During the winter of 2025 I was still leasing, Fly Guy. I was riding him three to four times a week. Fly’s a tall drink of water, 7 hands/almost 2inches tall. (One hand = four inches) I adored his long-legged strides and willing but gentle disposition. He was the perfect companion to turn to after the loss of Roo. What’s more, I began to think of him as mine and hoped that down the road I could purchase him with the funds I hoped I would make from publishing my books.
However, the week before Mother’s Day, I was told by two different back surgeons that the risks of my encountering sustainable physical injuries, should I accidently fall off a horse were dangerously high. Since my laminectomy four years ago, my scoliosis has continued to cause complications that are greatly affecting the vertebrae, now in my neck. In some areas the curvature is so strong it is bending the steel and pushing out screws. If I wasn’t careful, I could end up confined to a wheelchair. For the first time in decades, I didn’t have a horse in my life. Furthermore, I had to face the stark reality of Roo’s death. The hard cold, sober reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I fell into despair, trying to visualize this new identity as a horseless woman.
The morning of Mother’s Day, I was drinking my coffee when all of the sudden I heard a dreadfully loud screaming outside of my front door. Startled, I listened. The screaming stopped then resumed with more urgently. Going outside I saw several crows gathered around my front lawn close to my house. I scanned the yard for a hurt animal and saw nothing. Then the mysterious cry rang forth from behind me. Jumping, I turn around to see what it was.
Clinging to the brick of the house, right by my front door was a tiny, baby squirrel. Immediately, I scooped him up thinking, what are the odds that this little guy, out of all of the homes and people in this neighborhood, found his way to me! You see, am a wildlife rehabilitator! For the past ten years I have worked with the tiniest, often newborn baby animals, nursing them to health and rehabilitating them to the outside life, before releasing them back into the wild to live the life they were born to live. I had decided to give up the practice this year, but apparently, God had another idea in mind. He also knew how to help me ease into my new horseless existence, by filling my hands with a little guy in need.
Nutkin, moments after he was rescued from the crows. He has since been rehabbed and released.
As if God wasn’t sure that I had gotten the message, an hour after I found my new ward, a rehabber friend, Ronnie, that I hadn’t spoken to in over a year text me saying, “I was just thinking about you!” I called her right away.
“You’re not going to believe this!” I exclaimed then told her about my new house guest.
“I think God is trying to tell you something Ronnie said.” She was correct… He was and is. The following week two adorable baby raccoons came my way, followed by another one.
As the next week progressed, some of my friends at the barn learned about my horse situation and reached out to me, asking if I could help them care for their horses. Before I knew it, my cup was overflowing with a variety of beautiful, loveable horses. Three of them are my editor, Melinda Folse’s horses. Melinda was gone for most of the month of June. I was absolutely thrilled to care for Rio, Sammy, who at the old barn was stall mates with Roo for a while and Trance! Not only do I still have horses in my life, but I’m still able to see some of my good friends at the barn, who, along with the owner and barn manager, have welcomed me to stay and help in whatever way I can. Life is good!
Roo & Me on my property in Colleyville. At the time, I was performing in a stage production of “Nine,” in Dallas.
A disease called Cushing’s or Pituitary Pars Intermedia Disfunction (PPID) is commonly found in older horses. PPID is caused when a small area located at the base of a horse’s brain called the hypothalamus, malfunctions. The hypothalamus is connected to the stalk of the pituitary gland. Despite its small size, it has a big job because it regulates the physiological functions in a horse’s body by linking the nervous and endocrine systems together and keeping them functioning in sync.
Malfunctions within the hypothalamus happen when oxidative stress and additional damaging factors, prohibit the neurons within the hypothalamus from functioning normally. Suddenly, the pituitary gland is left unregulated. It malfunctions and begins to over produce hormones.
Oxidative stress is caused by an imbalance between the oxidant and antioxidant levels in a horse’s system. These imbalances are generally seen in horses who are professional athletes partaking in strenuous endurance and other intense competitions and are the key reason why it’s accentual to maintain a good level of balance between a horse’s exercise and a well thought out dietary plan that meets their metabolic needs, meaning a diet rich in minerals, vitamins, enzymes and proteins. When a horse’s metabolic system is balanced, the horse is less apt to experience oxidative stress.
Roo and Me at our last stable, my daughter Juliann took this photo of us.
Cushing’s, PPID, not only affects the metabolic system. It also affects the functions in the adrenal glands, immune system, digestive system, reproduction system, musculoskeletal system and finally the nervous system.
As a horse enters the natural aging process, which usually begins when a horse is in its late teens, progressing into their twenties and thirty plus years, the probability of them contracting PPID significantly increases.
In 1956, scientists developed a theory called the “free radical theory of aging.” This theory also applies to humans! The theory suggests that as we age, our metabolic systems begin to decline. This decline causes the build-up of “free radicals” within the metabolic cells, where nutrients are broken down and converted into energy. Over time, the metabolic cells are damaged, which leads to oxidation stress. The damages not only contribute to the age-related decline in both people and horses, but it also spawns a variety of additional health complications. All equine breeds and genders are susceptible to PPID which is the most common endocrine disease in aging horses. In people, it’s diabetes.
Roo with his mare, Suger, on the day we meet, over 26 years ago.
For several months Roo was turning up lame every time I had his hooves trimmed. At first, I thought that my farrier was trimming his soles too close. But the problem only became more extreme. I called my vet and had him x-ray Roo’s hooves. Doc Murphy took one look at him and immediately suspected Cushing’s. (I have to interject that another vet, who had just given Roo his annual inoculations and exam, didn’t notice the symptoms, which stresses the importance of us as horse owners to educate ourselves and build our awareness to the possibilities of PPID! And by the way, I fired that vet.)
Immediately Dr. Murphy drew blood samples for testing. On the following Monday, he called me with the tests results—Roo definitely had Cushing’s!
To my absolute distress and regret, I didn’t catch it or have any suspicions that Roo might have PPID! This stemmed from my own lack of knowledge and by sharing my story, I sincerely hope that other equestrians managing aging horses, will research PPID so they can identify the early symptoms.
The problem for me was, Roo wasn’t presenting with the symptoms that I associated with Cushing’s. Roo had shed his winter coat normally the spring before, which is something a horse struggling with advanced Cushing’s cannot do. Second, his fur wasn’t long and curly, another sure sign. However, what he was struggling with was laminitis. Laminitis is a painful condition that causes the Velcro-like laminae tissue of the inner hoof to separate from the coffin bone. Roo and I knew the condition well. We had successfully battled laminitis for at least fifteen years.
Immediately following his diagnosis, I began to research PPID and was truly shocked by how little I actually understood about the disease. The more I learned about the symptoms, the more I saw them reflected in Roo. Not only was I troubled by my lack of knowledge, but it was also a great embarrassment too, because I had never really researched the disease before. I had literally closed the gate after the horse escaped.
At our new stable where, once again, we were happy.
Over the last few years scientific research on PPID has significantly taken off. We’ve learned that reduced levels of dopamine are involved in the development of the disease. Genetics also plays a major factor. More research is being done on the connection between PPID and laminitis. As a result, veterinarians are now able to detect the disease earlier and treat it quicker. And with new medications and stringent diet balancing, horses with the disease can live happily for several more years.
