Autumn Evening

The name of the rescue, Winding Road, was carefully chosen with the lyrics of the beautiful Beatles ballad, written by Paul McCartney, in mind. Images of a storm seemed to fit, given the dark side of rescue, but more importantly was the message the winding road relays of the open arms of hope and shelter. Memories line the way to the destination.

Little did I know as a preteen, influenced by my older sister's music, that one of my favorite Beatle songs, would be one that would define my life, my winding road to here. I question why it took me so long, though such a curiosity is fruitless. I'm here now, doing what I love and what needs to be done, and that is what matters. The rearview mirror can be useful, but it takes up only a very small portion of the windshield.

Sometimes there's a radio going in the barn or an assortment of CD's. The horses' exposure to music is well-rounded: blues, rock, country and classical, a little bit of folk. Perhaps the most beautiful of sounds, though, are not made by man. Off goes the radio and the poetry of animals and nature comes alive as declarations of life fill the air--the rhythmic munching of hay and grain, a swishing tail, the frog, the cricket, the hidden owl and gliding hawk, and the inevitble "Mom!"

Last night was such a night. It was early evening. We have had several equines come in over the past few days and it's been a flurry of extra care--the horses themselves, trips to the vet, bigger and more frequent loads of grain, hay and shavings. There have been injuries to treat, eye ointment to administer, matted manes to untangle and muddy coats to brush.

Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact I have a soft spot for old horses. This heart absolutely caves in for them. All the new horses had been turned out together and had gravitated to their buddy or buddies. The dark bay mare, however, remained in the barn, where obviously she felt safe. There was hay for her, and water, and the company of the horses staying in the stalls with runs. She seemed content enough, but her solitude bothered me--that safety was so precious to her the herd instinct had been sacrificed.

Every time I look at her, I am hit with the memory of Clever Allemont and a mare I loved very deeply named Rebel. Bittersweet to say the least. I don't know her name, her papers couldn't be located. I was told she was twenty. She is bone thin, her rear movement stiff and labored. One eye is sunken in, much like Clever Allemont's. She had been culled with the sorrel mare, no longer of value. What they had produced as broodmares was of no consequence. They had been sold and would be shipped to slaughter in two days.

Seeing that mare, her precious head dropped into the hay, so innocently chewing away, had me fighting back tears. How could anyone do this to her? With her stiff and sore body, impaired vision and poor body condition, she would have been packed into a load of other doomed horses and headed for a Mexican slaughterhouse where her last moments would have been sheer terror and pain.

That gets to me. I brushed her, hugged her, worked on a few knots in her mane and as I walked away to see the others, she followed me and whinnied. Her companion, already outside, answered and joined us. Her name is Berry Cherry. We already have a Cherry here and I am thinking she could be called Cherub or Cherish and both would fit her to a tee.

The new gelding was said to be nineteen, but I suspect he saw nineteen years ago. His nose is scarred most likely from a bosal. He was said to be a roping horse and bears a KA underlined on his shoulder and the number 5 on his rear. He is tall and so thin. He wandered from stall to stall, foraging hopefully for leftovers. He is so hungry, and seems to be doing well on his Senior diet.

The first night he was here, he did not want to go into a stall. He wasn't belligerent by any means. Maybe he'd never been in one before. He responded to coaxing and once he found there was hay waiting on him, end of problem. He was slightly withdrawn and obviously worried, but already he is optimistic and engaged in his new environment and caretakers. His beautiful graying face shows kindness, and wisdom, and at last, hope. He hasn't really wanted to be caught, I imagine because he thinks his tired, skinny body will be asked to go to work, but he's learning it's all about love, AND FOOD.

He's been a working man, no doubt. And allowed to starve and suffer, his lack of condition landed him on a kill buyer's lot, awaiting his last ride. No retirement, no thank you. The ultimate betrayal and death.

The old timer's quartet is rounded out with a black mare named Kalina. She was loved in her lifetime, but for whatever reason, motherhood was extremely hard on her. She would be a 2 on the Henneke body condition scoring chart, as would the others. I am not sure how old she is either, but her condition gives her an ancient appearance.

