Scene 1;
A bright spring Saturday, on a clear trail, sitting on horseback. A number is pinned to your back, as well as to the backs of your companions, all also on horseback. Everyone is walking calmly down the trail; everyone, except that is, the horse you are sitting on. His ears pin intermittently and he darts black eyes back towards the one horse following behind, another young gelding that is taking the brunt of your horse’s resentment at the entire day’s endeavor; to ride a competitive trail ride. The moments when your horse is not scowling backwards, he is calmly eyeing the green fields to the right, just beyond a thin row of trees and a thick tangle of barbed wire, and he is gauging how easily it will be to dump you, clear the fence and get to that field. You feel this plotting through the saddle just as clearly as you can feel those powerful muscles underneath you, muscles that you have nurtured, fed, and cared for, for three years. Doesn’t that earn you some respect, some consideration, some KINDNESS from your mount? This is not the moment to realize that it does not. As the situation quickly escalates, or degrades, or disintegrates (whatever word you choose it was not good), the crystal clear awareness that you are out-horsed, and there is no sympathy from the creature beneath you, is not the feeling that you had looked forward to in the months of preparation prior to this day.
Perhaps I should step back.

It was about 3am earlier on said morning that I awakened from a few hours slumber with a start, realizing in a panic that I had not yet printed the health papers for the five horses I was taking to the trail ride in just a few hours. As my exhausted brain outlined the least amount of movements to get to computer, find the documents and send to the printer, there was a nagging memory of someone driving around the countryside in vain, just a few hours earlier that evening, looking for printer cartridges. IN the country at night. We were out of ink, completely overwhelmed by the amount of paperwork that needed printing. You see, we were not just attending the ride with five horses, we were also HOSTING the ride. Hosting our first ever charity ride and not having ever been on one. As I lay in bed at 3am trying to recall why I ever thought this was a good idea, and whether we were even going to be able to print this paperwork or the horses just get disqualified, I did what any exhausted, overwhelmed person would do; I fell back asleep.

6am, and I am awake again, not rested but motivated with that feeling of being behind already in a long day of responsibilities. Long gone were the fantasies of highlighting my hair to match my horse’s mane (yes friends, sadly I did imagine this, just as I imagined getting the parlor painted before guests arrived), as I realized that even a shower was out of my realm of potential this morning. Good thing I like the smell of horse. I look around and the house is nearly empty, as almost everyone else was already gone to the venue, putting up signs, setting up tents, getting coffee, and now I realize, too late, that I hadn’t thought of a ‘crew’ for the horses. The five horses that all need to get caught, haltered, brushed out, and loaded onto a trailer. My bleary eyes cast down to the big green field where said horses are waiting….and one is missing. This wakes me up. My eyes scan the field, the other field, and the other other field for her shape. I follow the gaze of her herd-mates and I spy her, in the neighbors field, somehow magically having stepped through three lines of live electric fence to go and graze where the grass was greener. The first and only time she has pulled this stunt. I grab a halter and head down, the dog following me. The special clean white jods I had purchased and set aside for this special day are splattered immediately by the mud that I splash through to get to the mare, across a stream and through the fence. At least she is sweet and happy to see me, and we get haltered, fence comes down and she is lead back safely through. However. The lead gelding (and subject of the first paragraph) is waiting, ready to charge through the fence opening to that big forbidden field. I pre-empt him, sending the rope in a coil out in his direction and turning him away forcefully; he wheels lightly, insolently even, off the forehand, and in payback for my gesture, he goes after my dog. Never happened before. Within two strides he has caught her and put his entire mouth around her big shepherd body and she cowers in shock and just as quickly, he rolls her, with me shouting and coming up behind, as he knew I would. This horse is too smart. Off he bounces with his retrieved mare, while I am left to check over the frightened hound, who is shaken but intact. Together, muddy, we head back up the hill to find leads and halters for the wild creatures that seem less and less likely a good idea to ride.

8am; still no trailer arrival to take us to the venue. Horses are haltered and acting like civilized beasts for the time being, and my confused riders have returned to the farm to find and hold their horses while we wait. One of the riders is very into essential oils and has brought along a mix that is supposed to be ‘calming’. ‘Here’, she holds it out, ‘put some under your nose’. I dab some on and continue prep. I have managed to print the health papers, and it’s occurred to me that maybe there are some SUPPLIES that I should be bringing along with five horses going out on a trail ride. The car is packed with every saddle, bridle and girth that I think we might need. But what about….water buckets? A mounting block maybe? Hmmm….Not only was I not checking things off the list, I didn’t even have a list. Clearly my organization needs work. In the meantime, I change to black jods, the better to hide the mud that I feel I will continue to see all day.

8:45 am; still no trailer, but one experienced rider informs me that all of my riders (now standing in the field with our horses) need to be at the venue to watch a video in 15 minutes; myself included. What video? I ask, completely befuddled by this, and she insists that all riders need to watch this safety video online or they will hold up the entire ride. I panic. Rush inside and online and am searching the site for this video. I even call the emergency hotline for the official overseeing organization, but they are closed on Saturdays. HOW CAN THEY BE CLOSED ON SATURDAYS WHEN RIDES ARE???? I find no video and dread facing all of the riders waiting, dread telling them that we are canceling the ride. I cannot download and show it if I cannot even find it! Now long gone is the image of tacking up my horse at leisure, the horse that I had been practicing on all week, the horse that I was determined to be a great trail partner with…Now I am just hoping that someone might toss a saddle on him so I can get on in time, assuming the entire ride isn’t cancelled because I haven’t watched some video!!!! The phone rings; never mind. There is in fact, no video.

8:55 am; the trailer arrives. I am ready to go back to bed.