I was always of the frame of mind that Roo would live at least into his thirties! He was my soulmate horse, a true and noble companion, full of delightful antics and playful fun. He was my heart. In all honestly, my vets and fellow equestrians couldn’t believe that he was pushing twenty-six years, because he looked young and healthy. The only thing that gave his age away were the gray hairs sprouting under his mane and forelock.
Two weeks before he was put down.
In cutting myself some slack, it helped me to understand that the first, early-stage indications of Cushing’s in a horse are very subtle. The changes in their bodily systems advance slowly and silently. By the time the most obvious signs appear, the curling and un-shedding of their coat, the horse has reached the advanced stages of the disease.
On the Monday that I learned about Roo’s diagnosis, Doc and I scheduled an appointment for him to come out on the following Thursday in the afternoon, to check me out on the medication Roo needed. However, I was absolutely stunned when over the passage of the next two days Roo’s condition rapidly deteriorated before my eyes. In addition, with each passing hour his body mass changed.
It was absolutely alarming! Fatty deposits and broken-down muscle formed significant bulges under his skin. These bulges literally resettled in new locations as the hours passed. He was sick and could hardly stand let alone take a step. I would arrive at the stable to find him lying down and sit beside him, relishing the unspoken but present love that ties us together.
My last afternoon with Roo
About 15 years ago, Roo and I had fought a long, horrible battle against laminitis and won! But that’s a story for another time. For now, I could tell by the look in his eyes that it was time to free him from his pain and release him to graze in the heavenly pastures, where several other horses within our family, Rose being one, his mama mare Sugar being another, will greet and welcome him home.
Managing an animal’s death is just as important as managing their life!
I took both of the above videos while Roo and I were waiting for Dr. Murphy to arrive.
Throughout the years, I’ve repeatedly asked God, that when I pass on and enter heaven, I don’t want to see people first. Instead, I want to see, be greeted by and spend as much time as I want only with my horses and my golden retriever Daisy. I want to tell them all of the things I couldn’t communicate here on earth. Apologize for the things I did wrong, but mostly express to each of them how absolutely, deeply I have (and still) love them. But in my heart, I believe that they already know.
Moments before Roo was put down.
And so… close to the end of October 2023, in a lush, shaded autumn setting, next to a quiet pond, Roo and I spent our last fleeting moments together on this earth. And while I was with him the Psalms 23 ran through my head…
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters…
Roo’s favorite trick, bowing.
For several nights after Roo passed I sept with his halter and bridle. To this day it hangs on a hook adjacent to my desk. It still smells like him. Although he is no longer physically with me, he’s sweet presents still lingers, his soul is still attached to mine. Along with Rosie and my other beautiful equine babies and I can’t forget my beloved golden retriever, Daisy. And even though my animal family members have pierced my heart when they passed, I have been so richly blessed by all the years we spent together, connected and enjoying life.
Ruach Sel Shalom (Roo) at five months old, at my Colleyville pasture. The year was 1999.
Years ago, I knew of, a woman who saddled up her beloved horse and took him into an outdoor riding arena to enjoy the afternoon. After riding him like a pro, through the paces of a trot and canter, she brought him to a walk and cooled her horse down by walking him along the arena’s rail. Eventually she brought her horse to a complete halt so they both could rest while taking in the beautiful day.
An hour or two later, people began to notice that her horse hadn’t moved, nor had the women. Concerned, a few of her fellow barn mates hurried down to the arena to check on her and found that she had quietly passed away, astride her horse, in the embrace of an extraordinary day. I personally believe that all of the beloved horses from her past, horses that she had diligently cared for and ridden, until they pierced her heart by passing into the grazing pastures of heaven, were waiting for her when she crossed over.
For me, and many of my equestrian friends there couldn’t be a more perfect way to end our time on this earth! To simply slip away peaceful while sitting on your horse! From the time I heard this true story, I prayed that my passing would be the same. But as fate would have it, that will not be the case.
My first experience with having to give up horseback riding happened one year and three months marking my recouperation from an extremely serious back surgery called a laminectomy to correct rapidly debilitating scoliosis. I underwent an eight-hour procedure, where portions of my spine were removed in order to straighten it.
For years I refused to have this surgery because of the lengthy healing process, which I was told would keep me away from my horses for a good six months and out of the saddle for a year. Prior to having this surgery, I researched other riders who had gone through the same procedure and blogged about their recoveries. One Competitive Eventer was able to start training a year later and in just six months she had achieved her previous daily training goals for distance riding. Piece of cake, I thought!
However, one year later to the day, I mounted my horse Starlight, to discover that I could walk her, but riding a trot was absolutely excruciating! I didn’t expect this, and it threw me for a loop. My entire recovery process had centered around the goal of getting back into the saddle. After all, a year had passed.
I am a woman who is well conditioned in tolerating extremely high levels of pain. Pain, particularly when it’s chronic, is something you grow a tolerance to. For me, this process of adapting began when I was two years old and undertaking classical ballet training. I danced for the first quarter of my life, but during my tender years, my training resulted in problems with my feet, and a hip joint that was pulled out of its socket and grew that way.
Horse related accidents have contributed greatly to my ability to tolerate pain. Broken fingers, toes, ribs and a particularly nasty accident I had on my horse Janie that broke my sacroiliac joint in two. The break wasn’t misplaced, so the radiologist didn’t catch it on the x-ray. For two years I rode adjusting my position because I was in so much pain. I blamed the pain on a recent hip replacement; I wasn’t surprised when three years later an MRI revealed that the sacroiliac joint had not healed and was still broken in two.
After my back surgery, I was determined to persevere with my recovery, so I continued to ride Starlight but only at a walk. Although this beautiful mare didn’t understand why I insisted on only walking, she submitted to my insistence. Starlight had an inbred spirit that drew me to her in the first place. For years she competed as a Reiner and was exceptionally talented. She spined on a dime, which was pure fun to ride. Her coat was a beautiful, dappled gray and we adored each other.
Following my laminectomy, Star and I walked the entire grounds surrounding our stable, until one day, I made a stupid decision which resulted in my falling off. There have been many occasions in my life where I have been my worst enemy, this was one of them. The fall broke my glenohumeral or shoulder joint, in two. Again, I was facing a lengthy recovery and had to give up riding.
During this period, a series of events were taken place at the sweet little stable where I boarded my horses. My friend Tommy, who had stepped into his father’s shoes and run the stable for thirty plus years, retired. Our board of directors brought in and supported a new manager and her husband and almost instantly, the conditions and safety aspects took a downward spiral. Horses were being deliberately injured and although some of these incidents were caught on video, from cameras installed in our stalls, no one was held accountable. And that was the least of our worries!
Dude & Starlight
I had found good homes for my horses Dude and Starlight. So on June 6th, Roo and I left this facility along with almost half or more of the boarders, to settle at the amazing stable where I am now. From the moment I stepped into this stress-free pleasant stable, equipped with everything a serious horse lover and performance equestrian need, I felt a newfound freedom that drastically contrasted with the downfall of the other place. Some of my friends were already at the new stable when I arrived and over the passage of the past year, almost all of my friends from the other facility have joined us!