All of them are well-mannered and friendly, and they are so hungry, and so deserving of this safety and new life, where they matter just as much as the horse of the highest pedigree and performance record.

Sometimes when I'm filled with both love and sorrow, it overtakes me. I want to assure these horses of their safety and the value they have that was somehow overlooked. I want to apologize to them for the sins of mankind--they did nothing wrong to merit the sentence that would have sent them to slaighter. They just got older.

I do believe they understand this to a degree--that life is good, the long and winding road led them here and they can sense the security and peace that emanates here. As long as I am breathing, it will not disappear.

When I was of junior high age, one of the school organizations visited a nursing home at Christmas time to sing carols. I was very moved then, the passage of Time manifesting in the smiling, lonely faces. I went home and bawled. My mother didn't really laugh at me, but couldn't quite believe my reaction. I was surprised, too, but I understand now--my road, my life was winding this way. My calling was for the horses, but the appreciation of elders, and caring for them, had taken root.Now, it makes perfect sense.

The Prayer of St. Theresa says, "Trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. Never forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith." How these divine words resonate in me. As times become more and more challenging, I have to keep the faith that God will not abandon us.

Last night, I quietly hummed and sang to the old horses whose journeys of life had not been tragically ended, my voice mixing with the sounds they made and the little world around us. I am so very grateful and humbled to have moments such as these. As the horses and I stood together in the fading autumn light, my shadow blended with theirs, and I became very aware we were surrounded in the circle of power and glory when a terrible wrong had been made right, and time stands still.

THIS ENTRY IS DEDICATED TO THE FANS OF BARBARO.

Golden Oldies

Brace yourself.

I figure anyone reading this most likely loves horses. Seeing the above photo will probably make you angry, but wait. There's more.

She was pregnant.

And I had no idea at the time.

During the course of the investigation, I took many photos. I had been contacted several times by concerned citizens about this herd of horses, and had in turn contacted law enforcement. I had a reasonably cooperative animal control officer and he was concerned, too, about the condition of several of the horses.

I don't understand why charges weren't filed, but that's not my area. What it came down to was that if the owner didn't surrender some horses, the situation was going to heat up for her. Of the forty-plus, in varying stages of neglect, she had agreed to give up six. This entry is about the palomino mare.

She was called Shar. I wish now I would have changed her name to separate her from the life she had known prior to rescue, but I figured at her age, her name was her name. I didn't get to that yet, the part about her age. Not only was that emaciated mare about to give birth, she was also 22 years of age.

Not only was she severely malnourished and in foal, and 22 years of age, she had been acquired from another rescue.

Yeah, I'm mad, too.

But the purpose of this blog is not to villify anyone. I want to tell the horses' stories, so that readers can know something about Winding Road and the horses who grace us with their presence and bless our lives when coming through the gates. And something of myself winds up here, too, for better or worse.

I instantly bonded with Shar when we went to pick up the six on the hottest day of the summer. I was surprised to find a precocious week old filly at her side, so small she could walk back and forth beneath her mom. Oh, there were excuses. "We didn't know she was bred," and "We've tried everything to get weight on her" and "Someone else took her to try and get weight on her, and they brought her back," and "She has a heart murmur."

At that point, the excuses didn't matter. Only the horses did, and as I was falling in love with all of them as they cooperatively made their escape on to the trailers, my maternal instincts had kicked in big-time for the mom and baby. I couldn't believe Shar had been able to carry the pregancy to term, or that she had had a succesful delivery. The biggest miracle of all was her daughter--small, but seemingly healthy. They had a chance, having beat the odds this far.

At Winding Road

Here's our secret.

We fed her.

And fed her.

And fed her.

Not in the huge increments I wished for--small amounts frequently, growing respectfully larger as her system allowed. Thank God for Purina Equine Senior, and beet pulp. Farnam Weight Gain. Shar held her own and gained--a little. She wasn't the best mom, although she did what she had to do and nothing more. She forgot her baby a few times, and the frantic filly would race about calling for her mom. Once another mare stomped up to Shar with her ears pinned and the baby in tow, as if to say, "You dumb blonde! You forgot your baby!"

