Holding William by Butte Dawson

Butte Dawson’s legions of fans have followed his exploits in his award winning column, Behind The Barn, featured in Horse Connection Magazine. Butte’s hilarious and touching stories of the life of a “horse husband,” has garnered critical praise and a loyal following.

I’m not sure why certain people come into your life, but come they do, and you are forever changed by it. That was the case the day a young troubled girl named Annie came to our ranch to stay for a time. I knew her parents weren’t together, but I didn’t know the details of the split. All I knew was that her mother had called, and with a sad voice asked me if Annie could spend some time out on my ranch. “Absolutely, “I told her. I have 60 acres in a beautiful valley at the base of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, and there is nothing I enjoy more than having young people experience the joy of working with animals, specifically horses. I have two mares, Biscuit and Gravy, and they are a handful, especially now that Biscuit is with foal.

       I had never met Annie, and I was only casually acquainted with her mother, however, everyone in the area knows me, and I have no doubt that one of my good friends steered this woman with her little girl my way. She arrived on a Thursday afternoon when the sun was strong and the will to work weak. I was sitting on my porch with my Jack Russell Terrier, Jerky, named after his favorite snack. A small figure got out of the car and I hoisted myself to my feet and went out to greet her. “Annie, this is Mr. Dawson.” I moved past her mother and knelt down in front of her. “Call me Butte,” I said in a low soothing tone, the same tone I use when calming a frightened horse. She kept her head down and I couldn’t really get a good look at her because of the little hood on her sweatshirt. Her mother’s voice increased in volume, “Say hello to Butte, Annie.” She looked up, and I took a slow breath. The scar ran down her cheek to the jawbone, an angry color of reddish purple that indicated it was not that old. Despite the scar, she was a pretty girl, with auburn hair and green eyes that had an apprehensive look. I winked at her and said, “Save the hellos for the horses.” She looked at the pasture that held the mares, and I urged her to go over for a better look. Jerky followed her and I turned to her mother. “What happened to her?” I asked. Her mother looked down in shame, “Her father did that.”  “And where is he now?” I asked. “Prison,” she said. I shook my head and wondered how a father could do that to this precious little girl. There isn’t a lot that makes sense when it comes to the behavior of men. That’s why I surround myself with animals. Her mother grabbed my elbow, “I was hoping you could help her come out of her shell.  Ever since the incident, she has withdrawn from everything. She won’t even let me hold her.” I told Annie’s mother that she could stay with my wife and me for as long as she wanted.

       A week went by, and this little girl just broke my heart. The shell she had retreated into was hard as the winter ground, and I didn’t know how to get her to open up. Jerky couldn’t even get a scratch behind the ear from Annie. As the days went by she seemed to be slipping farther and farther away. Animals and people need physical contact; it’s essential to their well being. If something didn’t change soon, this little girl would probably end up in a hospital, medicated and under the watch of doctors. I’m good with horses, but this was a challenge I wasn’t sure I could meet.

       I heard Biscuit whinny and I sat up in bed. I looked at the clock, it was3: 30 am. She can’t be wanting breakfast yet, I thought. Then my sleepy brain cleared itself and I realized that Biscuit was probably foaling. I leapt into my clothes and leaving the bedroom, looked in on Annie. She wasn’t in bed, and my heart started beating like a war drum. I ran downstairs, and seeing that she wasn’t there headed for the barn fearing what I might find. There was Biscuit lying down in the straw, moving nervously to find a good position to give birth. Kneeling beside Biscuit with a comforting hand on her neck was Annie. Annie looked scared. “Something’s wrong with her,’ she stammered. Those were the first words I had heard out of her mouth since she had arrived at the ranch. “Don’t worry,” I said, “she’s going to have a baby, and you and I are going to help her.”  The worry and fear that I had seen in her eyes was now replaced by determination and fire. “What do you want me to do?” she said in a strong voice. “Hold her head in your lap, and try to keep her calm,” I whispered. Annie held Biscuit’s head and stroked her neck. I was concentrating on the other end of my mare, but I could hear Annie’s voice, strong yet comforting. “It’s going to be all right girl, you’re going to do just fine. I know you can do it, be strong Biscuit.” This little wounded girl sounded anything but, as she comforted Biscuit.

       The most glorious sight a horseman can see was unfolding before me. First the little front hooves appeared, then the nose, ears, and after a tense moment, the shoulders. Out popped Biscuit’s beautiful foal. He was buckskin with a beautiful black mane and tail. Annie was standing beside me in awe of what was happening. Suddenly a thought reared in my head. “Go ahead Annie, touch the foal, Biscuit won’t mind,” I said, trying not to sound like a proud papa. Annie looked at Biscuit as if to ask for permission, and Biscuit bobbed her head up and down. Annie knelt down next to the foal and started caressing him. The foal responded and nuzzled into her hand. The imprinting was taking place, but I didn’t say anything. “What is your name?” she whispered sweetly. “How about you give him a name,” I said smiling. She thought for a moment and said, “I think he should be called William.” “William is a fine name for this fine buckskin colt,” I replied. “Then William you shall be,” she cooed to the nuzzling foal. I don’t know how much time passed before I decided to head back to the house, but Annie stayed behind with William in her arms.

       That colt grew up to be a mighty fine horse, and his owner turned out to be a mighty fine young woman. Annie’s love for William was the catalyst for her life long love and passion for horses, and for herself, and the fine young man she married. She became like a daughter to us, and we marveled at how beautiful, talented, and confident she had become. I have no doubt that the turning point in her young tragic life, was the night she spent in my barn, talking softly to Biscuit, and holding her William.

Butte Dawson

Rosepine Ranch