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!

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.

Check out: https://horsesseedsandhummingbirdwings.com/2024/11/26/morning-rain/

The other conundrum, was Rosie had a deep-seated terror for… well…

Read this: https://horsesseedsandhummingbirdwings.com/?p=1825

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.

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.

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.

Check out: https://horsesseedsandhummingbirdwings.com/?p=1852

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.

 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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

           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.

            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.

        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.”

            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.

            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.