Shar's response? You could see it. "Oh...HER."

Weaning was not painful, at least for Shar. She didn't look back. The added pounds came quicker, but slowly still. She was 22 and had been down a long time. Getting her back to an ideal weight had become a life goal for me. Not a patient person by birth, I've been learning. It's that whole Serenity Prayer.

And as those months passed, I came to admire Shar more and more. She is at the bottom of the pecking order, but a real dinosaur at feeding time. Ears? What ears? She's just saying that food is important to her. She's no danger. We understand each other.

She's as subtle as a lap dance. She wants what she wants when she wants it. She's rude. Overbearing. And I love her. She has her own way of showing respect, but the fact is, we know each other and trust each other, and that is a very humbling experience for me.

She has no vices. Leads, loads and stands for a trim. A bridle path is no different from a neck scratch. She loves the hose, but watch the treats. She's voracious, and long carrots are best!

I was told she was a former three-day eventer in her day. The way she loves to be pampered, I believe it. She can practically put on her own fly mask in the summer, and her blanket in the winter. Whereas some of the horses balk at the type that has no front opening--is more like a turtleneck, no deal for Shar, she tosses her head till it's in place.

I often wonder about her past, but I guess it doesn't really matter. In her day, she must have been a supreme and well-loved athlete. She wound up at a rescue and became a broodmare at a nightmare breeding farm. What matters is that she is here now, safe and loved, and appreciated for her instrinsic value as an individual, disconnected from her abilities in the show ring and as a producer. She's just one of the herd and one of the family now, and she's here for good, enjoying the retirement she deserves and earned.

I had my youngest child and turned 40 a week later. Maybe that's what started the bonding for me. Although I never forgot my baby and was nothing but an insanely devoted mom, it's been something we share, because it's different later in life, and it's something each of us know on our own terms, relative to our species. And another commonality? We both have spectacular children to show for our efforts!

This summer, Shar has been coming into her own--a year later, and she's not there yet. She's going to get there, though. I'm sure of it. She's a knockout!Another goal I have--I want to ride her. A physical "fubar" is preventing me from riding even a stick horse now, but that goal is something to work for that will help me get past it. I can see it--two old blonde moms. When she absolutely doesn't need another single pound, I'm going to slip on her, assisted by a mounting block, as Shar is an imposing 16.2. Hopefully all this camaraderie and commonality means something to her, too...I hope she doesn't toss me!

A year and a month later....
my beautiful golden girl

God Bless the Broken Road

Behind the scenes, a master horseman meets Jedai at the Parelli Celebration in Kansas City, MO. His name just happens to be Pat Parelli.



Jedai made his appearance on Friday at the Parelli Celebration, the day a man named David unexpectedly lost his Missouri Fox Trotter--also a field trial horse. David wasn't there at the event, but his trainer was, a remarkable woman very sensitive to what had begun to happen...some of the Winding Road magic that surrounded Clever Allemont's save; and Sweetheart, the guide horse.

Although a horse of a different color, Kim saw in Jedai the same characteristics of David's horse, Cisco, as Pat "played" with Jedai in the arena. I had heard of "Horsenalities", but saw this come to light throughout the Celebration. Jedai was a Left-Brained Extrovert. And so had Cisco.



Pat and Jedai getting to know each other

Bareback and flexing













Under saddle









I had a good feeling about Kim from our initial meeting. She was obvioulsy knowledgeable about horses, sincerely sympathizing with her friend and client and she was well, fervent. She wasn't ignoring the coicidences and neither was I. "There are no accidents" may be an overused buzz phrase and it may not be entirely accurate, but it was definitely fitting in this situation. Big time. And I don't feel the need to explain the unexplainable. I am very grateful for those moments when something powerful and unseen is obviously at work.

