Missouri. We both worked hard to get into shape and have the know how for a horse show.

The day finally came, and I was up at the break of dawn to get my fine steed wash and groomed for our first show. A friend of mine came to take us to the club’s arena. I was so nervous, never participating in a horse show before. I entered us in three events, Halter class, Western pleasure and Western horsemanship. I wasn’t to sure exactly what I had gotten the two of us in to but, thought nothing ventured nothing gained.

We lined up for the judges for the Halter class. Johnny stood stock still just like we had practiced at home.. Much to my delight and amazement we got a fourth place ribbon. Next we got ready for the Western pleasure class. Into the arena we rode. Walking, trotting and a slow canter as the Judges inspected our movements. Again we lined up and waited for the judges decisions.. I could fell my heart pounding. At last they announced the winners.

I almost fell off of Johnny as they announced that we had won third place!! Another ribbon!! The last event was the Western horsemanship. I had a few minutes to get him warmed upped for the event. Night had fallen and the arena lights were turned on. At the end of the arena was a pasture that was full of cattle. The lights gave the steers a demonic glow to their eyes. As we were coming around that end of the arena, I felt Johnny tense up. He had spotted the cattle, they must of really spooked him, because in one mighty movement he snorted and started to buck.

When a horse of Johnny’s size bucks you really appreciate the power they posses. He went from a show horse to a bucking bronc in a few seconds. I had two choices, stay on, or get thrown off into the arena fence and spoil my new white shirt. I chose to hang on. I finally regained control and started the last class. We walked, trotted and loped as the judge requested. Finally we lined upped once again to wait for the results. I just knew we would get dead last. Especially after Johnny’s rodeo event .

The names where being read. Fourth place, third place, I definitely had stopped breathing at this point. Then the judge walked over and announced second place and handed me the ribbons. I was astounded. You would of thought we had won the Quarter Horse Congress!! I was so proud of Johnny for giving his all to me that day. After the event was over, I asked the judge what we could improve on and she replied that she had seen Johnny’s antics before the class. She was very impressed in the way that I controlled him and considered giving us the first place ribbon.

That was the first and last show we did together. Johnny taught me everything I know to this day about horses. How they respond and how much they can love you with out limits or conditions. He was my confidant and very ,very good friend. There is a saying among horse people: “Anything is possible from the back of a horse”. Johnny showed me that. In the spring of 2002 , I had decided to retire him. He was suffering from arthritis in his shoulders, I could tell my dear good friend wasn’t feeling well.

In May I found him down in the pasture and he couldn’t get to his feet. After the vet came it was decided that he was having extensive chest pain and probably having a heart attack. So as my final act of love and devotion to my friend, I had to make that horrible decision that every horse person dreads to make. I told him, before the light went from his eyes, to go on to those greener pastures and wait for me. He went peacefully . I will be eternally grateful for the lessons he gave me. Not only on the care of him and his kind, but the lessons of unconditional love and being able to let go .[/private]

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

I typically would ride in a lesson at the end of the day, after the horse had been ridden for three hour-long sessions. The horse of my choice was Goodness Gracious, a small Appaloosa mare with a huge white circle in the middle of her face. GG was a spitfire, often causing chaos by fleeing from someone who was handling her. She liked to mix things up, and had true character.

Despite the fact she was probably exhausted by the time I rode her she always managed to give me her all, pulling out all the stops for an exciting jumping lesson. I loved her desperately, and I was sure GG knew it. During the week at school I would write “Goodness Gracious” over and over in my 6th grade classroom, day dreaming of an escape on her from my world, and from hers….where we would run away together to the great outdoors.

I showed her at small schooling shows and we would always do well in the ribbons. She wasn’t the most expensive, well bred, or gorgeous horse, but everyone noticed her. Her spirit was uncontainable.

The years marched on. I went off to college, had boyfriends, and grew into adult life. I never forgot her and kept a picture of her and me at a horse show. I was 28 years old, and I began to think of her less and less. Then one night when I woke up rattled and in a sweat, and tried to remember the dream that had startled me awake. I could only remember feeling that GG was in it and she needed me.

I went back to sleep, then I got up and went about my day, and the next several days, trying to put that chill out of my mind even as a nagging feeling would sporadically wash over me. Weeks later it happened again, the same dream, and that same feeling. I began trying to figure out what was happening, why I was so disturbed by this. It had been years since I had been to the stables where GG “worked”.