On hour later, we have managed to load, drive and unload all five horses, with the help of an experienced friend who has the knack of laughing at me in a way that feels that it’s ‘with’ me. Situation is feeling back on track. We are trying to get the horses all tacked up and yes, I have forgotten one saddle. And the grill for lunch. Friends are sent back with detailed descriptions of the location of the saddle and the grill, because while I cannot remember to print documents in a timely manner, I do remember the location of eight billion objects throughout three barns and a six bedroom house. We all listen to the rider safety discussion, with my friend Deb serving as the calm Master of Ceremonies, and it’s looking like a real, official, trail ride. We have numbers pinned to our backs! For RF it’s turning into a success. All of the practice rides for the six weeks before seem to be resulting in nice horses and excited riders. Maybe me and my horse can do this after all.

11:00 am; the riders leave on the trail in staggered groups, and we are the last group out. This has given us a chance to get caught up on details, get our cute ‘adopt me’ saddle pads on our horses, and enjoy the beautiful sunny morning. I am riding with four friends who have been at RF every week for over a month as we have worked to get ready; they include our trainer and our vet, both highly skilled riders, I am so glad to have them as we get ready to ride. The busy event site, with trailers and other horses, has been a lot for all of us to absorb…so many elements that just need to be experienced in order to learn. It’s time for us to move out; we all climb into the saddle and turn towards the trail and the ‘start’. I am handed the ‘calming oil’ again, put on my nose and my horses as well. Do I look tense? My first official trail competition! Maybe I won’t die after all!

11:05 am; it doesn’t take long for me to realize that this ride, with this horse, is going to be different then our previous ones. Friends have since observed that I was nervous and think this was part of the cause of what happened, but I was nervous on nearly every ride on that horse, so he was used to that!
Perhaps I should step back…

Remy came out of the kill pens three years prior to this ride, a last minute addition to a load of four horses that the sanctuary was pulling to safety. He nearly shipped to slaughter. He was not one of the four, at first, that we were saving. A very pregnant feral mare was, a mare who foaled out a stillborn babe two days before we were scheduled to pick her up, and then who died herself a day later. She is the subject of another story. We had the trailer pre-arranged for four horses and quite suddenly, we had only three. Remy’s ‘kill buyer’ video showed a quiet, mousy, sad palomino dutifully being kicked into gaits, going up and down a road. He looked so forlorn, so without hope, and there was this spot on our trailer, that we added him. I named him after the famous western painter Frederick Remington because he seemed to possess those classic western looks, and yes, we imagined ourselves riding this horse with ease. Ha.

Remy arrived a few days later, thin and sick. He got sicker as time passed, with the worst case of strangles I had seen, bursting on the side of his skull and taking more then a month to resolve. He looked like someone had shot him in the head. But his spirits continued a steady upward climb and his infectious personality quickly made him a barn favorite. Remy was late teens, with some dropping already to his back, clearly a seasoned, trained western horse, but one that had soured. Too much work? Back pain? Hard to say. Remy recovered his health and was given time to be a horse, make friends, become at home, and learn to interact safely on the ground. He was consistently a delight. Then we began exploring his riding skills.

Remy under saddle made me want to cry. I was not on him for his first official ride, but under saddle, moving out as told, his body spoke of the pain and stress he had endured. He hated riding, he dreaded the pain he anticipated. My first reaction was to not ride him ever again. Where would I be now, dear reader, without the rich inspiration that Remy has provided me for this tale? We chose a different path. Instead of instantly retiring Remy, we decided to continue with very short, 5-10 minute rides, to start to show him that we were not going to abuse him, that gentle rides could be something we could all enjoy. And in the ring, moving cautiously around, Remy seemed to relax.

He was a natural leader with the other horses, a flirt with females of any species and a good buddy to the boys. He filled out, muscling into an impressive example of his quarter-horse heritage. He was at home.

When a new adopter was having challenges with their pair of new young horses, I volunteered Remy to step in and be the guardian ‘uncle’ of the situation. I knew I would miss him but also expected the family would fall in love, and that Remy was wise enough to know when he had a good thing. All of that happened, and there may have been the end to this tale, except stories can take turns of their own. This wonderful family experienced their own tragedy, which is not the subject of this story, but the three horses came back safely to Rosemary Farm. Remy was set up in a different area and put in charge of a new group of mares. Happy Remy.

Summer came and Remy enjoyed his space by the house and the extra privilege that it entitled, including, but not limited to, participating in family picnics, sticking his nose in my coleslaw, and other delights. He explored stepping onto the porch and breaking into every barn on the property. He loudly called when he wanted something. He delighted everyone.

We are now up to the summer of 2012; A new family came along and Remy was a strong candidate for adoption. He had ridden lightly at the previous home and seemed to relax. The new family’s kids rode him, bitless and quiet with his main mare, and seemed a good match. I cautioned that the bit was ‘fightin’ words’ to this horse and that he needed to stay with his mare on rides. Alas, my words were not heard. The first ride at his new home was with a bit and ridden solo and by all accounts, it was not pretty. Rodeo show is how it was described. Remy came back to RF soon after, bearing some grudges.
I took him off the active riding list and let him be a horse.

Summer to fall to winter, and Remy gets a few new mares for his herd. The more ridable, adoptable mares are with him. They winter quietly, with lots of attention, as conversation turns to promoting our best riding horses for adoption. What about Remy? We know he has skill, is he in pain or is he feeling better now? One of the best riders I know agrees to take him for a spin.

Bitless, spurless, crop-less, with a rare combination of skill and kindness, Deb rides Remy. Historic ride. He runs through an impressive roster of skills designed to unseat, undermine, or otherwise deposit her on the ground; he won’t go forward, she circles him, he goes up, she gets his hind in gear, he bolts, she changes direction….for every attempt she provides a solution and a direction, and when he finally moves forward, she loves on him with such conviction that he was practically purring. I nearly cried with joy. He moved so beautifully, so freely, no pain and such lightness and skill! I did not realize the level of skill and experience that Remy possessed, waiting to be partnered and unleashed. Alas the woman writing this is not named Deb, or the trail ride would have likely concluded without incident. Not many have Deb’s skill. But on that day, she was assigned Remy as her mount for the ride.