Marika O'Brien and Keith Dane, both of the HSUS, had a good impression of Kim, as well. And Pat Parelli's advice to Kim, when she discussed the possibility of Jedai's adoption, was if she listened to her heart, she would do the right thing. I had yet to talk to David, but as the weekend wore on, I was pretty sure the force was with us. Here's another reason why.

David's horse had to be euthanized for the same reason I had to euthanize my horse of a lifetime, a retired police horse named Sky. It was July 24, 2009. I had lost the precious Sky July 17, 2008. I knew all too well what that man was feeling. He had looked for that horse with his trainer's guidance for over a year.

We talked to Kim throughout the weekend. She left a letter I found at the booth Sunday morning. Part of it read:

The article about Jedi in the Parelli Celebration magazine is entitle, "I Still Believe in Happy Endings" and I believe in them, too. I also believe everything happens for a reason. If it is ''meant to be'' that Jedi becomes David's forever horse, more than just a coicidence will have happened. Destiny will have written the story and this epeisode could be called "The Return of the Jedi".

I was antsy waiting for David's call when I got back home. Half afraid of what I would encounter, (I always hear my father--"anyting too good to be true usually is"), there was an intelligent, articulate, compassionate man on the end of the line, who was also very excited after talking to Kim. I hung up and I was beyond excited. He was willing to postpone a family vacation if he had to--he wanted to meet Jedai.

His references were stellar as I was sure they would be. I talked to Kim and she said she was so wound up she didn't think she would be able to sleep that night, much like a kid on Christmas Eve. They were prepared to make the trip the Waverly the next day. The trailer was hitched, the truck gassed up. They were ready to GO in the morning. It still remained to be seen: Was this the match we thought it would be? The application was approved, but it had to click. It had to be the right horse. We laughed, was this the Christmas we would really get the pony? I tried not to be overly-optimistic, but after Clever Allemont, I believed my heart when it told me the outcome.

I was not disappointed. Once again the stars had aligned for a very lucky horse. Firstly, David is 6'2. At 16 hands, Jedai was the perfect size for him. He was not at all intimidated by size or demeanor. They were the perfect picture as they moved down the drive; walk, foxtrot, canter. David could feel the big motor and his grin said it all. He had a very good seat, soft hands, and was the perfect combination of confidence and kindness that Jedai needed.

The match was made. We got the pony.



Partners --David and Jedai





Jedai was here almost six months. All of us were attached--Jack, Blaise and myself--but I didn't wipe away a single tear as Jedai loaded into the trailer. It was all good. David stated on his application that he wanted a partner and companion. Though Jed couldn't articulate, that's what he wanted, too. He's a people horse and David is one who will not only appreciate Jedai's personality, but will continue to cultivate it.

But the real kicker for me was when David showed me a photo of his Cisco. He was a big bautiful bald-faced red roan overo. I could have been looking at Sky. Chills literally ran through me and that strong mourning I have never been able to totally overcome. Another coincidence? Whatever. That Sky's memory would forever be associated with Jedai's fairy tale fit was and is poignant.

Moments like these are the driving force that carry me through the tough times. Ripley, our escape artist mini, came out as if to say goodbye. Blaise kidded he was promising to write. The three of us waved and watched them drive out of sight.

I got an email from Daid that night:

Hello Kristin,

Thought you would like to know that Jedi is home and seems very happy. My wife and son, along with their horses, met us when we arrived to introduce him to the new family.Thank you again for everything and most importantly for saving the life of this awesome horse.

David

No, the thanks need to go to David, for giving Jed a home and family. But there are many people to thank: the FOB's for bailing him; Keith and Marika and everyone at the HSUS; the Parellis, and Kim, and a Shire-sized thank you to Jerry and Ethan Rice for their enormous part in this whole deal (and to Pam Rice for lending out her guys for the weekend!)

And a thank you has to go to Jedai: Thanks for being who you are and giving us many good memories.