I’ll never forget what happened next. I was sitting in my cubicle at an insurance claims department where I worked and that feeling came over me again. This was too much to take. I stopped working and stared blankly at my computer. I turned to the clock. It was 11:30, close enough to leave for lunch.

I grabbed my purse and drove in a complete daze straight to GG’s stables. I saw my trainer Sandy, and after the initial, “Oh my Gosh…How long has it been”…she says, out of the blue, “Do you remember Goodness?”

I froze. I had the words at the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell Sandy that, ‘Yes, that’s why I’m here in office clothes in the middle of the week! I have been having weeks of recurring dreams about GG and I felt she needed me, and so now I’m here!’

Sadly all I could manage to actually say was a meek “yes, where is she?” Sandy told me that GG went lame a few months ago and there was nothing they could do, so GG ‘went down the road’ a few months ago.
‘Down the road’ means GG was sent to auction, to the butchers. My blood ran cold. I felt paralyzed inside. After all the years of service that was the payoff for that beautiful horse; sent to the butchers so they could make $500 bucks. It was a cruel fate for the horse of my dreams. I couldn’t speak.

As I write this at 34 years old I have tears streaming down my face. I cannot describe my feelings of guilt, desperation and helplessness. After all those years the bond GG and I had was still there, hidden, and I can’t say how much I wish I had acted on those initial feelings of her “calling” out to me. She was calling for me to save her and I wasn’t there, I didn’t understand.

Since then I have had other dreams about GG, dreams of her and other horses that I know have passed on, running in the beautiful fields I day dreamed of as a child…. Fields where she is free, she is safe, and she is waiting for me. Perhaps she is still calling to me.

Christina Chodacki

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

The Oxford Canadian Dictionary defines a challenge as: “ a demanding or difficult task.” Through out our lives, we face many challenges, big or small, whether we are young or old. One of my first challenges came when I was twelve years old. I purchased, with my own money, a horse to call my own. Now as an eighteen year old, I face yet another challenge, the possible sale of my horse.

An animal which I have bonded with, an animal that I have dedicated the past seven years of my life too. During these past seven years, I have committed myself to one of the most challenging tasks of all: proving others wrong. I took a trail horse that no one wanted and turnedhim into a show horse that turned heads.
I began riding at the age of five, by attending local riding camps during the summer. At age eight, my parents bought me my first pony and I began taking regular riding lessons and practicing for local competitions.

[private]Like most children, I eventually out grew my pony and began to search for a horse. My parents had taught me the philosophy that things are more satisfying and rewarding when you earn them yourself, so I was determined to pay for my own horse. Once I had earned enough money from hours of babysitting, doing chores for my parents and neighbors, and with a little extra help from my grandparents, I began the tedious task of horse
shopping.

Since I was only twelve, my mom insisted that we look only at mature-aged horses (ages 8-12) since I was coming off a pony that took care of me, even when I made mistakes. After looking at nearly 12 “mature- aged” horses, that would buck me off or refuse to jump, I came across a horse that no one wanted. Southern Sky, who is known around the barn as Arizona, was a three year old appendix quarter horse that was currently being used as a trail and lesson horse. He was for sale because all of the lesson kids at his current stable were afraid to ride him.

He had the reputation of bucking people off while they were riding him on a trail, and then running home to his stall. My mom was horrified at the thought of me even considering such a young and inexperienced horse, but I convinced her that it never hurt to try something new and it couldn’t possibly hurt just to take a look at this horse. I am a firm believer that just about anything is possible if you try hard enough and training my own horse has further strengthened my faith in this statement.

When I rode Arizona for the first time, he was a perfect gentleman. He was inexperienced, but what set him apart from the others was his willingness. Unlike the older horses that I had ridden, he did every movement I asked of him, responded to every command, and jumped every fence I put in front of him. Against my mom’s wishes, I decided to take a chance on him because the only regrets in life are the risks you don’t take. I finally had a horse to call my own, one that I had earned.

Most people don’t realize the amount of work involved in the ownership of a horse. Everyday after school, I headed straight to Cedaridge, the boarding stable where I keep Arizona. In exchange for board andlessons, I acquired barn chores such as cleaning stalls, feeding, and turning out horses. To have my own horse, every moment of work was worth it. My first few months with Arizona were a learning experience that I will never forget. I had grown accustomed to riding a perfectly trained pony.