You can guess by now that I would not be telling this tale if that plan has stayed in place. Deb was already signed up to be in charge of the Trail Ride and legally could not ride as well. So she had to choose. I think I can go out on a limb here and say that she would have rather been in the saddle that day, but being the only one of us who had even BEEN on a competitive ride, it really made the most sense for her to stay in charge of that, and we would work out the rider roster without her. And in this tale, I forgot to mention that the day before her historic ride on Remy, I had actually come off of another horse, which is another tale for another time. I clung on long enough to come off the side, but then tumbled hard down a hill and into another horse. My wrist was not broken but unusable. Most of the month before our official ride it was braced and wrapped, elevated and iced throughout each day. I never said I had good timing, and altho’ I was determined to ride, I was not on a horse for most of that month.

Have you heard the one about ‘setting up for success’?

One month before the ride; Each week we are meeting here with a group of riders, switching mounts and sorting out assignments as we extend the rides and the challenges bit by bit. Mostly I am on the ground. A few horses are eliminated, riders come and go, the ride is taking form. It’s becoming clear that there is no one else that I trust on Remy and that it’s up to me. I have a clear image of Remy in a Trigger-type rear, with Deb on his back, surrounded by pines trees, over a cliff edge, with the blue mountains in the background. As impressive as it was, I didn’t want that to be me (I don’t think Deb would care to repeat that either). As our last big group preparation, we organized a trailer ride to the event site the weekend before, and altho’ I haven’t ridden Remy since…? I ride him out on the trail. The same five horses and nearly the same rider line-up as we were going to have on the ‘Big Day’. Remy and I ride in the front, beside the big standie Hazy riding with Deb. Remy is disappointed that I don’t want to really move out, but he sighs and rolls with it. I am nervous but we have a good ride, walking and trotting and turning and stopping, basic things that one likes to be able to count on. It was shaping up.

Six days before; I ride Remy every other day. First western, then with a brilliant stroke of inspiration (courtesy of Deb) I switch to an english saddle, which was my childhood training. The last ride, the day before the competition, I found my mojo; softness and willingness in both me and the horse, everything one could want. The Ride was on!

Now for those who aren’t familiar with competitive trail riding, it is more of a skilled based, obstacle event rather then a race. Riders finish at their own pace, while competing for points gained when they come across each obstacle. Things like picking up a coat from a tree, or stepping around logs, or through water, are some of the types of things that are considered obstacles and riders get up to 10 points at each one. There are LOTS of other things that can challenge one on a trail ride however, things that don’t get ‘points’ but seem awfully important in the moment! Scary things, like guiding your horse past a mini horse that periodically pops out of it’s house like a surprise pinball machine, or the loose goat wandering the trail to interfere with your progress, or having to strip the tack off your horse and re-saddle another in the middle of the trail, mounting a new horse from the off-side while balanced on a crumbling log (using only one hand because the other is in a brace), or fighting through tree branches and brambles that your horse has run you into …that stuff doesn’t get points. But that’s all of the fun stuff I got to experience on my ride that day with Remy.

Which brings us back to Scene 1; and I am sitting on a horse that has become protective of his mares, annoyed at the less then competent rider on his back, and basically over this entire ride. He stops; he pulls to the right; I pull him back to the left; he backs, he pivots, he pops up, he turns into the brush towards that field on the other side of the barbed wire, and he gets very very angry as I try badly to correct these actions. I knew enough to thwart him but not enough to offer solutions, and in truth, I forgot most of my recent training. At one point as I am fighting and squeal for help, we were perched over an embankment and very near disaster. Somehow, we backed out and I asked for just one last thing; stand for two seconds and I am OFF your back. Remy gave me the two seconds and shaking and scared, I dismounted. “Here, have some calming oil”, and I poured it over my hands.

My wonderful friend Liz, a much more skilled rider, immediately offered to switch horses, and so both horses were stripped down on the trail, gear was swapped, and we both re-mounted. By then, Remy was in such a state that he was unmanageable, and after a short minute she too, got off. I rode her mount, Hazy, for a short while; she is a green but willing standardbred mare on her first public trail ride. We bopped along until, in the distance, we see a paint horse trotting in our direction. She stops. I ask gently for forward. Her eyes widen and she says loudly, “there’s a horse coming at us!” “Don’t worry Hazy, they will pass”…I try and communicate to her. Hazy is bunching underneath me for flight, “YOU DON”T UNDERSTAND!” she seemed to say, “HE IS RUNNING THE WRONG WAY!”…and then it occurs to me that a racehorse has never experienced a horse running past in the opposite direction. That thought was quickly followed by, ‘Helluva time to recognize this problem’. It was all I could do to keep her from not tearing off in the other direction.

It was clear that the better rider needed to offer this green mare a more supportive ride, and that rider was walking my errant mount. So we switched again, saddles off, riders swap places, and I am in charge again of Remy. “Just try it, Remy”, I warned him, and on the ground my skills are seasoned. Remy took heed and walked calmly with me, while we escorted our friends to a few more obstacles and then turned and walked all the way back. Oil smears covering my hands and nose.

So we did complete our first official trail ride. We were disqualified for walking, but I don’t care. Personally I think we were shorted points for all of the amazing things that we did accomplish. Liz commented, as we were nearly done, that most of the show horses that she knows could not have handled all of the surprises that ours experienced that day. There really is no such thing as JUST a trail horse. It combines all the skills of communication, partnership and ability to work through challenges that any horse/rider team could wish for, and some one would rather not wish for! My next ride will be on one of the easier horses. But mark my words, I will become the rider that Remy needs me to be. He did not fail, he was fabulous as ever. It’s never the horses fault.

OHHHHH..
Sometimes my best thoughts happen in the wee hours.
And this morning, my Phantom dilemma flipped over and all was clear.
This isn’t Phantom’s dilemma, this is MY dilemma with Phantom.
The Phantom is just The Phantom.

