Welcome our new Christmas Colts, Comet and Blitzen!
December 22, and the car is packed and ready to travel 6 hours to my sisters for the holidays. But before I hit the highway, I have a stop to make, at the hospital where ‘Mini B’ is recovering from surgery. He is doing really well, but we are new to each other, so I spent about an hour with him in his stall, making friends. Now it’s getting late, about 4pm when I am on the road, and now I am passing by the exit where the regular horse auction is held. On the very night it’s being held. Two hours before a sale begins. I give myself all of the reasons I should not stop; we are full at home, I am not even headed home, money is tight, medical expenses are up, winter is beginning, etc, etc, etc. But I stop. Just to use the bathroom. And take a peek.
I head inside and straight to the horses. The first pen I look into holds a pair of weanling colts, baby brothers. Shaking and staying away from the gate, they are thin, neglected and unloved, and only about 6 months old. They are covered in rain rot, and their long little hoofs show the lack of either trimming or a place to exercise. Halter marks are smashed in their faces but were removed. They are covered in dried poo. They are adorable.
I get some hay from a nearby trough, and bring it to them. The smaller of the two comes forward, and his taller shy brother tentatively steps up behind. They are hungry. I hold the hay for them, and after they start chewing, I gently pet the head of the one nearest me. He curls a little, leaning into the touch. Of course I am besotted. I decide I will wait, and watch the auction, and make sure they don’t sell to the kill buyers.
There aren’t a lot of horses at auction, but not a lot of buyers either. I am proud to share that there were three other rescues present, so I am not alone, and the horses here tonight are not alone. There is a third colt, also about six months, in another pen, and when the auction begins, another rescue steps up for him. I wait and watch; Our pair doesn’t come onto the floor until the end of the sale. They are announced as brothers, and we all watch and listen as the opening bid drops and drops. I wait. If a private home wants them, I won’t bid. The auctioneer has lowered the opening to $10, and the floor is quiet, everyone watches for any bid. Even the kill buyers aren’t interested in the tiny thin pair, so what will happen to them? I raise my card, before he declares them ‘no value’ and they leave the floor. “Bid!” and we are in…The auctioneer searches the crowd for anyone else, even pointing at a few folks, but no one else wants the skinny colts. They are ours, for $10 each. I am thrilled.
Our regular hauler agrees to hold them for me for a few days, since I really, really need to be in Maryland! I get a halter from my car, and find the boys again backstage, now my boys. I enter their pen quietly, they are so scared. Gently I sidle up, and slip the halter on the smaller colt, and begin to lead them out. Or I try to; they don’t know how to lead, and the auction guys want to go home. But they are patient with me, and one gets behind and just clucks to move them along, which is very gentle for them. I walk the babies thru and out, into the waiting trailer. My hauler reassures me that he will put them in a stall and feed them well until I return, and I believe him. He was so good and gentle with Jed.
Finally I get back on the road, hours and hours late. But my heart is full and happy. By 11 pm on the black highway, I give in and stop at a hotel. Eight hours later I am driving again, and soon with my human family. Part of my brain is back with the new colts! The holiday passes quickly, and I rush home, awaiting the christmas colts arrival at the farm. And then they arrive, just as thin and full of promise as I remember. They are beginning a new life, as we work to get them to health and happiness. We have named them Comet and Blitzen. Comet is taller, with a beautiful white patterning and a partial blue eye. Blitzen (which means ‘lightning’) is smaller, more friendly and feisty, and is also being called Zip for his spirited frolicking within his first hour here.
This is what we do. I am so happy that I stopped. It was the best christmas present one could ask for.

On the eve of the eve, en route to celebrate the holiday with family, I found myself compelled to stop at the horse auction. It was the same feeling I had the night I went and found Jed there, after having publicly announced my intent to NOT go. I felt that there was a reason that night, and a reason this night. The reason was a pair of frightened colts, and I brought them home for the same amount as Jed, $10. Was his spirit possibly there? I don’t know, but I could see Life, repeating.