One more. As Rascall Flatts sings, "God bless the Winding Road." I must thank Him--again--for blessing this broken winding road.
___________________________________________________________________________________

I hope other clinicians will follow in the footsteps of the Parellis, who invite a rescue horse in need of a forever home to hit the spotlight for awhile as part of their Celebrations throughout the country. By collaorating with the HSUS, some wonderful things have happened for some lucky horses--and Jedai was the sixth to find his way to a home of his own. Next month, the Parellis and the HSUS will be in Texas with a rescue horse from Habitat for Horses in the spotlight.

The needs of rescues nationwide should be addressed, as well as all the potential of rescue horses everywhere. Great job, Pat and Linda Parelli, and the Humane Society of the United States! Thank you!

The Countdown is ON!

Here he is, our celebrity, Jedai.

Is he not thoroughly gorgeous?

Will fame go to his head?

I can't believe in 10 days, Jedai will be headed to Kansas City for the Parelli Celebration. He looks a little different, to tell you the truth. Kind of luminous. I'm not sure how celebrity will fit on him. He does seem prepared for the spotlight. He may become a little haughty, but I predict the same old Jedai will emerge from his experience. Well, new and improved after three days of training with Pat Parelli, but I think he is who he is, and that is an exceptionally social horse.

It's very exciting looking ahead and wondering what will happen. That's a lot for a horse to handle--learning new stuff in front of a small crowd, three to five thousand...but I have faith in him. I know he can do it.

It's likely he's going to find that forever home, too. I equate this upcoming experience to taking one of my human kids to their first day of kindergarten. I cried every time, but I knew it was a necessary part of letting go, a natural progression in life, and so it is for Jedai. We have many retired horses here, but Jedai is in the prime of life, seasoned, with many trails before him yet. We got him to safety, and now it's time for someone special to let him shine in a one-on-one relationship with a Parelli student, well-versed in herd dynamics, behavior, communication, gentleness; as the Parellis state, "savvy". It's time for him to move on.

It's bittersweet. I won't apologize for my love of these horses, Jedai included. A bond develops between us and each and every one of them. We know their nuances, their personalities, beyond their dietary needs, veterinary and farrier schedules. They're individuals and while they're here, they are part of the family. They are loved, and that love lasts even after they've gone on to their forever home.

This seems very appropriate as we look ahead to the days and events to come:

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."
--Corinthians

Love you, Jed.

A Good Hand

This is the first time we saw each other, Jedai and I. The big chestnut gelding, a Missouri Fox Trotter, was eating hay at a kill buyer's lot, when he saw me approach the pen. He immediately stopped eating and walked over to the fence. To say hello? See if I had a treat? To say, "Hey! I've got an uneasy feeling about this place. Can you help me get out of here?"

Jedai has a story, just like every equine at Winding Road. I heard he had failed as a show prospect and had become a field trial horse. He'd transferred hands several times. His last owner could not afford his care anymore, and sold him to a known kill buyer. The ultimate betrayal.

What I found was a very social horse. He was tall and big-boned, a deep chestnut without a white hair on him, save for some scarring from either a halter or tiedown. In short, he was stunning. Imposing. Gorgeous.

With the aid of the Friends of Barbaro, Jedai was out of there, along with two young Quarter Horses, one with AQHA papers, for anyone who reads this and thinks that young, healthy registered horses don't go to slaughter. They were also accompanied by an untouched two year old mule. Four equines loaded on to our trailer. Jedai loaded perfectly. He's obviously been down the road, but I always think that somehow horses understand their vehicle arrived with a one-way ticket out!

Safety at Winding Road was Jedai's first good twist of fate. He would avoid the executioner's blade. He would find a forever home when the right one came along. Till then he would be loved and treated with respect, fed twice a day and never face another day in jeopardy.

We found Jedai to be a space invader, a let-me-test-you kind of horse. He could spot a marshmallow and would take advantage of an unconfident volunteer. Pushy would be an apt description!

But as I had seen on the KB lot, he was friendly. He liked people, a Mr. Personality. He did three miles without a bauble, but he was big horse with a big motor. A lady who came to look at him found him too big and intimidating and didn't even want to ride him. (Fortuantely we had another horse that suited her to a tee!) Jedai's person would come and we are never in a hurry.