Many caring friends have written in to say, ‘please, release him from his torment’. ‘get him out of his pain’. And I keep thinking, and sharing, He is HAPPY when out with the other horses. AND he does trust me. He has a hard time trusting others, especially when in his stall, which he has a love/hate relationship with. He seeks the solitude but fears the entrapment. So how many of us souls have been burned in our bodies or our hearts, and cannot trust certain situations, people or places? I’m going to hazard most have. Most of us have our limitations with the world. And do you act in a threatening manner when that place in your head is pushed? Hmmm? Do you push people away, or not do things out of fear of getting hurt?
Granted, when Phantom pushes someone away, there is a 1,200 horse behaving in a way that is dangerous to humans. THAT is what has to be solved.

I wrote once that horses, or all living creatures, have a ‘button’. The trick to getting along is finding that button. Then not pushing it.

I will never get over some past events myself, and they have left scars and shaped my choices about how I live. Same with Phantom. I, however, am free to structure my life so as to either avoid, or make some peace with, those pains. And then I go on. I find happiness anyway. I can still laugh and eat and play and think and be alive. So why can’t Phantom?
He is not ‘free’.
Because right now, our limitations at RF are bumping up into Phantom’s ‘button’. He is trying to make peace, live with his pains, and laugh and eat and play and think and be alive. If we could just give him some space then he wouldn’t need to keep snapping! He wouldn’t need to keep saying,
“Hey, I like you but STOP PRESSING MY BUTTON!”.
This is not Phantom’s problem, this is our problem.
That is why I have been feeling so sick about the idea of putting him down.
Within the limitations of his past and his scars, Phantom is doing a terrific job of getting along. We do have a problem, that is true. The problem is that what we have to offer Phantom does not entirely work with what he can handle. IF we had a different facility, if we had the RF of five years hence, we could make changes and be at peace with him. Obviously we cannot.

Recognizing that we cannot make it work with Phantom is important, but it’s also important to separate whether ‘we’ are the ones unhappy, or he is.
In this case, Phantom is being offered a wonderful gift, that I believe will solve our problem. He has been invited to join Proud Spirit Sanctuary. This beautiful peaceful place, run by Melanie and Jim Bowles, is one of the oldest sanctuaries in the US. This is an amazing and generous offer for both of us. This sanctuary has long been the place I turn to for answers for RF, and has guided us as we have grown. It’s a true sanctuary; No adoptions, no people at close quarters. No hard winters (those really bug Phantom). No fenced in areas to get trapped in, no shelters or stalls to get cornered in. LOTS of horses, all ages and sizes, that break naturally into smaller herd groups. Phantom is big and handsome, some mare will surely fancy him. Some gelding will surely want to groom together. No one will press his button.

As much as I am attached to Phantom, I have observed that horses want one thing more then anything else, and that is other horses. Then food, shelter, play and he rest of life. But it all begins with the other horses.

It’s never the horses’ fault.
Phantom has limitations and I have limitations, and RF has limitations. The only one tormented right now is me. Not Phantom. And my torment is ending now that I see that.

I am presenting this to the RF Board, and I am also asking everyone out there. Can we please let Phantom to go to Proud Spirit?
Can you help me get him there?

Here’s a little video of Miranda and Zoey last fall; watch as about halfway though, Phantom spies the brand new mares running through the field. Does that happy gelding look like he would be scared to join a bunch of horses?
Does that flagging tail speak of misery?

(click link just below this to view video; Phantom is the big handsome one wearing the dark coat)
Miranda&Zoey

Like a horse yenta, we try to predict the future for our horses. Usually this involves determining IF a horse is best served by a private home and family, or if staying here is what is best for them. In Phantom’s case, these questions have turned to a new level of sobriety.

As regular readers know, we have struggled to help this damaged soul find some internal peace, and with that, some external safety for all of us. This horse has clearly suffered at the hands of abusive owners and now he reflects this back out to the world. He is trying so hard. Big, handsome, and sound, he is one of the lucky ones to get a chance at lifetime sanctuary, and he tries to get along.

After his behaviour worsened a few months ago, we were ready to put him down, and I wrote out in despair. Many many supporters replied with ideas, and a few were implemented. I put Phantom on an anti-psychotic drug. I had an animal communicator speak to him. I experimented with essential oils. And I took over his handling morning and night. Something, or everything, helped, and Phantom and I have found some balance again, between us.

But Phantom cannot maintain this with the rest of the world, even our little world here. The other humans are threatened and challenged, and there is legitimate concern for innocent visitors, of which there are many. Two days ago he seemed to really regress, and the question was raised again. Is the danger of keeping an unstable personality worth the risk to the safety of the sanctuary humans?

Handling horses is inherently a dangerous activity. Flight animals that can spook at a blowing bag, and 6-10 times larger then us, injuries happen (she types, with one hand, because of a recent injury). And that danger is with horses that generally like us. One that isn’t so sure, one with shadows and demons, is a whole other level of risk. A level of risk that it is apparent we cannot afford to take here anymore.

A few months ago, Phantom was offered a spot with another sanctuary. I don’t even know if the offer is still valid. It’s a true sanctuary with no adoptions, much less visitors, no stalls and mild weather, the kind of place I hope that RF evolves into, eventually. These different elements, and the very change, are now under active debate with the Board of Directors at RF, as to whether this would truly be a kind option for Phantom or another nightmare. This is where that yenta stuff comes into play. Would Phantom be able to make the change, to an entire new herd of horses, a new landscape, and a new life? Would he flourish or would he freak out? And, would our supporters be willing to contribute to his move there, several states away? Not a small cost but the last one we would have with Phantom. As a sanctuary, isn’t is our mission to provide whatever we can to help our charges? Which answer is true ‘help’ at this point?
Sincere questions to reflect upon.