My new stable has excellent trainers in both western and eastern disciplines. I immediately began to take lessons with my friend and trainer, Liz, riding her outstanding and bullet proof horse, Papaya. It was exhilarating, particularly on the first morning we went for a trail ride.
Our stable has over 130 acers of rideable trails that I was sure I would never see. On occasions I led Roo on walks to explore some of them, but walking Roo, was nothing compared to riding those trails, crossing through the meadows, stone covered river, taking slopes up and down, and exploring the wooded areas. After that ride, I felt alive! I began to lease Fly Guy in mid-September and was riding him regularly. And then unexpectedly, Roo died. For the first time in decades, I didn’t own a horse! I’m still struggling with that reality.
It was an autumn evening, two hours after the sun had set. The air carried the first fruits of a crisp chill that marked the end of the summer season. An overhead floodlight illuminated the large round pen where I was lopping Rose, a beautiful, five-year-old chestnut, quarter horse mare. Rose was pushing against the bit and as we moved along the inner side of the rail, she marked each strike of her front lead with an accompanying snort.
I had never ridden anything like Rose before! She was consumed with pent-up energy because she hadn’t been ridden in a very long time, and I struggled to hold her back from breaking into a gallop. With every ounce of her being she longed for a good gallop. With every ounce of my being, I longed to let her. But my friend was in the pen with me riding TJ and she wasn’t an experienced rider, so I had to keep Rose at a reasonably safe speed.
The next day, I began riding Rose on a regular basis and yes, I had plenty of opportunities to open her up in the pastures on Rocky Top’s property. When I learned that she was for sale, I knew that I had to bring her into the family!
AQHA Stallion, Leo
Rose was a great granddaughter of the AQHA stallion, Leo, and when I learned this, her energy and earnest need for speed made perfect sense. Leo was acclaimed in his early years on the racetrack, then due to severe injuries, was retired and used as a sire for breeding additional performance horses. Rose heavily resembled Leo too! Her chestnut coat, her confirmation and striking head with her snowy white blaze foretold that she was of his bloodlines.
Rose or Rosie and I, began our journey galloping across the autumn fields, heavily grazed down except for yellow wildflowers that grew thick along the ground. We galloped unrestrained as a team until she was spent, then trotted and finally walked to cool her down. But I also knew that I needed to start teaching Rose how to regulate her speed. When I began enforcing lessons on collection, she adamantly balked, shaking her head and snorting. This required dedicated years of consistent work, but we eventually got there.
Rosie was very intelligent, a quick learner and had a keen intuition when a child was on her back. All of my kids could ride her. It was only with me that she allowed her spirit to fully shine. If her rider’s position “felt” precarious, Rosie came to an immediate halt.
For several years I spent about five days a week with Rose. Eventually I moved her away from Rocky Top to a closer location. But housing developers began to make monetary offers to stable owners for their land. These offers were too good to resist, and the property was sold. Two of the stables where I boarded sold their properties that were soon turned them into housing additions. After moving Rose 2 times, I found myself faced with a dilemma when I had to board her almost 45 minutes away from my house. Jeff and I resolved this problem by purchasing property with an open stable for Rosie. Suddenly, she became part of the family’s everyday activities. I couldn’t have been more thrilled.
There were two situations turned my mare into a puddle of anxiety. One of them was thunderstorms. Thunderstorms frightened her to the point that she would colic! Almost every thunderstorm while we were at Rocky Top Rose ending up at the veterinarian’s clinic. This was something I was keenly aware of when we moved her on our property.
Rosie was my soulmate horse. Together we watched and implemented the Natural Horsemanship training concepts as they swept the world. These new concepts were based on animal science research, and they changed the way most of us handle our horses. I was an advent student of these new methods, and as I applied them while working with Rosie, a magical, close bond that I had always longed for developed between us. It was spiritual really. The kind of bond where you to know what your horse is thinking. Suddenly Rose was whinnying at me when I appeared and nickering greetings trotting to me when she saw I was heading toward the barn.
Several months after we moved Rosie to our property, I took her back to Rocky Top to breed her. Her stallion was a stunning black tobiano. The two of them took a liking to each other and when I brought Rose home, she called for him heartsick. While Rose was being breed, hideous fires broke out in Mexico, filling the air with a heavy, thick smog. While our little baby was at its most fragile state. As it took form and grew, livestock around us were dying from the unhealthy atmosphere.
Rosie’s Stallion
This is a subject that is still, to this day, very difficult for me to think about. The memory triggers the same heartsick emotion, I felt so many years ago when Rosie’s foal, Phantom, was born. He was so hideously deformed that we had to had to quickly and humanely euthanized him.
Rosie’s Phantom
My veterinarian told me that he knew of other horses and cattle that were giving birth to babies with similar deformities. I was devastated. The next day I called my friends at Rocky Top and something truly magical happened.
Throughout my life, I have enjoyed a career as an actor. I was very fortunate enough to work with some very skilled directors and trainers who taught me the art of character development. They also taught me how to use my personal experiences, my pain, to bring to life a character that I was portraying. While my children were young, I was a stay-at-home mom, except for a 20-year career in the fitness industry that allowed me to schedule my work around the children’s needs. However, during these years, I also learned that I could “act” and develop characters on paper and soon I became a published writer.
After a few years had distanced me from the tragic night that Rosie’s foal was born, a story began to form in my mind. The plot centered on a horse I molded after Rose, named Mahogany, and my two daughters, Juliann and Michele, who were both facing extremely difficult circumstances in their young lives. For five years I played with the storyline in my mind, before literally, taking pen to paper.
Then an amazing thing happened, Jeff and I bought a 100-acre ranch in Brock, TX. The ranch was to use on weekends, but I often spent a week or two there. After exploring the land, I was stunned to discover that the layout was almost exactly the same as the fictional ranch I had created for the Caldridge family in my book. So, I decided to format the layout of the land and out house, as the Caldridge family’s homestead.
Thirty some years later, that first book has become a 3-book series that I call Emerald’s Hill. The first book, Mahogany – Blaze, is the book that I’m working toward having published.
As daylight broke, the morning after I had to tragically euthanize Rosie’s foal Phantom, a baby that I had loved and anticipated even before he was born. I went back to the stables to let Rosie outside. I knew that she wanted to look for her foal and she did. Watching her and listening to her call for him was one of the most heartbreaking moments in my life. So, I busied myself by cleaning out her stall, replenishing straw, soiled from giving birth with fresh shavings, trying to ignore her frantic whinnies as she ran the diameters of the pasture.
I cannot express the pain I felt, not just because of the loss of our foal, but mostly watching Rosie suffer. This was the first time I had experienced a situation like this. Because of my lack of knowledge, and the incompetence of the veterinarian, I didn’t realize that I should have let Rose see and sniff her foal after he was euthanized. This way she would have a better understanding of the loss. But in the heat of such a traumatic situation, you don’t always think straight. At least I can say that I never made that mistake again!