I admit now that I also had the same expectations for Arizona as I did for my pony performance wise, even though their age difference spans almost ten years. I spent seven months working with Arizona before I took him to his first local competition. The months leading up to this competition were very frustrating. Aside from the bucking, the spookiness, and the occasional attitude problems, he still jumped every fence I put in front of him, which inspired me to think that there must be hope for him.

My first competition, I was bucked off and Arizona jumped out of the ring to join some other horses grazing in a field nearby. My coach at the time told me that I should quit wasting my time with a horse that would never amount to anything. I’m not certain whether my anger caused by this remark or my love for my horse convinced me to continue; perhaps it was a combination of both. Whatever the reason, I continued with a vengeance.

I kept riding and competing, improving with each competition. My horse and I were both young and inexperienced, but we were learning quickly. Our first season together, we attended only six competitions, but we both gained valuable experience and by the end of the season, I had gone from getting bucked off to finally winning my first class. I felt as though I had finally begun to move in a more positive direction.

After the end of my first show season with Arizona, I decided to make what I felt was another move in the positive direction. I changed coaches. My current coach, Carolyn, still believed that even though my horse was winning at local competitions, he would never amount to much. A friend of mine recommended that I try taking a few lessons with her coach Janet, who trained horse and rider combinations for the provincial and national show circuits. At first, having been influenced by my previous coach’s negative attitude, I wasn’t sure that my horse was good enough to be evaluated by a professional.

I decided that I had nothing to lose and began taking lessons with Janet in the fall of 1998. I had prepared myself to hear the same negative comments from Janet that my previous coach had used, but to my surprise, she had only positive things to say. I learned then, yet another important lesson: not everyone thinks alike. During the fall and winter months, Janet began to prepare my horse and me for the most challenging task that we had to face yet: competing on the provincial level.

After a long winter, I attended my first provincial competition. Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come next. I had grown accustomed to the quietness of local competitions that usually contained approximately ten horse and rider combinations in each class. Now I was up against forty or more competitors in each class. For the first time since my first competition, I came home without any ribbons. I will admit that I was somewhat disappointed, but my coach reassured me that my horse had performed wonderfully, especially for a young horse.

She also explained that the jump from local to provincial competition was a tough one, and when you’re in a class with over forty horses, the smallest error can send you plummeting from the ribbons. I went without ribbons for nine competitions straight and was ready to give up when, to my surprise, at the final competition of the season, in a class of forty-six horses, I came in first. That ribbon put me 22nd overall in my provincial zone for my division and it gave me the inspiration to continue and look forward with confidence to the next competition season. My second year on the provincial circuit, I learned from my previous mistakes, and just like my horse, I matured from them. I was more consistent the second time around, and with ribbons at almost every show, I finished 11th overall in my provincial zone.
This past 2002 competition season was the most grueling and challenging of all. I moved into an adult division, and after competing almost every other weekend from the middle of February to early September, my dream, which at one time seemed impossible, came into reality. My horse and I finished as year-end provincial champions in our zone. The trail horse that no one had wanted had carried me to what seemed to be impossible. For me, the most rewarding feeling is knowing that all of the late nights, early mornings, endless days, getting bucked off and hours of practice have finally paid off. I have overcome my challenge of taking a young, inexperienced trail horse that no one wanted and turning him into a top notch show horse. When I reflect on the past seven years I have spent with this horse, I remember the times when I wanted to give up, but kept on going because if I gave in, then everyone who had doubted my horse and me would have been right. I remember lying in the dirt after I had fallen and wondering what possessed me to get back on again, then I look at my championship award and realize that it was all worth it. I am more grateful for the things I have because I have earned them the hard way. The next challenge that I must face is one which I do not look forward too. The sale of my horse will not be an easy task, but it is one which I must complete. It is not fair for a horse with so much talent to be sitting in a field grazing while I’m away at university. He belongs in the competition ring. The day Arizona is sold will be one of the saddest, most challenging days of my life. My only comfort from this current situation is the fact that hopefully, someday, he will make someone as happy as he once made me.[/private]

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

My Mom, Plus, my American Saddlebred, and I went to Raleigh, North Carolilna for the NC State 4-H Horse Show in July of 2002.  We were settled in and I had schooled Plus.  We took him to get a bath.  When we were through Mom decided to comb his mane while I was cleaning my tack.  There were some Jack Russells in the stall behind us and Plus happens to be a scary horse. 