I am actually quite sick over it, as I attempt to separate my feelings and determine what is best for this abused horse. Today I am leaning towards giving him the chance to make the move. It’s easy to do today, after he greeted me quietly this morning, and I walked him with no halter, to the barn door and turned him peacefully out. Yesterday, his snarling face was a different challenge. He is my horse, he trusts me to take care of him. So either way then, I am going to lose my horse. I cannot explain to him this choice. I cannot entirely make his nightmares go away… even tho I have now absorbed more then a few myself as I struggle to give us both some peace.

When I share auction stories, I want you to understand that I don’t blame the auction house for the state of things; don’t you imagine that they wish that there were lots of horses selling for lots of money? I think it’s a safe bet that they would. Alas, that is not the reality today.

When I share auction stories, I also ask that you remember me with some empathy. I simply cannot buy them all. Adoptions are slow; people buy from online programs that these very dealers supply extra horses to, while still selling trucks full of horses that you never see, to slaughter. If we had more adoptions, I could have bought more tonight. I say this because you may hate me for the horses that I watched sell to kill.

Auction was very small tonight, which was surprising. Winter sales are always difficult to predict; tonight was a record low, with just 18 horses presented for sale. I walked the quiet, empty aisles that I have seen packed with horses in the past. This spot here is where i met Jed, and there is where I first saw Farrah, and there is where Finn was confined. In the back area was where I met Molly, and her two children, several years ago; tonight was another mother, a sorrel QH and her two daughters, in the same spot and the same danger. Feral, with just ropes tied onto them. Such a flashback. The older one was a two year old lookalike to her momma, and the younger was a paint filly, about 8 months old. Clearly the two daughters were un-handled and scared. I spent some time near them, and it seemed that the mare had been trained once, and understood petting. I really wanted to bring them home. I had no space that could safely isolate three horses. Bringing home a horse that I cannot isolate endangers the entire herd. Could I choose one of them? I would have to see if there were other buyers, but in my heart I knew it was not likely.

I walked down to the dark aisle, nearly empty; three solitary horses looking scared. The largest was a chestnut gelding, a broken horse, very tall and thin, standing funny, and very much in pain. He was so big I wondered if he might have some draft blood, and he certainly looked as if he had been working the past few years, hard. He was over at the knees, with built up ice and mud in hard balls inside his front shoes, creating painful wedges that he could hard stand upon. He was very thin. He wanted contact, but was also snappish, erratic, scared. I tried petting him, he wanted help. Ears back again. I am alone in the dark aisle. It is scary. I have to back away and vow to come back and try again to see if I could reach him. But I knew his chances were up.

Across from him, a small black pony, in the spot that I always think of as the ‘troubled pony’ spot. I have saved two that were tied there; Melody and Cisco, both troubled ponies that are likely ‘forever horses’ at the sanctuary. This pony looked healthy, fuzzy black, with an engaging eye, and the few people there were interested. Pony didn’t need me. Another pony, a paint, near the first, also a reasonable chance of finding a home that night, where there were actually more buyers then horses. That was it for that aisle, just three.

In the draft aisle, there were two belgian geldings, clearly work horses. Cautious and huge. I will be honest that I did not spend a lot of time with them, I literally have no where to put one. Our one quarantine stall would not hold one of those boys. They were ok weight and there were others looking, so I moved on. Two ponies in that aisle, a chestnut mare who dared me to come near her, and another friendly pony who invited me to. And that was it for that aisle.

The back aisle is where the put the horses that are really thin, ugly, or hard to handle. That is where I saw a chestnut gelding. Very thin, rainrot covering his bony back, standing quietly. Crest of his neck fallen, he waited. I walked over slowly and he turned he head to gaze at me. Kind eye, open face, returned my greeting and allowed me into his space. I liked this one and he needed help. Cautiously I tried a few simple tests; asking for a step backwards, then forwards, scratching various places and looking for anger or aggression. Truth be told, I get scared, too, and I understand the potential power of these horses. So I look for the explosions first. He seemed fine with all; when near his head, I could smell infection; a tooth issue and something we can get fixed. When I did step away, his eyes followed me, asking for help. Done. He was on the short list.

While I was meeting this nice chestnut, I was across the bars from the other chestnut, the big one in pain. From this vantage, I could get closer to his head more safely. I brought him into me, and slowly flipped his lip. Well, whaddya know? An old thoroughbred. Looked like an “S” year, a 1989 model. Poor poor fellow. How do I buy them all? I petted him quietly for a few minutes. I could give him that at least.

The only other horse in this aisle was a….what? Mule? Youngster? Tall, dark, thin and loud, Hollering, wanting contact, pawing the ground, this black equine wanted OUT of there. He was in fact, a horse, with a very long thin face and longish ears, long legs, he was young…something was wrong with him…His butt was way too high and his back curved up, and his fetlocks looked odd….I got to his head and was able to give him a good hard rub on his forehead and comfort him somewhat. Nice boy, but distracted and anxious and truth, he was doomed. Clearly physical defects had landed him here and behaviour concerns had tied him at the end, out of reach of others. Only a miracle could save him now. And yes, dear reader, I was there to be a miracle for one, but could not be a miracle for all. Telling his story was all I could offer this one.

Up top, in the ‘nice’ aisle, there were about six riding horses. I didn’t investigate them further, they would find homes tonight. There was a mini, he would find a home. And that was it.

Soon enough, they brought up the belgians and the chestnut gelding that I liked, as well as the broken chestnut gelding, to start the show. I followed to be sure I had the numbers right, and stopped by the head of the friendly one, to let him know I was there. A man stepped up, watching me, and said, “I used to own this horse”. Really? “Yes, it was awhile ago and I almost didn’t recognize him. He’s a terrific horse, you can ride him anywhere.” What happened to him? “I don’t know”, he said….How old is he? “About 16 or 18…he would be a good one to save”….Does everyone know me at auction now, or was that just a remark? We were parted by the sea of things before I learned any more.

The belgians had run the floor already while we were talking, and I saw the broken chestnut dragging himself around in front of the audience. He looked beyond tired, he wanted out. Every bone ached as he moved heavily, wondering what torment awaited him next. I did not bid. Forgive me. He sold to the renderer for $200. By the time I am writing this, he is likely mercifully dead.