Somehow, I needed to find a little foal. Not just for Rose, but for me too. Something joyous to fill our loss and sorrow. Surely, somewhere in the vast DFW metroplex there was a foal that needed a good home. Perhaps I could find one that was recently weaned.
The first person I called was my friend who was also the breeder. I told her what had happened, expressing my need to buy a young horse. She listened and said she would call me right back. When I look back on the series of events that took place next, I am filled with absolute awe. My friend had a cherished mare that they used for breeding. A little paint mare, whose previous foals I was very familiar with.
This little mare was very sick, and the decision had been made to euthanize her that morning. The reason they had prolonged her life was because she had a tiny little filly that they were trying to keep alive on the mare’s milk. But, because of her illness, the mare’s milk supply had been poor, leaving the foal small and frail. Even though the filly was two months old, she looked like a two-week-old foal. On top of that, her sire was the same stallion that sired Rose. It was decided, that after they put the mare down, my friend was going to bring the filly over to me and give her to me. I couldn’t believe this was happening!
By 10:00 that morning a big diesel truck pulling a large trailer pulled into my driveway. The truck stopped, and I heard a hearty little whinny echo from it. I cannot tell you the well of emotion I felt as I laid eyes on the most adorable filly. She was perfect! A paint, pure white with a bay and black face, one blue-eye and one brown. Her tail was all white with a black tip. We unloaded her and led her toward Rose, with the baby whinnying the whole way.
Rose heard the calls and could hardly contain herself. It took a great deal of effort to restrain her enough to safely bring the filly into her stall. However, after one sniff, she knew that this baby was not hers! Suddenly, Rose wasn’t interested in cooperating.
I had been smart enough to keep the placenta from Phantom’s birth. We gave Rose another sedative and rubbed the placenta all over the filly, keeping it on her back. Rose took another sniff and began to lick the filly. In just a matter of minutes Rose allowed her to nurse, standing contently, relieved to have her milk engorged utters drained. The moment was pure magic for me. Especially knowing that the filly, named HaDassah’s Heart, which means Star’s Heart, was getting all of Rosie’s rich milk full of colostrum.
The first magical moment when Rose let HaDassah nursed.
By 5:00 that afternoon, HaDassah had completely won the heart of her new mama. This was evident when Rose unhesitatingly shared her oats from the same bucket. By 8:00 that night, you would never have guessed that HaDassah was not Rose’s original foal. The two were inseparable. My head was swimming with how God showed not only me but Rosie and the filly mercy. The three of us desperately needed each other.
Twenty years ago, I wrote the above account of this story. I wrote it as I watched Rosie and HaDassah grazing in the pasture, side by side. I quickly learned that if a family member was with Rose, she accepted a stranger around her baby. But if a stranger tried to get close, without one of us, especially me, Rose’s response quickly scared them away.
Within a week of nursing on Rosie’s milk, HaDassah was thriving. She had doubled her size and was no longer able to walk under Rose’s belly. Her mane and tail had grown. She was walking with a halter and lead. All seemed bright and wonderful, until…
It began with HaDassah scouring. Scouring is the term used when a horse has diarrhea. My veterinarian didn’t tell me, but I have since learned that scouring can occur in foals when they are suddenly taking in more nutrients that they are used to. Especially when the food source is changed too quickly, which was the case with Hadassah.
Knowing how quickly this condition can get out-of-hand, I called my vet. HaDassah’s temperature was normal, all her vital signs were good, so there seemed to be no threat. However, the condition worsened, becoming profusive and was quickly spinning out of control. What’s more, I could tell that my filly was beginning to stress from the condition. Again, I called the vet.
This time HaDassah’s temperature was elevated, confirming my concern that she had developed an infection. The vet started her on antibiotic treatments which required me injecting her three times a day, which she and I both hated! Still her health declined. I called the vet again.
I have since learned that “colitis,” was the condition that we were dealing with and that colitis can quickly become fatal, which it did. All the signs and symptoms were there. HaDassah’s diarrhea increased to an extreme, becoming constant and watery. Her fever elevated. She became listless and was in obvious pain.
The situation climaxed on an evening when Jeff was out-to-town. I called the vet gravely alarmed. By the time he arrived at my house, HaDassah was trying her best to roll in what looked to be full-blown colic. I was trying to wrap my head around how a horse with profuse diarrhea was able to colic. Colic is when a horse has an obstruction in the gut, which causes a buildup of gas which is extremely painful and often deadly. The horse rolls in an attempt to elevate the pain, which can cause the gut to rupture. Therefore, it’s essential to get a horse who’s colicing up and walking.
The vet agreed, it was colic. In addition, HaDassah was having respiratory problems due to pneumonia. Rose was hovering over us concerned too. The vet asked if I could remove Rose, so I called my son Chris to help me with her while I assisted the vet with HaDassah. Bad idea…
Haltering Rose, Chris led her out of the stables into the pasture to walk her, trying to ease her anxiety. In the process, Rose became uncontrollable. I should have known better and simply put Rose into an adjoining stall, but I wasn’t thinking straight. The next thing I knew, Chris’ friend, Brian, ran into the barn wide-eyed and breathless, announcing that Rose had kicked Chris in the head and knocked him out. About the same time Brian appeared, Rose came bolting into the stall. I quickly secured Rose in the adjoining stall, where she would be safe, and instructed Brian to call 911 while I fled to assist Chris.
When I reached him, Chris was sitting up dazed, holding his head. Thankfully, he was alert. An ambulance arrived, took Chris to an excellent trauma center in Fort Worth. I checked on the vet, who told me that the situation with HaDassah was very grave. He wasn’t sure she would survive. I left for the hospital, while Brian stayed my son Andy and daughter Juliann. Halfway to the hospital my phone rang—HaDassah had died.
Upon arriving at the hospital, I was greatly relieved to hear that Chris was alright. He had only suffered a mild concussion; there was no permanent damage. We stayed in the hospital for the rest of the night, arriving home as dawn opened her eyes. After tucking Chris in bed, I found Rose, depressed in the barn docile and exhausted. I was exhausted too, but sleep evaded me.
It wasn’t until I researched the condition of scouring in horses, particularly in young foals and the causes and effects, the I realized that HaDassah was a textbook case. For a couple of decades, her death had remained an embarrassment that left me riddled with guilt.
And may I interject, what happed to HaDassah should have been properly diagnosed by the veterinarian at the first call! This is why a trustworthy, good vet is always needed when you have a horse.
Even after my research on the internet brought clarity to HaDassah’s condition. I was still so embarrassed by her death that I almost didn’t include this sweet filly in my story. But what happened to HaDassah is a story worth telling, so others facing such a similar situation can understand and know they are not alone in their horrific struggle. As horse owners we learn as we go along, facing and learning about conditions when they come our way.