Well the dogs started to bark and Plus freaked.  He reared straight up and lost his balance falling straight on his back.  My Mom got out just in time.  She went back in there and undone one of the crossties, which happened to be bunjees, and he started to flail his legs in the air.  By this time I had already screamed for help.  Some men came in and got him back up but he fell again.  They got him back up and his eyes rolled back in his head.  He stood there and a lady in another barn called a vet.  While we were waiting I went to get him some more water. 

Until I came back in sight he whinned and whinned.  I knew that he loved me and that he was scared.  The vet looked him over and gave him some beaute.  “He will be okay.  Ride him to keep him from getting stiff.”  I rode him a couple more times and then we gave him another bath.  I was worried about showing him the next day but the vet said go ahead.  We went in our Saddleseat classes coming out with two firsts and one second.  Then came the last class I practiced and practiced for. 

The Saddlebred western class.  He was getting pretty stiff and I didn’t expect anything because we had never done this before and he had done so good that morning I didn’t care if we won or not.  There were four of us in the class.  We walked, jogged, and loped around the ring.  Then we lined up.  The judge came up to me and said “Good Job!”  That kind of had me excited.  They called fourth place.  Then third.  My friend Sam and I had done it again first and second.  I thought I had second. 

They called second. Sam got that.  I leaned over on Plus’s neck and kissed and hugged him.  I also began to cry because no matter how much he was hurting he still worked hard for me.  In the end we had enough points to claim Reserve Grand Champion. 

That is my special story.  Feel free to change it around or cut something out.  That is the only story that I feel is an exceptional story to share.  Thank you for taking time to read it.

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

My lip trembled and I started to sweat on that fateful morning. I heard the nine horrible words, but their meaning was only registering in a very distant part of my brain.
“Melinda, Trigger’s going to have to be put down,” my trainer said with a sad look in her eyes. Somewhere, something in my mind clicked. The most accurate description of the pain was that for the rest of the day I felt like someone had ripped out my heart and crushed it beneath their feet. Worst of all, I didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone about my feelings.

So, I floated through my last classes. All I remember of that day was one of my friends saying “You look upset, Mel,” and hearing myself reply numbly, “My horse is dying.”
After school, I climbed into the passenger seat of mom’s car and pressed my face into the seat. The seven minutes to the barn were hell. On the way there I tried to pull myself together but couldn’t. This is my last afternoon with the horse who I was riding when I won my first blue ribbon, and who took me to my first combined training. There will be no more blue ribbons for me and him.

I won’t hear “1st place goes to Melinda Maloney on True Grit” ever again I thought woefully. I remember that summer I cleaned stalls . . . every time I walked by his stall he whinnied and that made all the hard work seem worth it.
Soon we arrived at the farm. I ran down the lane to the barn, ignoring the “Don’t run around horses unless you’re on fire” rule. My gait slowed to a walk as I entered the barn. Gripping my hand on the stall door handle, I pulled it open. As I gazed up at Trigger, my eyes became a blood of tears. I reached out my arms and hugged him – or came as close to hugging him as I could (I was only 5 feet tall and the time and Trig was 16.2 hands high!). My mom stood quietly at the other side of the barn while I pressed my face into Trigger’s soft, bay coat and wet it with my tears.

I had come prepared to make his last moments good. Out of my pocket I pulled a bag of Cinnamon Life cereal, which was Trigger’s favorite food, and fed them to him piece by piece. I guess I thought if I fed him slowly enough, I’d never have to leave. Unfortunately. I found out that’s not how life works, and eventually it was time to go home.
I could still taste my salty tears as I gave Trigger a final hug and kiss and walked out to the car. I glanced back to the barn once and I remember so clearly whispering, “Goodbye Trig.

I love you and I’ll see you again someday.” After saying those final words I strode to the car.
The next days and even weeks were painful. People would ask, “How’s Trigger doing?” Biting my lip and turning my face away so they wouldn’t see the pained look on my face, I would have to reply, “He had to be put down.” Trig’s death was my first experience with true grief.
My trainer wouldn’t let me mourn too long though. I’m thankful for that, because if I could have, I probably would have stayed locked in my room for a year! Although I was still hurting, my wound wasn’t an open gaping one anymore. It was healing. It was time to search for a new horse. My trainer wanted me to get a pony.