Good things can happen with time.

We learned the Humane Society of the United States and Pat and Linda Parelli have been teaming up to put the spotlight on rescues and rescue horses and help them in finding forever homes. Several events across the country called Celebrations, are being held, celebrating the horse and what they mean to our lives, as the Parellis educate the public about their natural horsemanship, the best thing that ever happened to a horse since flyspray. A Parelli Celebration was scheduled to take place in Kansas City July 24-26.

One aspect of this event is the training of one rescue horse, from groundwork to riding. It should be common knowledge that the more education a horse has, the better his chances are at the life he deserves. After three days with Pat Parelli, you've got yourself a very adoptable horse.

And guess what? That lucky horse is Jedai. The spotlight is going to shine on a big chestnut gelding who months ago was headed to likely slaughter. Didn't cut it as a show prospect, obviously worked hard for his living, only to be betrayed with a sale to a kill buyer. He's headed to Kansas City to work under an internationally-acclaimed trainer and clinician, and afterwards will be available for adoption through our rescue.

How easily a horse's fate can change, spin on a dime. Fate had forced Jedai to see the inside of the kill buyer's pen, but that was not the end of the story. Really, it was just beginning. Chapter One was getting him to safety. Or maybe that was the introduction. The Parelli training will be the prologue, and the real story begins when....

one person out of the thouands who will attend thinks, "That may be the horse for me." There may be many people who get that feeling, but there is going to be one where everything clicks and we all know this is what we've been working toward, a forever home of a hard luck horse who got a good hand when his chips were down.

Matches are made in heaven and through hard work. Thank heaven for the Parellis and the HSUS for giving us this opportunity to work together toward this common goal for an uncommon horse. Jedai will represent the fact that bad things happen to good horses and a rescue horse can have every bit as much potential as any other.

I'm so excited for him--to be in front of a crowd, showing off what a special horse he is, and finding that special person who will continue in the ways of Natural Horse-Man-Ship, where it's all about love, language and leadership.

No matter what kind of home they're going to, it's never easy to say goodbye. I get a little teary thinking that Jedai will soon be moving on, but I'm smiling, too.

I hope someday that special person will read this and smile, too, thinking, "That was me she was writing about it. Jedai was supposed to be my horse, and I was meant to be his person." I've seen many many things in rescue that were just meant to be, and I have a good feeling that this is going to be one of them.

Go to www.parelli.com for more information.

The Eagle Has Landed

The waiting is over.

With a winter storm threatening to strike, on Friday, March 27, Dolly gave birth to a fine healthy son. I had noticed a change in behavior and was suspicious it would be the day, but after loading up the stall with straw, I went to unload hay as I was solo and didn't want to leave it on the truck to be ravaged by thieverous equines or soaked by the looming precipitation. I missed the birth, but found a curiously-colored colt on wobbly legs trying to stand. The waiting was over. I lost my breath--and promptly burst into tears.

He was perfect. A colt. And an unusual color--a mousy charcoal that had he been a cat, I might have called him blue. I called Jack to tell him the news and when he asked what color he he was, I said, "Purple!"

I knew Dolly wold be an excellent mother. She was nervous about me being near the baby and I didn't want to stress her--or experience a defensive bite or kick!--but she settled down quickly and welcomed me into the stall where I was able to handle the baby, and see that he nursed and pooped. I saw he had a smudge of a star and a smudge of a snip and a narrow dorsal stripe. His eyes appeared to be a dark amber more than the typical brown.

Of course, my camera batteries were dead and I raced to my daughter's house to borrow a camera, and was able to capture the young prince's first nap. It's hard work being born!

It was a tremendous relief, not only to have a healthy baby on the ground, but to see that Dolly truly had continued to gain weight throughout her pregnancy. She's got a ways to go yet, but really doesn't need to gain that much. However, with the demands of lactation, she's on a pretty substantial diet with a supplement to guarantee she'll have everything she needs.

She's a stunning mare, and motherhood has only enriched her beauty. As the winter coat has been coming off, her dapples are more pronounced and her color has deepened. She is one whose beauty echoes on the inside and out. I will never understand how someone cast her aside.