After HaDassah’s death I wrote the following poem:
A NEW BEGINNING A gentle rest, a quiet peace, that sooths and calms the deepest grief. His Presence hovers close and near. His words bring comfort chasing fears. They urge me to keep going on, despite the storm raging on. A storm that threatens to destroy my faith. With hurt and death, a senseless waste, my mind can’t understand, Why He allowed these tragic ends. And yet, I hear Him say to me; I’m in control, so trust in Me! This trauma never was My will. But trust in Me to ease and heal, The violence you have seen will cease, for in its midst I speak forth peace! You may not see it with your eye, let faith inside you heart arise! Now cling to Me My precious child, and speak My promises out loud. As vicious darkness scares and strikes, My Spirit overcomes the strife. So, as you walk the shadowed path, Be still My child—be still and know—That I Am God! A gentle rain begins to fall. No lightening near, no thundering clouds. Brings with its tranquil misty drops, the hope of healing from what’s lost. The promise of a brighter day. The washing of what’s lost away. Each raindrop seems to speak and say: A new beginning starts today.
Now, when I think of Phantom and HaDassah, I see them both grazing beside Rosie in heaven’s pastures. During that time of deep heartache and darkness, I didn’t know what God had in store for Rosie and me. That another baby horse was coming into our lives and that he would bring us both joy beyond our wildest dreams.
At Rocky Top, when I first began riding Rosie, we pretty much had the pasture to ourselves, which allowed us opportunities to gallop without riling other horses to join us. Several months later, I began to see new horses in the pasture, which was fine, as long as they left Rose and me alone. What I mean by this is horses tend to move as a herd, so when one decides to run, generally a few others will join in on the fun, which can turn into a dangerous situation, one I wasn’t ready to risk.
One late afternoon, while Juliann had riding therapy and my boys played, I had separated Rose from the herd and was warming her up at a brisk trot. She was moving to a nice, rhythmic beat, when unexpectedly she bolted into a sidestep.
What in tarnation was that all about? I wondered.
As soon as the question entered my mind, she did it again, this time pivoting around with her ears pointed, nostrils flared, eyes wide, snorting heavily as if trying to rid herself of an offensive smell.
There, standing to the side of us stood a little donkey, looking very forlorn and lonesome.
As my heart went out to the little guy, Rose continued to snort, staring at the donkey with utter distaste. I gave her a reassuring pat, turned her around and signaled for her to trot forward. She sidestepped the first few steps, keeping her eye on the donkey, before easing into a nice pace.
I was enjoying myself immensely, when suddenly, she bolted again, pivoting round to stare at the donkey who was following us.
Great, I thought. I positioned Rose, so she could get a better look. She merely snorted in distaste, backing up while the donkey watched, looking very rejected. I turned Rose asking her to go forward again. She did so, prancing like she was walking on hot coals. The donkey trotted after us. Rose stopped, pivoted to face it and pooped, body quivering.
After having enough of these shenanigans, I asked Rose to canter, which she willingly did, taking a commanding lead far away from the donkey, who watched us from the other end of the pasture. However, out-of-sight did not mean out-of-mind! Rose held her body taunt and was skittish, making our ride unpleasant. I, on the other hand, was determined to enjoy the afternoon. I forced myself to relax in the saddle, believing the donkey was no longer a threat. Besides, it seemed a shame to waste a beautiful afternoon.
Several minutes later, I was completely relaxed. Rose too was calm and had dropped her nose to graze. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the donkey. It had worked its way through the woods to where we were. In an instant, Rose bolted into a full gallop, leaving me momentarily suspended in the air for a few fleeting seconds before I crashed hard to the ground. This was the first and only time Rose ever threw me. I sat on the ground with the donkey watching me.
Needless to say, I learned to humor my horse. We stayed out of that pasture while the donkey was there. Likewise, I learned that any animal other that a horse, dog, cat, bird and occasional bunny, was perceived by Rose as a horse eating monster. Oh, she hated puddles of water too although we worked through that one!
If a trail took us to a field that had a donkey in it, I would have to dismount, cross the roadway and lead my jittery horse who practically pranced on the toes of her hooves past the poor donkey. When I moved her to a stable in Roan, the road that led to the riding trails passed a farm that actually raised and bred miniature donkeys. You would have thought the world had come to an end!
After selling my horse Missy, I spent the next five years taking horseback riding lessons, mostly English disciplines. Two months after my son, Andy, was born, my husband’s job moved to Connecticut, where we settled in the city of Norwalk. Jeff’s brother and our sister-in-law lived in Manhattan and soon the excitement in NYC became our playground. In Connecticut I found an adorable little stable and enrolled into riding lessons. I also rented horses to ride along some marvelous trails. One of my very favorite being the riding the trails through Central Park in NYC.
From my very first riding lesson, my method of fluid, relaxed riding was suddenly restrained. I was taught to keep my toes in unnatural forward positions, My seat had to be perched so that I was sitting straight up on my pelvis bones. Thanks to many years studying ballet, I was able to contort my body into positions that please my instructors, but thwarted relaxation into, tight muscles, which eliminated the fluidity that Missy had taught me when I learned to ride her bareback.
At that time in my life, I didn’t perceive myself as an excellent rider. There was so much that I knew I had to learn. The hunger to become an excellent, accomplished rider, fueled my determination to persevere and continue on with my lessons.
One of the most interesting aspects to horsemanship in Ohio and Indiana versus riding out east, was the different opinions regarding riding positions and the phraseology. I also discovered that the mid-west trainers were much more layback and approachable, whereas out east, they tended to be aloof, stuffy and unapproachable. Years of studying classical ballet, had already seasoned me to the world of stuffy and unapproachable.
The personal goal that has always fueled my passion for horses is my interaction with them. This interaction starts with the groundwork and transitions into your riding. The showring had never been my ultimate goal. Even though I understand the joys in competing and engaging with others and their horses in the mutual goal to win a blue ribbon. I greatly respect all of the years of training and hard work and money that goes into a performance horse that only shines with an equally skilled rider. But I simply wasn’t interested! What did interest me was achieving a close, almost telepathic bond with horses, like the horse/human bonds and relationship that I had read about in classic horse stories when I was a kid.
As others around me verbalized the need to use force to get a horse to respond in a certain way, and raised their voices against handling foals too much, or horses in general for that matter, because you might spoil them. I was secretly summoning horses into my personal space, because physical closeness to them, the delicious smell of their lovely coats and intelligence in their expressive eyes was something I desperately desired to be close to
However, my eastern riding escapades quickly came to an abrupt halt, when only four months after moving to Connecticut I, once again, became pregnant. Almost immediately the pregnancy became high risk. I prematurely gave birth to my daughter, Juliann (Juli), and began my journey as a parent raising a child with special needs—cerebral palsy. Three years later my family moved to the DFW area in Texas, where roots were established, and my children grew up.
Immediately, I enrolled Juli into our school district’s early childhood education program. One of the school’s physical therapists suggested that I look into a “hippotherapy” program, which used horses to help people with special needs develop better muscle control. I firsthand understood the emotional support equine therapy provides, but hippotherapy taught me about the physical benefits of riding a horse.
Hippotherapy, or physical therapy on horseback, uses a horse’s movements to help develop a patient’s balance and coordination, as well as increase their muscle strength. When a horse is walking, the movement mimics the same physical patterns of a person’s walk. Every step a horse takes transfers movement to the legs and pelvis of that person. In addition, riding a horse can help a person find their center of balance.