Because of my wonderful experience with Trigger, I was drawn to big horses, but because I was only around five feet tall, I agreed to look for a pony. We were looking for a young, green one for me to train and show for two or three years and then sell. The age desired age range was between four and six, although I did look at a three year old.
After a few months of searching and traveling as far south as Virginia (my home is Pennsylvania) we finally found a pony. I rode him once and had a great time. A week later we returned to his farm with a trailer and brought him home.
With Duke (my new pony), I learned very quickly what having a green pony was all about. I couldn’t wallow in self-pity with him those first few months; he’d take advantage of me right away. And I always had to RIDE him.

I couldn’t (and still can’t) just sit there. My trainer, my mother and I all agree that he pulled me out of morning.
Duke is everything you would expect a 6 year old greener than grass pony to be. He’ll act like a “point and go” or “made” pony one day, and like a hot 3 year old the next. Duke has multiple personalities and is almost too intelligent for his own good. No matter how mad I get at him, I take a look at the lightening bolt blaze in his bright chestnut face, and his comically tilted ears, and I forgive him.

It’s hard not to – he’s the most talented horse I’ve ever ridden! If I’m in a bad mood at the barn, Duke seems to know it, and makes me laugh with a cautious nibble on my shirt.
I’ve only had him for a year and Duke has already taught me more about riding than any other horse. I’ve learned to deal with spooking, bucking, refusing, rearing, spinning and more. But I’ve also learned the joy of galloping over a stadium course with ease when no one else thought we could do it. Yes, these lessons are all important (especially the last one), but the most important thing I’ve learned from Duke is a simple one. I’ve learned that even through the rain, there can be light. Trigger’s death was my rain. Duke is my light.

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

I still remember the first time I met Maya and Geno. It was the first weeks before the fall quarter began at my Los Angeles area college and I was at the school barn getting my horse, Nutmeg, situated in her new stall.

A silver truck and horse trailer pulled up to my barn and out popped a tall girl with shiny dark brown hair and a spray of freckles on her cheeks. Being in a friendly, welcoming mood I jaunted over to her and introduced myself. Before I could get her name she quickly spouted, “Is there a turn-out I can put my horse in? He has just been in a trailer for 12 hours and really needs to get out.”

Shortly after, I learned that she was Maya from Northern California and her horse, named Geno, was a gorgeous hunter-jumper with a golden dappled mahogany coat.

This first encounter completely defined Maya and the kind of horse person she is. Her horse and his well-being was her #1 priority. While most people would claim that Geno was utterly spoiled, Maya defended him, stating that he simply had high standards.

Never before or since, have I known a horse and owner relationship with such love, trust and respect. Maya received Geno when she was around 12 and he was just a young, untrained 3 year old. Years of riding and learning not only developed a duo that excelled in jumping competitions but also a pair with great love and affection for each other.

Maya and Geno did very well in the young hunter-jumper shows and in college she competed on the Arabian horse show circuit because Geno was half Arabian. They captured the Region 1 Championship for half Arabian jumpers and qualified for the Arabian US Nationals! However, graduation was approaching and Maya couldn’t bear to put Geno through the grueling trip to Kentucky and weeklong horseshow, even though we all know they could have had the title.

My college memories are filled with fun, horse-loving experiences shared with Maya, Geno and my mare Nutmeg. We would ride out to the college orchards and pick the candy sweet tangerines that could only be reached by horseback. Many weekends we would load the two horses up and trailer to different state parks for an exhausting, but adventurous day of trail riding.

Probably my fondest memory was when the four of us were riding around the pastures and decided to make a detour onto the main campus of the college, a strict no-no. It happened to be “University Hour” when all the clubs were out recruiting and no classes were in session. Boy did we cause a commotion! People stopped, stared, shrieked and tried to pet our horses as we slyly plodded onto the quad area in front of the campus bookstore. Maya and I were both shocked at how calm both Nutmeg and Geno were.

After graduation, Maya and Geno moved back up north and we both pursued our careers and visited each other occasionally in person, but always kept in touch via letters, e-mail and phone calls.

One after noon at work, I returned to my desk after a meeting to find a voicemail from Maya. I knew something was wrong. Just like I will never forget the first time I met Maya, I will never forget this phone call. I learned that while she was out trail riding with Geno they slipped and fell down a 30 ft ravine. Maya was unbelievably lucky and was able to climb out with some very bad bruises and sprains. Her beloved Geno did not make it out and died from a broken neck sustained from the fall.