The next day, with family at the christmas eve service, I watched my little niece and nephews participate in a nativity pageant, complete with handmade animal costumes. Tiny dancing sheep and goats and other creatures, in the nativity. We sang songs of course…”come and behold him, born the king of angels..” and something about this lyric, brought to mind a flash of Jed, my first vision of him. “Oh come let us adore him”… Gorgeous and tragic, head tied tight at auction, he is seared in my brain. I understand that any comparison of horse to human may offend some, but that lyric and the remembrance of Jed in such pain at the hands of man, literally caused me to choke up. The song continued, I spent most of the service trying to hold back tears, my mind elsewhere. Carrying Jed out of that auction house that night, and bringing him back to life, in our manger, was noble in it’s own small way. I guess I knew that he was on borrowed time but as you know, dear reader, we fully embraced Jed in our lives and our hearts.

Now the colts are home. Maybe six month old. They are still jittery and frightened, but learning quickly. I know they miss their moms but they are very curious. It was very soon that they peeked over the stall wall at the teenage horses. An older appy colt leaned towards them, and the baby boys clacked. As the appy colt clacked a year before. Have you ever had a moment, my friend, when the astonishing clarity of the circle of life is illuminated before you, and you realize that you truly will not always be alive, and neither will any creature, and that makes it all the more beautiful in it’s fragility? Such was the moment watching the thin little colts in Jed’s old stall, repeating ancient life patterns. Eventually death awaits them, but a wonderful life awaits them first.

Sometimes it’s difficult for me to express emotion face to face. Thank you for indulging me here, and allowing my heart to speak to yours.

Jed, back on Dec.2.

Warm for December, scattered horses finding bits of hay across the field, lazy.
One filly is standing much farther off then the others; Jojo. Her back is turned, all fuzzy and chunky now, facing the brook. I wander quietly over to see what has captured her attention so fully. Stopping about 10 feet beside her, I crouch down to share. Aggie Jo is watching ice. Ice and snow chunks actually, as they float by, downstream. She is mesmerized. The snowy chunks are freeing themselves from the banks, breaking off, tumbling slowly in the current, shedding bits of themselves in beautiful patterns. Density changing, white becoming translucent, all patterns and bobbles and fluidity in a downstream dance. She finds one just coming into view, and follows it, as it passes us and continues by the rocks and tiny whitewaters, until it disappears in the dark waters. Then she looks at me, to share, and I smile. We look for another, and play this little game for awhile, watching ice float by, ‘watching the wheels go round and round’… I point out the tiny frozen waterfall cutting down the steep bank across from us, and she follows my gaze. I partly stand, to step forward to the snowy edge of the bubbling water. Jo comes with me, as I pick up a chunk of the ice that we sniff and examine. Then she steps to the waters edge and lowers her head, taking a long cool drink, while I stand by. I use my hand to slurp a bit, sharing. We’re friends, she and I. I understand the beauty she sees.

Not ready to look forward so still looking back.
Jed on 12/2/11, in the morning.
There are a lot of other photos of that morning that I am choosing not to share. Jed was in pain. But I do believe that to the end he knew he was loved.

I’m not going to keep posting these links on the FB page; that has to continue forward for the other 30 plus horses alive and thriving at RF. This is just me, grieving my horse. I know he was ‘my horse’ to a lot of people,
and THAT is awesome.

Sunset is like 4:30 pm in the winter, so chores are usually finished in the dark (persistent procrastination is the topic of another blog, or will be whenever I get around to it). Chores are amusing here; Hay is stashed in all kinds of barns and rooms in barns, connected via obscure pathways, staircases, and shortcuts. Hey, we’re making do with what we have!

As I headed out last night for the lower barn, I debated going the long way and turning on the lower barn lights first, or just taking a flashlight, and the shortcut, down to the lower hay stash, to throw some out to the hordes below. I opted for the latter, as the shorter path (read ‘lazy’) and entered the barn above, from the side.