The goal is to stimulate the muscles of the individual, using the rhythmic gait of a horse’s walk, so that over time, the repetitive movement will eventually imprint to the individual’s “muscle memory.” Muscle memory happens when any movement is repeated over time such as the disciplines of swimming, dancing, creating art, playing a musical instrument, sports and learning to walk, our brains form a memory for that activity. And as time progresses, with plenty of practice, an individual is eventually able to perform that activity effortlessly.
Anna Belle, the mother goat; Jeff, Chris & Clarince, Me with Juliann & Clarice and Andy. Anna Belle kept nibbling on Chris’ hair, that’s why he’s looking over his shoulder at her.
Juli’s hippotherapy was scheduled to take place in a lovely stable, in Keller, Texas, called Rocky Top Ranch. Not only did Juli take to riding horses like a duck to water, but my boys also loved it too. Rocky Top became our playground with its wonderful pastures, annual offspring of foals, haylofts, baby goats, peacocks, a pond and a huge sow named Sarah Beth. Often the kids’ friends tagged along. For me, being once again submerged in the delicious world of horses became my respite from work as a fitness professional and the stresses of raising children who all had special needs ranging from learning disabilities to very gifted.
If I were to guess, I would say that there were probably over 100 horses on the ranch, not counting the foals. Some of the horses were privately owned by boarders, many of whom became my friends. Others were used for hippotherapy, there was a handsome palomino stallion named, Keno and broodmares who produced 40 to 50 foals that were born on the ranch every spring. My kids and I will never forget Paco, a friendly boy who always popped his bottom lip out of boredom. Rocky Top was not just a therapy program, is was a fully functional equestrian facility.
Shortly after the kids and I became part of the ranch, I began to step in and help halter train some of the foals. Working with these babies really sharpened my equestrian knowledge and skills, mainly kept me on my toes because of their tendency to spontaneously combust. One afternoon I asked the owner if he had a horse that needed exercise ride and if I could ride it. That’s when I was introduced to my next horse, a beautiful gray Quarter Horse, gelding named TJ.
Juliann & TJ
TJ was 16 years old, about 15.1 hands and the kids and I absolutely adored him. The stable had tried to use him for the therapy program, but TJ didn’t have the disposition for it. He was full of personality and would literally eat anything including…his own poop. At the time Juliann was using a walker, and he loved to grasp it with his teeth and carry it around the barn. He also took every opportunity to nip. I had to watch him like a hawk; in turn he would watch me and with a twinkle in his eye, and if I became distracted, he’d nail me, looking extremely pleased with himself afterward. He was also my introduction to a cribber.
Cribbing, is when a horse takes hold of a surface with its teeth and pulls back while taking in air. It is the most common stereotypical behavior in horses. Cribbing can also be deadly, because it interferes with a horse’s normal gut action, which in itself is a delicate balance. Some horses repeat this behavior for hours. In order to prevent this behavior in horses a special “cribbing collar” is used. The collar is fastened around the top of a horse’s poll, just behind their ears and under their neck close to the horse’s head.
At this point I had decided to give up riding lessons. I didn’t have time for them anyway. Instead, I returned to my fluid form of riding that Missy had taught me. I often rode TJ bareback and enjoyed many afternoons and evenings, not just riding, but brushing and interacting with him. He had a layback personality, meaning he wasn’t fazed by much, which also made him a perfect mount for the kids. In turn, they often rode him.
TJ had spent most of his adult life performing in the show ring and he had collected significant points in “Western Pleasure.” He was very familiar with a large variety of stimuli which made him “bullet proof,” or a dependable mount. He was also the kind of horse that you had to keep a firm leg on in order to keep him moving forward. And if he suspected that you didn’t know what you were doing while riding him, he tried every trick in the book to take advantage of the situation.
One truth I have learned while working with horses, is to always expect the unexpected. Particularly when a horse eating monster, such as a plastic bag carried by the wind, or a misplaced bucket, triggers their inner “flight” instinct. Horses are flight animals which means that their natural response to frightful situations is to run away, just like a rabbit or deer does when they’re afraid. The key to handling this “flight” instinct, which can easily turn dangerous, even deadly, is to teach your horse how to respond to their fear in ways other than bolting. This takes time, but it’s well worth the practice.
As I worked with TJ, I was also beginning to learn two essential lessons that have helped me in more situations than I can count and they are; one, teach your horse that you are a “safe haven;” two, the more frantic situation becomes, the calmer you need to be.
I taught TJ and all of my future horses, that I was a “safe haven,” which meant that I was a trustworthy and gentle handler, that they could turn to when they were afraid or when they escaped from their stalls. I achieved this trust with a variety of interactions other than riding. Repetition and consistency were very important to my success, followed by maintaining the rewards my horse’s came to expect. One of the tricks up my sleeve was playing the “halter game.”
So often, on the days I went to ride, TJ was out in the pasture grazing. He would see me approaching him with the halter and wouldn’t let me within 10 feet of him. Chasing after him was not only frustrating but equally exhausting. Then I began playing a game in his stall where I slipped the halter on and gave him a treat. I repeated slipping on and taking off the halter, until he started to get the hang of it. Then I began then I took the halter game to the open pasture. Sometimes I spent time with him, scratching all the itchy places a horse can’t reach, leading him around, and always releasing him to roam free. Eventually, TJ would come to me when he saw me approaching.
A common mistake I have seen throughout the years is when an owner reprimands their horse when it escapes from its stall, a pasture or even a handler. Instead of hitting the horse or scolding it, stay calm, and praise your horse when it returns to you. The use of treats really help to reinforce this! By teaching your horse that you are always a safe haven they learn that they can return to you and be safe.
One of the most important safety lessons I learned was the need to stay calm when a horse to panics. This is a conditioned skill that I have practiced over the passage of many years, am still learning and one that also came in handy while I was raising my kids.
Let me interject here, of course, a horse’s bad behavior needs to be addressed. I’m a firm believer in establishing method’s that discipline and teach a horse, you can’t do that. Horse’s need to be well mannered. Natural Horsemanship training methods taught me how to achieve a desired behavior without hitting a horse.
As my boys grew, they were diagnosed with what was then a new medical term called ADHD. At the time, many medical professional dismissed ADHD as nonsensical. But as I read about this condition with the goal of helping my children, I also learned about myself. Suddenly my own childhood experiences in school made perfect sense. I too have ADHD and am also dyslexic. This was an eureka moment for me which left me thinking, no wonder!
When I owned TJ, I was functioning as a full-time mom, raising my kids by myself, to support my husband’s successful climb up the corporate ladder. Almost every week his work took him out-of-town, while I raised our children. TJ and my other horses became my means of comfort, my stress relief and even though I was working as a fitness professional teaching 4-5 aerobic classes 5 times a week, horseback riding was and still is, my favorite form of exercise. Throughout our marriage, my husband has always lovingly understood this need in me.
One day, I friend of mine asked my if I had a horse she could ride. With TJ in mind, I said yes. I knew my old boy would be the perfect fit. I asked the owner at Rocky Top if he had another horse that needed exercise that I could ride with my friend. He did. That’s when a 5-year-old, Quarter Horse mare named Rose, entered my life. At the end of our first ride, I knew that I absolutely had to own her.
Missy & Me. I loved the house my parents bought because it looked like a country barn.