When Tom, an Arabian gelding (saved from slaughter, too) discovered the baby, Dolly snaked across the stall door like a serpent beast from a Harry Potter movie. Not wanting to upset the new other, I ran a thoroughly disgruntled Tom out of the barn. Usually a very laidback and easy-going fella, he became frantic and took a couple of Dale Earnhardt laps around the barn, bugling all the way. He stretched his neck over the gate and when I refused to let him in, he took off at a gorgeous gallop and trumpeted the announcement all over the ranch, through the trees, across the creek, for any listening ear. I swear he was announcing the joyous birth. "It's a boy!"

This photo above is very affirming to me. A slaughterbound gelding who came in at a barely a BCS of two on the Henneke scale, ravaged with dermatitis, is looking over the stall door at another formerly bone-thin slaughterbound horse, and one who came very close to not being born at all. We do good work here. It's hard, it's challenging, it's stressful, but the rewards are rich beyond measure. (In fact, they have come to define who I am.)

We do not breed here and we have a strict no-breeding policy with any of our horses, but I have to admit this is a perk. The first turnout was an Oscar-winning performance as he explored the world, and learned to trot, canter, and then to RUN! Dolly is ever-vigilant.

My son heads to the barn when he gets home from school to spend time with his new buddy. He rubs him everywhere and can get the colt to flex and stretch so much, we joked about naming him Giraffe. He follows Blaise around the stall, and Blaise can lay down with him in the stall. I would have given up an appendage to have been able to do that when I was a kid.

I can't predict the color. I'd guess a dark grulla with the stripe down his back. Color is gravy at this point. He's here and he's healthy and he's safe and loved, by his human family and a host of herd members. Candy, our very aged gaited gelding is a loyal bystander. The former mothers are reassuring shadows.

We've kicked around names, but these things should not be rushed. As Dolly is reminiscent of the horse ridden by Marshall Dillon, I thought of calling him Gunsmoke. My #2 son suggested Tracer, some kind of bullet, because of the line down his back. Right now he's called masculine names fitting for a young healthy stud colt: Sweetheart, Honey, Precious.

Well, whoever you are, you and your mother beat the odds, when she escaped the executioner's blade. You beat the winter storm by just hours. I may have missed the birth, but I didn't miss the miracle. I get to see you everyday. And so, our dark, dashing darling....

WELCOME TO THE HERD.

Dolly and son are in need of sponsors to defray the cost of feed, hay, bedding, supplements, etc. Would you consdier becoming Dolly's equine angel with a monthly contribution? Please visit our web site at:

http://www.windingroadequinerescue.org/

Thank you!

I'll Be Right Here, Waiting

If you have ever given birth, you'll look at this and sympathize with Dolly.

Spring is not the only thing that's busting out all over.

Somehow she manages to stride out, much more like a gaited horse than the Quarter Horse she surely is. It was quite an experience today, scratching off some of her winter coat--seeing the foal move and FEELING it.


As awesome of an experience as that may be (and I choose the over-used word correctly in this instance), I'm ready for the foal to be born. I'm sure Dolly is, too. I'm a nervous grandmother. Just ask my daughter with two kids. Every time she'd call in her last trimester, I answered the phone breathlessly, sure she was in labor or that something was wrong. She seemed to be quite amused, but after my stressed "hello", she would thoughtfully and quickly say, "Hi, Mom. Everything's okay."

I wish Dolly could do that. "Hi, Mom. Everything's okay." I worry. I fret. I let my imagination run away with me. Sometimes I give myself the freedom just to wonder--no worries--what it will look like. It could be a mule. A draft. A wildly colored Paint. A colt? A filly? I just want it to be here. Safe. Healthy. The waiting is wearing me out!

One of our sanctuary mares had a baby when she had been starved beyond belief. And the baby was fine. (They arrived when the baby was a week old.) I still have to worry about the effect that such malnourishment has had on Dolly and her developing baby. I can't help but worry.

I love her.