It’s a short trip through the first room, which used to be very scary before I knew each creak and object; and I stepped into a hole in the wall and onto a lowered ladder with confidence. This leads to the old milking parlor, an unstable floor but useful for packing with hay, as long as one knows where to step. I am brave now! I skipped halfway down before a heard a noise. Standing on what I realize is a very rickety ladder, surrounded by stacks of hay and narrow aisles, I am aware that I am not alone. All those little hairs stand up on my neck. Something is there. Some mysterious huge creature is breathing very close in front of me. Or was breathing, until hearing me, and we both paused, mid-inhale, and waited. And that second became very very long, and every Stephen King story flooded back, and every awareness of being a foolish girl standing alone in a decrepit barn floods your cells. OH, I knew this was a huge mistake. I mean, how long would it take for someone to even find my dead eaten body, out here in nowhere? What was I doing up here in the country anyway? How foolish was I, that now I had caused my own demise at the hands of some scary creature now hiding in the hay stacks?

My heart skipped. Followed by a small snort; was that a horses’ warning sound? A small shuffling…of a hoof? The smell of black hide. And the invisible creature just in front of me took form. “MOLLY?!?”I say, with hope…It was Molly. We both sighed with palpable relief. I am such a wuss.

Molly and Finn had broken into the hay loft, aka the ‘old milking parlor’, and wedged themselves in the stacks for an all you can eat buffet, in an area that they should not have been able to fit. “Didn’t you have enough hay outside Molly?”. Apparently not, she snuffled happily in my direction. Head to head, they could not exit easily or quickly, but stood there pigging out. Fortunate that we all knew each other, and recognized each other, before any of us three bolted. It took a minute to get to the door (around Finnys giant tushie) and get it open again, sufficient to back Finn out, then get Molly to follow. All in the dark. They were amiable enough, too stuffed to care much and just glad I hadn’t been a lion coming down the ladder to eat them. I secured the gate and added another 2 x 4 across the opening. We proceeded to join the herd without incident, altho’ when I was leaving, my heart still a little light, Molly did have a bit of a pout on her pretty perchie face. Lead mares, I swear.

A soul so gentle and deserving of best that life has to offer, you were bound to days of labor and neglect. Knowing you as I did I am sure you did your job with pride and dignity, even if you were never noticed or appreciated. I sensed your good nature from the first I saw you leaning against the wall in the dark isle. Barely able to stand, abandoned and tied up without food or drink; you looked at me without a trace of bitterness. “Hey buddy, can you spare a little hay?” You knew not of love or compassion from man, but it was there within you. Unrecognizing of a kind hand, when offered, you responded in kind. You learned to rejoice in the touch of a loving hand, and instinctively knew how to return that love. So adoring; so were you adored. Looking up when called and greeting everyone with a captivating smile. All who came to visit were touched by your charm and poise. You were big in every way.

By the time we met your frame was broken though your will was strong. We fought a good fight my friend. The touch of your muzzle let me know you were happy here. I’m sorry your stay with us was so short. I’m sorry I couldn’t repair the damage done by cruel men. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you Jed. For your sake and mine.

Though your body is still and your light has gone out, the hearts and souls of the people you’ve touched have been changed forever. You are so missed.

Most of the horses here arrive with scars. Either seen or unseen, and usually both. “Normal” behaviour isn’t guaranteed here at all; what many horse owners would consider commonplace are instead, hard won victories. Months of food, rest, and quiet, easy handling are applied, to slowly produce change.

Today I’m thinking of Sable. She has been here just over a year now, a former polo horse dumped by a university, after a lifetime of being a professional athlete. Sable had been passed around a lot, living the life of a professional sport horse, a high end car. Until she wouldn’t play anymore. Deemed damaged and dangerous, she was sold at auction to slaughter; then retrieved and brought here. I was warned that she was unsound and ‘would hurt me’ if I tried to ever ride her, and that she could only be handled by experienced horse people. Of course I was frightened, but I wasn’t going to say no when we had the chance to welcome her. We said yes. I could see the raw power in this mare when she walked into our barn at nearly midnight one night. Her roached mane added to her intimidating air. She was a powerhouse, not to be trifled with. But quiet and professional about it all.