I was 14 years old when my parents moved our family away from Bay Village, Ohio, to settle in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Unbeknownst to me, my parents secretly devised a plan to purchase my first horse for me when I was 14 years old. The horse was to help me transition when my father’s work moved my family away from Bay Village, Ohio, to Indiana, where we settled in the city of Fort Wayne. At the time, I was grieving the loss of Bay Village, a city I still love and hold dear, and my departure from a growing career as an actress.
For 53 years, I remained under the impression that I stumbled upon Missy, or Miss Hard Rock 27, by accident, until I year ago when I heard the full story. The wonder of having my very own horse, indeed erased my grief and fed my fanatical horse crazy love. Most importantly, this beautiful horse helped me through some pretty difficult years. She was a friend I could lean upon, balm for my hurting soul.
I first met Missy on a sunny, but cold winter morning in early December. She was a stunning bay, appendix Quarter Horse. A two-year-old, meaning she was still a baby and growing. She had suffered a life-threatening bout of shipping fever (a potentially life-threatening infection) during her transportation from Amarillo, Texas to Indiana, and had suffered a bad injury to her right back pastern. Her countenance was sad, detached and she was horribly neglected. I approached her gently, fearless, drawn to her delicious horsey smell. And as I petted her neck cooing quietly, she brought her nose to my side.
I was shocked and thrilled when the next day my mother agreed to drive me over to see Missy again. This time I was allowed two hours with her.
Nickle size burs had tangled the strands to Missy’s mane, into tight masses that gathered along the growth line running along the top of her neck. Instead of taking a suggestion that I shave her mane off, I removed my gloves and patiently untangled every single bur from her mane revealing long silky strands of thick, black hair. Her heavy winter coat was also thick, with her ears particularly fluffy and I nicknamed her “fluffy ears.”
When my father, who is seriously allergic to anything with fur, said he would buy Missy for me, I was shocked and absolutely ecstatic. Dad paid $200.00 for her (at least that’s what I was told)! A week later, my family traveled back to Bay Village to celebrate Christmas. I carried with me a photo of my new horse. When we returned to Indiana, we moved Missy into a small stable, where my adventures with her and a used saddle and bridle began.
Missy & Me in her stall. My friend Kim is in the background. We were the only two boarders.
I was told that Missy was “green broke.” I was “green broke” too. I didn’t have much experience working around or with horses. However, my book knowledge on horse care really came in handy. I was even able to detect Missy’s first colic, a serious condition usually caused by an obstruction in a horse’s gut.
Because Missy and I quickly bonded, she allowed me to saddle her up and accepted the bit, but once I mounted—that became a different story. Skills I had developed while studying ballet in Cleveland, Ohio, sculpted my natural balance. Still, I rode under saddle, stiff and unsure, because I didn’t know how to ride and because Missy had the tendency to do the unexpected. Like the time, she reared up, hit my forehead with the poll of her head, and knocked me out. When I came to, Missy hadn’t moved, and I was still sitting in the saddle.
Several months later, I moved Missy onto a sweet little barn, nestled on the property of a wonderful family. The new barn had a good-sized pasture where Missy could graze, and I could ride. Adjacent to the barn was a wood that we could explore, in addition there were fields and plenty of dirt roads at our disposal.
One day in the early spring, while Missy was grazing, I vaulted onto her bare back. Immediately she broke into a canter and promptly, bucked me off. I vaulted back on. She sent me flying. This repetitive process continued for several days. Then, like a miracle, one afternoon I rode her as she cantered the diameters of the pasture. She ran until she was spent. What’s more I didn’t fall off! It was an exhilarating sensation and great sense of accomplishment. I spent the next hour and a half sitting on her under the Indiana sun while she grazed.
Riding bareback was, for most of my life my favorite!
As the summer months progressed, I spent many long afternoons simply sitting on Missy, surrounded by a beautiful field growing corn. When the sun made me drowsy, I turned around and sat backward so I could lower my head to rest on her ample rump. There were occasions when I fell asleep. Missy and I had developed that kind of relaxed trust!
By all accounts, Missy, was my first riding instructor because of the long hours I spent sitting on her bareback. I began to pay attention to how my body responded to every movement she made. A shift of her weight also adjusted my weight. Every step she took in turn moved my legs and hips and seat (an equestrian term for bottom). I began to walk with Missy’s steps, which smoothed out the ride into a rhythmic harmony between us. Once established, the skill easily transitioned into her other gaits. Because of the close contact, bareback became was my favorite way to ride.
At my parents’ house giving one of my brothers a ride.
It wasn’t long until my adventurous side prompted me to saddle up so Missy and I could explore the woods, roadways, and fields around us. We spent our autumn’s riding through harvested fields. We began to have close encounters with wildlife. Such as the late afternoon we entered a field and Missy suddenly stopped moving. Pinning her ears attentively forward, she stared across to the other side where a stag and doe stood at attention watching us as two baby fawns frolicked carefree. That’s when I discovered that wildlife allows people to draw closer when they’re riding a horse.
I often rode Missy over to my house! And I swear if I had let her, she would have walked right through the front door. Twice while she and I were riding along a road, someone stopped me and asked if I would sell her. “Absolutely not!” One man replied, “Well there’s always a price.” I firmly countered, “Not for this horse.”
Standing in front of the woods where I loved to ride after a winter snowstorm.
My favorite memories with Missy, were the rides that we took in the woods after a heavy snowfall. On such occasions I drove to the barn to saddle her up, before the snow could be disturbed. We entered the woods at a walk, into the folds of an enchanted winter wonderland. It was like walking through the wardrobe in Narnia. The canopy of branches was encased in ice. Everything in sight was covered with heavy snow. The bitter temperature enhanced the experience. The only sounds were of Missy’s hooves crunching against the frozen ground and her occasional snort. In silence, together, we drank in the tranquility. These rides were gifts, unique to that stage in my life. I’ve never experienced anything like them since.
For twelve years, Missy and I shared many carefree ventures in the vast playland that was richly accessible to us in the 1970’s. Sadly, just a few months ago (fall 2024), I revisited that place and discovered that all of the land has been developed into housing additions. The barn and the woods are now gone and the dirt roads rerouted and paved.
In 1977, I married my husband, Jeff. We moved Missy to a barn closer to our new house. I was busy working at a department store during the weekdays and often rehearsing or performing in a theatrical production at night. Jeff was finishing his degree in Business Administration and studying for the CPA exam. And then, our world took an unexpected turn; I became pregnant.
My favorite Photo of Missy in the pasture where I learned to ride.
Immediately I fell in love with the tiny being growing inside of me. Suddenly, all of my goals and ambitions for the future now included motherhood. Shortly after my son Christopher was born, Jeff and I could no longer afford the luxury of having a horse. I had to sell Missy and passed her on to a young girl who mirrored my younger self and needed a horse to show. However, I deeply grieved her loss and vowed to never sell a horse again! I never did!
Chris was fourteen months old when Jeff and I moved from Fort Wayne to the city of Indianapolis. One of the first things I did after we set up our home was to find a stable where I could ride and take lessons. At least I would be around horses, but it wasn’t the same. I needed the companionship of a horse in my life that I could call my own. It would be about five years before my next companion came my way.