There is no time to mourn or process at auction. The next horse was the kind gelding. Bidding started immediately at $60 and the renderer and KB exchanged a few bids while I waved my card, unseen! I waved vigorously, and the finally noticed me, surprised that anyone else wanted in on this used up horse, and I held it up as bidding climbed in $10 increments. At $100, he stopped, and we won him for $110. I say ‘WE’ because it is all of RF who makes this happen. He was ours and he was safe.

I watched the ponies sell, and then, the family of three. Stop reading now if you want to end with the happy ending.

The mare was able to be lead onto the floor, but neither of her children had been given the courtesy of basic training. It was so like watching our Molly on the same floor a few years back. The two children clung close while the mother tried to provide comfort. The auctioned her first. Some minor bidding. She sold to the kill buyer for $200. They walked her away, separating the two youngsters and leaving them on the viewing floor, while the mother led through the door and it closed behind her. Bidding next on the two year old, and the auctioneer really tried to make a case for her, ready to train, sound and young. Nothing. She sold with her mother for the same price, joining her in the kill pen in back. Last was the chestnut paint filly, so like our Jess that they could be twins. There was bidding for this small cute girl, and she sold privately for $100. She will never see her family again, and neither will I. In my minds eye, I can picture them now, as they begin their journey to slaughter.

I watched the remaining horses with a heavy heart. One riding horse, a beautifully trained ranch horse, sold for $1,020, which was great to see. He was a steal at that price, and his new family looked very nice and excited about him. Late in the auction they brought out the black horse, described as a two year old standardbred. He was not well, he could not walk properly, he could not stand properly, he had no handling or training. Yes, he sold to kill. He will be released soon from that body, at least. But how I wish his owners had done him that courtesy before auction. Economics should never outweigh ethics, but sadly, for some, they do.

The last horse was a surprise; he was dark, with the same thinness and rainrot as our new boy. Where had he been? Possibly a stallion kept in the back? I was caught offguard. I watched him on the floor and didn’t hear anything said as I read the number, and realized it was consecutive with our horse; a pasture mate. But where had he been? I was in the back now, already paid, and before I could even process, he was sold. To the renderer. His brief chance was over.

When I went to collect my new horse in the back, I could not find him. I was not allowed in the now ‘restricted’ areas, but I could see him there. The nice guy trying to find my horse would not listen and had to go through all the others before believing me, and finding our horse back with the other two sold to the renderer. I untied him and took the lead.  No longer alone at auction, together we walked out to a very different future. As an afterthought, I flipped his lip. Well whaddya know, another OTTB. So more info will be forthcoming.

Focusing forward is the only way to survive watching this tragedy of humanity replay every few weeks. Focusing on the saves. I’ll be adding new photos of our handsome new gelding, so you can see a tiny bit of what I see, and share in a huge part of the good that we manage.

Tired doesn’t describe it. Even discouraged doesn’t describe it. As I drove home, I was thinking how I don’t cry anymore at auction. And then it hit me. And I had to pull over.

Today is a new day. It must be.

postscript; our new boy had been identified as the 20 yo OTTB ‘Rexo”, a grandson of Northern Dancer, who earned over $26k on the track. Where has he been since his last race 12 years ago? That will likely remain a mystery.

Apollo with Sawer and Hamlet

SUPER HEROS!
Hamlet, Sawyer, Apollo, Noah and Picasso

Sawyer and Apollo

Good-bye Apollo. You’ll be missed.

In the past two weeks, I have written privately to several other rescuers, to ask their advice. The nearly universal response went something like this;
“I haven’t shared this, it was too painful….but yes, there have been a few horses that I could not get through to….Horses so damaged emotionally, or too wild, too far gone, to exist in peace. I had to let the horse go. It was heartbreaking for me. It’s also such a difficult experience to talk about, but it really seemed like the only choice.”
I don’t want to not talk about it. I know that some will disagree. But we are finding ourselves at this place with a horse.

This is about The Phantom.

Phantom was presented at auction nearly three years ago, a big beautiful grey gelding, said to be a ‘camp horse’, but it was at the beginning of camp season. I first saw him on the auction floor, being ridden harshly but handling it. His eye was dripping out of his face. Of course, no one but the kill buyers bid. I did not bid. He was not on my short list, and I was holding my one spot for a horse still to come to the floor. Phantom sold to kill. My other possible saves came to the floor one by one, and found private buyers. It was a rare night when I was going home empty handed. The farm hand with me begged for Phantom’s life…”Please buy him back from kill, please!”. So I went to the dealer, offered him a small profit, and bought a horse without actually meeting him, violating another of my rules.

I found the horse in the back, getting his coggins drawn, and walked him out with the conspiratorial pride that I always feel walking a horse to safety. I was confronted by the man who drove him to auction, who was angry that I had the horse. “That horse should go to kill” he pronounced. I asked for any more info but he would not talk.  The Phantom and I walked out to an unknown future.

It was a rocky start; Remy was leading the band at the time with Violet, and Phantom was doing his quarantine nearby….too nearby for Remy’s liking. He broke through the double fencing and chased Phantom out of his private field. Then out of the main field, and down the road that Phantom had never been on. We found him cut up and scared in the morning, and I immediately reached out to a friend to foster the Phantom and get him started.

At first, it went well. Phantom was wildly insecure, and would attach himself to a horse and not let go. He attached himself to a mare at this friends, and was taken on a few trail rides. He tried, but clearly, he had a hard past. He was used to being beaten and was so defensive that it became offensive. Progress was slow. Phantom came back to RF and settled in.

I learned a lot about him, as fall became winter. I learned that he had been loved. He blanketed well, he trimmed well, and he enjoyed the safety of a stall. It’s been hard to sort through his damage and find lines of mutual safety. Reaching towards him, pulling back, breathing slow, making mistakes, and starting again. We seemed to settle in. As spring turned to summer, it seemed we were on a good path. We had his ruined eye removed, and talked about the possibility of finding him the right home, perhaps as a hubby horse in part of a small band.