I could not comprehend this news because it shouldn’t have happened to Maya. Geno should have died when he was 30 from old age. Maya should have been able to teach her children how to ride on her childhood horse.

Words failed me and I couldn’t console Maya or tell her that things would be OK. I was hurting because I wanted to take back what happened and never have the knowledge that Maya had to go through losing her horse like this.

However, it did happen and I will lose Nutmeg someday too. All of us horse people are so lucky to share lives with our cherished steeds and unfortunately they do not live as long as we do. I realized that I had to be strong for my friend who shared so much in common with me.

In contemplating what had happened and the severity of it, I realized the pure miracle that Maya survived with such minor injuries. For a fall that killed a 1,800 lb horse, it is pretty amazing that a petite woman did not fare far worse. Since Maya was unconscious for some time, she does not remember the incident. I believe with all my heart that Geno saved her. After their more than a decade relationship Geno had the opportunity to show his love for Maya and he gave her life. It was as if he pleaded, “Please do not take my Maya, take me instead.” There were no signs of struggle near Geno; he was just gone, quickly and painlessly.

Marveling in this knowledge of what Geno had given Maya, I made a connection that my many years of horse loving had never shown me before. When horses die they receive wings and become a Pegasus! Perhaps this is how ancient mythology found the Pegasus. Jason’s glistening white steed with the majestic wings was really his guardian horse-angel that would swoop down to save him from harm’s way.

Geno was now a beautiful Pegasus that will never feel pain or fear and can soar wherever he chooses. He is now Maya’s special guardian Pegasus to stay by her for the rest of her life.

While all of us that love horses so much hurt tremendously when we lose our special friends, we can find comfort that they will always be with us, watching over us with their silvery feathered wings and eternal love that we gave them.

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories

When our youngest daughter was 9 years old, her Dad bought her a 5 year- old Quarter Horse gelding. Miranda named her horse Buddy. And that’s what he quickly became to her. She would spend hours with him, brushing, trimming, leading, playing with, and simply talking to him. She enjoyed riding him as well, of course, but for Miranda the greater joy was in sharing her thoughts with him. He displayed the greatest “horsonality”, always listening, never criticizing.

Miranda enjoyed Buddy for many years, competing in gymkhana events and joining a musical riding club, as well as going on many pleasure rides.

When Miranda was 19 years old and attending school in another city, Buddy injured himself when he kicked through a fence and had the wire wrapped around his leg. The vet was called out but did not see any cause for great concern. Buddy carried on as usual for a couple of months. Imagine my shock, then, when one afternoon about 2 months later, I stepped outside to find an entire horse hoof on the deck, brought there by our dog. Although I’d seen Buddy that morning and he was okay, I knew immediately whose hoof it was. My husband and I went out to the pasture where the horses were kept, and confirmed our suspicions. Of course, there was only one thing we could do and that was to call the vet. We asked him to come out later on in the day to allow Miranda the time to drive to our farm. Buddy was not in distress, happily munching hay in the smaller pen we’d moved him to.

Several hours later, Miranda and her friend, Matt, arrived. Miranda immediately went out to say her final good-byes to Buddy, this friend who had contributed so much to her life. Buddy had helped shaped Miranda’s caring and giving personality. The grief she felt knowing he would no longer be in her life was almost unbearable. Our hearts ached for her. I tried to ease the pain by telling her that her Grampa, who’d passed on his love of horses to his children and grandchildren, needed a horse in heaven with him, and would take good care of Buddy.

Miranda chose not to be present when the vet came.

Late that night, on the drive back home, with tears streaming down her face, Miranda cried to Matt “I just want to know he’s okay”. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, high in the sky in front of her, the clouds parted to display a spot of blue sky underneath. As it was well past nightfall, this was quite incredible. What was more incredible, however, was the shape the opening formed. Miranda and Matt were awed by the sight – a clear image of a running horse. A feeling of peace about Buddy’s death came over Miranda at this time, a feeling that has not left her since.
When I spoke with Miranda after she’d arrived back at her apartment, I was also soothed. Miranda had received her message – Buddy was okay and she would be too.

We are all God’s creatures.

Post from: Horse Stories | Horse2Heart – Great Horse Stories