Meeting Ivan for the first time, on the cold afternoon of January 6, 2025
JANUARY 6, 2025
After spending my morning sitting in front of the computer working on a manuscript, I decided to take a break and go to the stables to check on Fly Guy, the new horse in my life. Currently, the weather here in the DFW area between the cities of Dallas and Fort Worth is bitter cold, or at least what we southerners considered “bitter cold,” meaning hovering in the lower twenties.
When I arrived at the stables, I also checked on my friend, Julie’s, horses, to make sure everyone’s winter blanket was secure on their backs, not tangled around their legs. I also checked on hay and water supplies.
After taking photos of Julie’s horses, I sent her copies, texting her that all of her babies were happy. Then she texted me about her baby, Ivan!
Ivan???
I hadn’t met Ivan yet!
I went to Ivan’s stall and found standing at the far-left corner of a very large and roomy run, a darling little bay horse staring out upon the vast pastureland, where only a few full-grown horses were grazing (Most of the horses at our stable were inside because of the cold). I called Ivan’s name and tried to snap a full body picture of him in his blanket to send to Julie. However, immediately after hearing his name, Ivan, who I guessed was probably a yearling from his size, swiftly made his way towards me.
So often, foals can be stand-offish because they are not handled on a regular basis. Ivan on the other hand couldn’t get to me fast enough. Of course I busied myself doting on him, scratching his soft, baby fur. Running my fingers through his soft mane where the ends still have the highlights from his formative years. Affection defined this sweet boy, and I immediately realized that Ivan and I would be good friends.
What a joyful blessing it is to begin the new year surrounded by the animals I love. Eagerly joyous is the year ahead, all of the wonderful riding adventures I’ll have, and watching sweet Ivan grow. We have
One day I was grooming my horse, Roo, when Polly trotted up to a gate close to the grooming area asking for attention. I couldn’t say no!
another baby at the barn that was born last spring, a little filly named Polly. I met her when I moved my horse, Roo into this new facility. Polly is a buckskin and, like Ivan, has an amazingly sweet, interactive personality. Currently she’s being weaned from her mare. We have a few other foals that are also being weaned from their mares.
I feel very fortunate to once again, be at a facility that is equipped to house stallion’s safely, foaling mares and their newborns, but best of all my personal equine family members. A good stable is worth its weight in gold.
Polly & Her Mare
I am so sad to say that little Polly recently went to graze the pastures in heaven when she lost her life due to a congenital flaw. I was heartsick when I heard, but an equally grateful for the moments of tenderness I was gifted to share with that sweet filly.
Thunder and lightning boomed across the sky, illuminating my room, disturbing my sleep. Another loud crack bellowed, and the sky released a deluge of rain. I snuggled deeper into my pillow, wondering if we were getting a classic, Texas, thunderstorm. My house was quiet; husband, still sleeping, seemingly untouched by the noise. I wondered if my children were awake too and like me, snuggling into their pillows hoping to fall back asleep. My thoughts turned to my horse, Rose. She hated thunderstorms! Recently, we had bought our property based on a barn where we could keep her in our backyard. We had only recently moved her to her new home, and I was worried that Mother Nature’s racket was upsetting her.
Another, menacing crack of thunder pierced the silence. Rolling over I checked the time; four o’ five in the morning. My spirits dropped, it’s too early to get up! Yet I was awake; wide awake. With my eyes shut, I listened to the measured sounds of the rain pelleting my house, with slivers of lightning periodically lighting my room. Again, my thoughts turned to Rose and I was filled with concern, wondering how she was fairing in her stall. Careful, not to disturb my husband or the sleeping cats at the foot of our bed, I slipped out from under the covers, padding in my bare feet to fetch the hooded cloak I wear when it’s raining outside. Our house was quiet and very dark as I donned the cloak, pulling the hood over my head. Slipping into my rubber boots, with a carrot and umbrella in hand, I left the warmth of the house stepping outside to the back porch.
Despite the dark and rain, a tangible peace had settled upon our land. I walked across the backyard, holding the umbrella over my head, sloshing through deep puddles that had already formed. The worst of the thunder and lightning had dwindled, allowing the rain center stage. The only sound breaking through the noise from the rain, was the crunch of my boots against a gravel walkway leading to the barn. I was certain Rose could hear me approaching, yet she didn’t nicker her usual greeting. It wasn’t until I opened the barn door and stepped inside, that she raised her head happy to see me and nickered, as if to say, I’m so glad you’re here!
The barn was cozy and dry, very inviting, with an earthy smell of hay and horse mixed with rain. Rose, not a bit disturbed by the storm, nuzzled my hand for the carrot. Breaking it into small pieces, I fed it to her, enjoying the way she begged for each bite. After the last bite was devoured, I fetched a pail, carrying it into her stall. Setting the pail to rest upside down by a gate separating Rose’s stall from the pasture. I sat on the pail, staring at the pasture through the cross beams of the gate. Rose continued to nuzzle me for bits of carrot. Eventually, she grew bored from her fruitless effort and turned with a sigh to hand her head over the top of the gate.
Together, we looked into the dark, for several minutes, simply still. From the stillness came that inner small voice, with the Lord’s words, “Come to Me, all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.” Immediately, peace entered my soul. His words ministering to the day-to-day issues I was facing in my life. Issues as tremulous as the onset of the rainstorm, leaving me ragged with worry. Thunder rumbled off in the distance. I thought of His words, “Be still and know that I am God!” There is rest to be found in being still.
Roosters started crowing off in the distance. Their off-key harmony was amusing. A few minutes later threads of pink appeared in the eastern sky. As if a conductor had cued an orchestra, birds begin to sing. My pasture looked how I imagine the Yorkshire Dales in England might look like on such a morning. Rich, vibrant green grass, sodden with rain. A fine veil of fog blurring the lines to the fenceposts and jumping standards, softening the land.
Rose had moved to a corner of her stall, hanging her head close to the ground, her eyes half shut, lower lip loose. Her body was silhouetted against the early light. Her white blaze literally glowed against the contrast of her chestnut fur. Walking over to her, I wrapped my arms around her neck, burying my face in her mane. Her body was warm against the morning chill. I stayed with her for several minutes, taking in her sweet horsey smell. And then I noticed… the first streaks of dawn. One of the Purple Martins had left his nest and was perched on the rim of the birdhouse. Another, just peeked its head out, as if evaluating the rain, which had dwindled to a light mist. Daylight was near, but its appearance was an evasion upon my seclusion with my horse. I wasn’t ready to part with the memory of the morning-night!
Kissing Rose’s nose, I bid her goodbye and left the barn, making my way back to the house. As I slipped inside, the house was still quiet, my family soundless, including the cats, who hadn’t moved since I left. Carefully, I crawled back into bed, cuddling close to my husband. Reflexively he wrapped an arm around me. I felt myself surrendering to sleep, holding the memory of the barn, the future for the day. It would be a lazy day, we had nothing planned, we could rest. Outside, the rain fell harder. Its rhythmic beat was soothing. I drifted off with my mind full of His peace.