We require meeting here at the farm before an adoption, and that was even more important for the emotional and needy Phantom. A family stepped forward, sure that he was the right match for them. I had them visit three times ,and tried to be clear about the ‘good and the bad’ of this boy. It seemed a really solid chance for him, we were all so hopeful. Phantom made the short journey to their home this past summer, with great fanfare and great hopes. He was on our usual ‘foster to adopt’ contract. I kept hearing how well it was going, and so it was a huge surprise when shortly thereafter, I heard he was coming home. It turns out that he had bit two of the family, hard. They had been trying to deal with it, and I understand. But it had backfired.
Phantom returned to Rf a changed horse. He was wound and angry. I do not believe the family was bad to him, but the experience was bad, their care notwithstanding. It was days before I could even touch him, letting him run with the herd and come back to earth. Slowly, routines were re-established. Being near Phantom can be a challenge. Sometimes it’s like there is a buzzing, like an e-flat, a tension….We have learned to maneuver around each other, and he is happiest with his stall and his routine. Or I guess I should say, “I” have learned. He has continued to bite, snap, and challenge other caregivers at the sanctuary. I feel like I am ‘telling on him’ but really it’s about sharing the truth. The Phantom is a dangerous horse.

I wish I knew who used to own him, but I would probably be mad at them. Where are they now? Where are the people who raised him as a handsome grey colt, who trained him to ride, who enjoyed him for years? I am sure that there is a ‘reason’ but sometimes I get resentful, which is also why I try to not think too much about the past. He is here and he is what he is. He ‘wants’ to be a good horse, but he seems incapable. Personally I believe that he suffered greatly at the hands of someone who beat the crap out of him. Personally I believe that he is a hero in his way, that he has tried and tried to get along. He cannot get back his fear, which flares up without stopping or warning, and his protection, which immediately follows the fear, and manifests itself in flattened ears and an audible growl, even at the person who a minute ago, brought him grain and water. Even at the person speaking softly to him.

It seems that a 1,300 lb insane horse is not safe for the farm. It’s been explained to me that he is a liability, and a danger. He is moderately happy, but it’s at a cost to the other horses and people here. Our mission is “to rescue horses in need, and protect them for life”. I didn’t realize when I wrote those words, how many lives would be protected until we guided them to their end. The Phantom is as ill as our other hospice horses. I guess I have been waiting for him to ‘do’ something to help make this easier. I cannot wait for another close call. I need to be the friend in charge.

I thought about writing this after Phantom was gone, but I’m putting it out there now. I know that there will be people who disagree. And maybe someone with a new idea that I have not tried. We have tried meds, herbs, and extensive training. We ask little of him, he is not been ridden or worked. He lives in a safe stall at night and turned out on 14 acres during the day with a herd. I have tried everything within my skill and resources. I am out of safe options. I need to help him now to a safe closure.

These were the mini-blogs from our Round Pen Fundraiser! Chip in is going away and I wanted to record them somewhere. Zak is finally using and enjoying his wonderful round pen.

our regular page…

some folks have asked for the RF support page, it’s located at www.rosemaryfarm.org/support

Mention Zak and we will add it to his monthly support

or get one of the new 2013 calendar, or an RF hat…please visit www.rosemaryfarm.org/shoppe

Posted November 22, 2012 10:53amdelete
THANKYOU!!
I was down taking Zak for a walk when we reached our goal to buy a used round pen for him…I took him into another field and did some lead line lunging, and took him to a stream to drink. He is restless today. He really enjoyed the “Midnight Snacks” homemade treats from our friend Renee Breit! It’s a challenge, but we love him. We are so excited and grateful to you all! Zak is not the easiest horse to work with, through no fault of his own. He is a bit depressed; until recently he was living alone as a stallion, blind and untrained. He was cared for, we mean no disrespect to his former family, because they really tried to help him. They were the first step in getting him here. Then our friend Ashleigh, and Gwen stepped in, got him safe to RF. Now we need to continue. He needs increased movement to learn how to move, to build muscle, to understand verbal commands and the ‘feel’ of the line. We are determined to continue to improve his life.
THANK YOU to everyone who believes in Zak.
Any further donations will go towards his basic care, since Zak does not have a monthly sponsor.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Posted November 22, 2012 10:46amdelete
Warehousing
What happens to many horses at rescues; not ALL rescues of course, and not because of lack of love…but lack of training, and the lack of space and facilities to turn a horse around, and prepared to be ‘someone’s horse’. Blind horses especially fall into the category of ‘useless’. There is no reason Zak should be useless! He Wants to run, and he Needs human eyes to help him, so, he is even more motivated to connect.
This round pen area for Zak is not just a luxury; it is his ticket to increased movement, therefore increased muscle, calmness, and confidence. It is our crucial tool to helping him become ‘someone’s horse’.

Here’s a youtube video of Zak being run in the field.

Posted November 21, 2012 7:57am
Zak and the training challenge
Imagine falling as a young child and going blind. Imagine that you are also mute. You can ear well, and smell everything, and your body is young and strong, but the world is dark. That is the situation for our Zak, a three year old gelding that we welcomed a few months ago. He was actually a stallion then, so first things first! Now gelded, he has begun training here at RF. We expect him to be a wonderful trail and driving horse one day, because he so wants to move and is so responsive to having someone on the line, becoming his ‘eyes’. Zak is not always easy to handle; he has been frustrated by confinement that the blindness has begun. We are trying to change that. Aside from daily training, we need to set Zak up with a larger area to move at liberty. This round pen will be that area, attached to his current 15 x 30 indoor space. A young boy needs to move! Can you help us fund this for Zak?