Sable began here like many do, separated at first to insure a clean bill of health, and also to give us a little time to get to know each other. I found her to be very polite, clearly handled extensively, quiet and obedient. But calm waters barely masked the turmoil inside her soul. I did not push it, kept things very quiet and clear. Once she was deemed healthly, Sable and the polo gelding she arrived with, Pucara, were released to join the herd. Their ability to control their bodies gave them an edge over other horses, so they had no trouble in the field. I did discover quickly that once ‘free’, Sable was not ‘caught’ easily. Not a huge issue for me, since the herd teaches the new ones. The lead mare of that herd, Violet, and I, have a strong bond; newcomers watch, sometimes in awe, as our horses fight FOR attention from the humans, rather then run away. Sable was happy to hang back and no pressure was put on her.
She got used to the routine here; her mane began to grow.

By winter, Sable was beginning to miss some of her old routines, like blanketing. Ideally our horses aren’t blanketed, but given shelter instead. But with new ones, ones unaccustomed to this lifestyle, we strike a balance. Sable was granted a stall, and/or a blanket, as she needed it. These things were familiar to her and she always handled easily. Professionally. That was her relationship with humans.

We won’t even try to ride a horse here that might not be physically up to it. In our attempt to get Sable sound, we brought in vets to x-ray her fetlocks, to try and confirm the diagnosis’ that she arrived with. No damage was found. We also had Sable’s teeth done, we had a chiropractor examine her back. She was deemed sound. Sable does, however, have numerous ‘dents’ in her body, especially her neck. Only the two polo ponies here have these kind of injuries, and it’s reasonable to guess they are the result of mallets. Mallets hitting very hard into horseflesh. Which may also explain Sable’s negative reaction to the idea of being ridden. A saddle appearing could instantly raise her stress level; her head, her eyes, her neck, her back, all tense, upset, ready for flight. I can’t say if she would have ‘hurt me’ because I try and not pick fights with my horses. But now that Sable was cleared for riding physically, the journey back was in her mind, and in our interaction.

As I mentioned, Sable has been here for a year. During that year, we have made progress in little ways. Sable has learned to hang out at liberty in the aisle while I do chores (interacting loose, at liberty, was HUGE for her; “what, no halter?!?”). Sable has learned that she can carry the saddle while eating grain, and nothing bad happens. Sable has learned that brushing can feel nice and doesn’t mean she is going to be ridden (well basically that any human interaction does not mean being ridden). Sable has learned that she doesn’t have to hold her breath waiting for the gear to be pulled out. Sable has learned to nicker for grain, a deep throaty nicker. And Sable even learned to paw at the stall door in anticipation of treats or petting (thanks Violet).

One thing that Sable hadn’t learned was tolerating anyone on a mounting block near her. That crossed the line for her. I have even pushed it a bit, hoping to ‘show’ her that it wouldn’t hurt. With Dan at her head, we asked her to stand and let me lay across her; I swear, I felt an entire world of volcano under my stomach. I got off, seeking a quiet beat to release her but didn’t really get it. So that hasn’t been attempted again. She could not be any more clear about this. Anytime even a bucket is placed beside her and a foot goes on it, she leaves.

Until today. It was a bright sunny, cold morning, and Sable joined me in the aisle while I was cleaning up. I gave her some grain and some hay and brushed her out. Then decided to try the bucket again, with the brush in hand. My focus was just on brushing, and Sable was at liberty, free to leave if she chose. I set the bucket down and kept brushing. I stepped up, took a beat, and kept brushing. I even dared the thought (which she can hear), “Sable, I’m up here and you’re ok!”, and she was. She watched me but kept eating her hay. I even put a tiny bit of weight with my palms, and brushed again. SHE DID NOT CHOOSE TO LEAVE. This probably can’t be fully appreciated without going through nearly a year of her walking away. She didn’t leave, and I brushed her. I did this for about three minutes, then stopped. Got the bucket, and moved away. Elated.