That IS the question we hear a lot!
Our sanctuary is in the catskill mountains of New York. It’s cold and snowy all winter. The blanket question comes up often. We have found that there is no one set rule or temperature for when and who we blanket our horse population. But, here are some of the factors that we use in determining when deciding;

Horses size, health, history, and shelter availability, as well as the entire weather forecast, not just the temp, are factors we consider. Some of our horses have mystery backgrounds, coming from auction and before that, who knows? Were they stalled, or were the from the south? We watch the horse as temps drop to determine their comfort level. The standie in this photo, Hannah, has not grown much of a winter coat, while her buddy Hazy, also a standie, has. Hazy has lived her entire life in the area, but Hannah has travelled a lot, and we don’t know where she was last before we saved her at auction. Different horse, same breed, different reaction to the temps.

Some of our horses, frankly, cannot be blanketed. They are untrained and it is dangerous. It’s worse to have a blanket go awry then it is to leave a horse without one. In those cases we go to extra lengths to insure that the horse can get into, and stay in, available shelter. Zak is a current case in point.
Is the horse underweight or older, or fighting off something that is using their body resources? Are they standing still because of a health concern? Are they recovering from starvation? Those horses usually get blanketed, like Ben was this year, and Oliver was last year.
What shelter is available to that horse? All have shelter at all times. Some shelters and some fields are better then others. Molly’s band has a 50 x 100 ft pole barn for shelter, split into huge sections, so they stay warm and cozy in nearly all weather. However, the smaller members of the band may get kicked out, so they might get a blanket if it’s ugly out. Even when it got -20 here, Molly and company eschewed blankets. The two OTTB’s in her band, however, welcome them!
Violet’s band lives in a different field, that is higher up with more wind, plus the shelters are much smaller, so they will get blanketed more quickly. Last week when the temps were in the 20′s for the first time, with high wind and nastiness coming down, even the drafties were blanketed. Today, however, it’s only 15 out but sunny and still, so no one is blanketed.
A healthy horse, with the ability to either move at will or find shelter at will, generally will grow a good enough coat to withstand the weather, and will not need a man-made one. However, we do accommodate.
How is that for clear as mud!

Every year we say, ‘we’ve grown’! So why wreck a tradition; We’ve grown!
2012 is the year we made it legal; our private efforts for three years became a legal NYS charity and then a legal 501c-3 charity. All donations are now deductible within the limits of the law!

Our horse herds grew this year, with lots of horses in need arriving at the farm. We also had a number of adoptions, and a few horses that we welcomed already broken, that received a final beautiful chapter of life before crossing the rainbow bridge. Our friends who have been along for the ride understand that it was not as tidy as that sentence makes it seem. But let’s focus on the love.

In 2012 we have welcomed, Glory, Oberon, Gypsy & Bibi, Clover & Cooper, Magpie, Hannah, Hazy, Maudie, Basil, Zak, Chance, Jet, Giovanni, Razzle, Didi, Miranda, Ava & Jess, Zoey, Ben and Behr. That’s 23. So far. Of that 23 there were THREE mare/foal pairs, untrained young babies not properly prepared for separation; here they are allowed longer time together, for an easier weaning that is more natural, more gentle, and much safer.
We also welcomed back three horses; Remy, Casper and Heidi. They were an adopted herd group that needed to come back here, and were happily welcomed, as is their human family. Tragedy can strike anyone, and our contract helps all by providing a forever net for the horses. Isn’t that wonderful?

Adopted out this year 2012; Frodo, Glory, Giovanni, Jet, Faline, Heidi, Casper, Sparrow, Magpie, Basil and Ivy. That’s 11 adoptions. So far!

We welcomed, and returned, a pair of older horses in need. (anyone remember the clyde and warmblood team? And my GIANT bruise from getting kicked?)…the lesson there was an important one; a horse would much rather live out it’s life at home. The family was hurting financially and asked us to welcome their two well behaved older horses. We agreed. The horses did not. It was clear they were very unhappy, especially when the gelding kicked me to get away. Discussion with the family, who missed them terribly in that week, and they re-worked some priorities to find a way to keep the horses. What a great learning week that was, and how wonderful that the family cared so much. The horses were whinnying from inside the trailer on the way home. Now, do we count them in our horse tally?

This year we let go of Midnight, Oberon, Razzle, and Didi. All four arrived to us damaged, and we nursed all four along, giving them medical care, food and love, until it was clear that the pain was too great. That is what you do for a friend. We are facing the possibility of losing two more in the near future (the subject of another blog). We are confronted with more questions of care, and ethics, and balancing quality of life issues, then a normal horse owner. It’s because of the horses we welcome. But look at how beautiful they are! Even a horse that gets a short time here is loved. That can’t be but good.

(postscript; added January 1, 2013; on Dec 31, several days after writing this post, we suddenly lost one of our newer horses, a senior named Ben. At least 32 years old and a bag of bones, Ben had a very strong will to live and was super sweet and grateful for his care. Ben was with us for two months and was blossoming. His sudden death, overnight in his stall, was a shock to us, but was probably a blessing to him. Who doesn’t want to be tucked into bed, after a big meal, and kissed and told they are loved, and then a quick death? So for Ben, for his last two months, he was loved. While it’s still very raw for me personally, I am so grateful that he was here.)

This year the Christmas colts have grown and flourished, the stud band has blossomed into fine young geldings, and the bay band formed as a sub-group of Violet’s herd. Bay horses and thoroughbreds and standardbreds dominated! And red and white paints. Our horses today range from the 7 month old filly Jess to the 32 yo gelding Ben, and every size and shape in between. Drafts and polo ponies and Lipizzaners and OTTB’s, mules, donkeys, appys and mustangs….all live happily in herd groups here. We are hovering at around 40 horses on the combined properties, with a few more out at foster homes. Two of our mares are pregnant. A few of our horses are considered ‘hospice’ care. Many are young and beginning training for long lives. So the population is going to continue to go up and down and up again, horses running in happy herds over the mountainside.
But you know that because you’ve visited.
You have visited, right?

Maybe in 2013!