Now I know that most of you horse owners expect to be able to do this. You and your horses are luckier then you know. This isn’t something we can all take for granted. You don’t own horses that were never loved, treated as machines, and then dumped. As Sable was. It’s taking awhile for Sable to form a relationship, or to even form the concept of relationship, and to trust. To begin to re-think what humans are. I am so happy that she will consider it. We will continue to work on it together. And her mane, her long glossy black mane, continues to grow.

It’s been one week, Jed.
The passage of time will continue to stretch, farther from the moment I last scratched your neck. Alas, ah me….

“Believe in your dreams.
Believe in today. Believe that you are loved.
Believe that you make a difference. Believe we can build a better world. Believe when others might not.
Believe there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
Believe that you might be that light for someone else.
Believe that the best is yet to be. Believe in each other.
Believe in yourself. I believe in you.”
~ Kobi Yamada

When I was a child I wished for a horse every day. I thought no one heard me. Now decades later, I am getting every wish, in spades.
I’m wrestling today with making sense of the loss of Jed. Maybe nothing is ordained, maybe all that is in the sky are stars. Maybe what we see is all there is.
But what if….

What if, one long day a year ago, a kind hearted belgian gelding was trying his best to live his life; a life of hard work, basic food, but no medical care. No love. Treated as a piece of machinery on an amish farm, with no regard to his living being. His belgian family was all there, working hard for their entire lives, and when they were old, they would disappear one day on a trailer. No goodbyes, no tears, no comfort. And their life would soon be over. So what if, one cold, desperate night last year, this belgian looked up at the stars, and began to talk to them.

“God”, he began, “I understand that you made everything here, but why is our life so hard? Why aren’t we well treated? We try our best, but I am always hungry and always sore. My feet hurt so much and I am still young. Even my very nose is deformed from the tight halter cutting into my flesh and bone. I am afraid of the long life ahead of me, full of pain. Why aren’t we cared for?”
“Well”, God answered sadly, “I gave man dominion over the earth, but I also gave him free will (and he was supposed to do a better job with both). I can see that you are in much pain and your body is already breaking down, despite your youth. And I can see what a beautiful soul you have. What is your wish?”
“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” shouted the belgian joyfully, thrilled to have someone finally hear him and answer!
“I can do that”, answered God, “but it will come with a lot more pain. I will have to put you into danger in order to get you out. You may not live through it.”
“We work so hard, until our bodies break. Pain, on this earth, I know well”, replied the belgian sadly, “but before I leave this life, I would like to know Love”.

“Very well”, answered God, “you are my creature and you are loved by me, so I will send someone to show you kindness for your days on earth, even if they be short”.
“Thank you”, said the belgian, “I will repay this with all the love in my heart”.

Just maybe, this conversation happened.
Jed foundered irreparably almost a year ago, and was sent to auction to be sold to slaughter. Ironically, he was too sick even for the kill buyers to risk, because he was ready to collapse. No one wanted him that night. But us.

It is worth noting, that if Jed had not been ruined, he would be pulling a plow today and for another 15 years, and we would have never known the joy of him.

Never did a horse so enjoy being touched and petted like Jed. Never was a huge nose so gentle and curious, so willing and open to making friends with every human he met. Never has a horse here so fully embraced the love offered him here. He knew.

Jed it was an honor to call you my friend.

photo of Rene and me with Jed, 11/26/11, photo by Shay Gonen

Our golden boy has been released. He was on borrowed time here, time that was precious to all of us.

“I have but a day?
Then let me live my day.
Love me as if it was a thousandfold,
For indeed,
in your heart I shall remain,
for those thousand days, and beyond.

The love I have known,
the love I take with me, the love I leave behind,
is boundless.”
-D.R. Petrlik

photo adapted from Kit Kat Photography