Facebook: The Horse that Heaven Forgot

In these times, the wellbeing of equines,  horses and donkeys, is threatened along many fronts, from legal, round-ups, legislation, poor care, and outright abandonment.   These abusive outrages are global.  Then, there are the kill auctions where they seem to meet the end of the road.  I believe from there they are sold to Canada or Mexico to be processed for consumption, something that is not allowed in this country.  So on one hand, we as a country love horses and donkeys enough not to want to eat them, but we are okay with abusing and neglecting them, and sending them to kill auctions.

I would like to think most Americans do not know anything about this, they believe the sanitized images they see in magazines or on television of affluent people riding their beautifully turned out horses and assume all horses are living that kind of life.  Nothing can be further from the truth.  Horses and donkeys starve to death or die of a disease every day, and their plight is worse in other countries.

If I write about horses and donkeys in my blog from time to time, it is not because I am too lazy to write about my borzoi, it is because I know most people have huge hearts and do not know about their plight.  I believe if they knew, they may  want to donate to a horse or donkey charity, of which there are many all over the country and the world.  With that in mind, I would like to post a poem that appeared on Facebook by Sally Marsh on January 16, 2021.  It touched my heart and I hope it touches yours, too, or at the least, makes you sensitive to the needs and cares of the equines, the little beasts of burden, with which we share our lives.

The Horse that Heaven Forgot

Sally Marsh

January 16, 2021

Winter came sharply to the field on the hill, where the old horse stood patiently his back turned against the chill.

His raggedy frame now bony, a shadow of his former self.

In his younger days, this gallant horse had been kept in the finest of health,

His owner, Bob, had doted on him and always been by his side, but now it had been a long time since they went for their daily ride.

Bob had grown much slower as he brought out the sweet, fresh hay,

Slower and more quiet each and every day.

One morning things were different.  Bob just didn’t arrive.

And the old horse watched the ambulance as it made its way down the drive.

Three days went past and the old horse waited by the gate.  But he knew in his heart, his old friend was not just late.

He raised up his gentle head to look up to the sky, watching the heavy rain clouds as they swirled and drifted by.

He hoped Bob was happy and warm and safe up there, he would always miss his companionship, his love, his care.

Sheltered beneath the oak tree he stood sadly, not moving from his spot.

Was he now going to be the horse heaven forgot?

Quiet footsteps approaching soon made him prick up his ears, and soon a gentle voice was dispelling all his fears.

The kind girl whispered softly, “Don’t worry; I am here to take you home.

Grandpa made me promise not to ever leave you alone.”

The old horse breathed deeply as she held his heavy head, he knew now he would be loved again, kept warm, dry and fed.

Side by side they wandered along the bumpy track, fresh food in his belly, a rug upon his back.

In his new home he had shelter and grass so tall and green, his hay net was always full, and his water bucket clean.

When the young girl would call him he headed for her in his finest trot,

Now happy that he was not the horse that heaven forgot.


The Borzoi National Specialty, 2021, Wilmington OH

Although the Borzoi National Specialty Show ended three weeks ago,  I am just now coming out of my trance from all of the love and beauty I experienced there.  So much so, that I have already booked my hotel room for next year, where it will be held in Mesquite, TX.  The joy of looking forward to it will be a beacon for me when I go through  hard times of sadness, which I know will happen, if the past is any indicator.

My mentor’s dog, a male, is the number one borzoi in the country and he was expected to win.  The number two borzoi was a bitch bred by another highly respected breeder and exhibitor, almost at the same level as my mentor.  There was a bit of a surprise when the judge selected the bitch to be the winner, and the dog as BOS.

Fortunately, there was a class coming up for “Stud Dog”, and my mentor’s borzoi won that prestigious honor, so my mentor had much to be proud of, since it is not only about winning in the ring, but what you can produce in the whelping box.  The dog is down from our co-bred borzoi, Majenkir Magnus o’ Blyss (Magnus/Max).  That win retroactively reflects back on all of the dogs of that line to Magnus, and his parents, my “Makhailya” and “Regal” of Majenkir.  They are gone now, but at home, I am comforted by their photographs and portrait pictures that are so beautiful.  My home is a shrine to them and their exquisite beauty.  What is not hanging on walls is contained in numerous photo albums.  Who would ever have believed I would own such a special borzoi as “Mikhailya” and be so fortunate to do a breeding with “Regal”, my mentor’s most famous stud dog.  The stars aligned for the creation of my litter.

All of this was clearly in the forefront of my mind during the show, even if I did not always feel well, troubled by migraine headaches  and chills.   But I was well entertained by the two beautiful borzoi boys of my room-mate who added an extra dimension of joy to my trip, and I got a ride back home with a friend from NJ with a van with several borzoi in the back.

Hitting the wall but still standing

I find myself abandoned and alone, still having or needing medically necessary surgeries and pharmaceuticals, and am still unable to connect in any meaningful way to someone who truly cares about me.  The most strange and bizarre men look me up or find me, only to fail to be able to return the most basic  requirements of intimacy; being everything from spewing forth psychobabble to icy silence.  I don’t know which is worse.  I know only time will tell, but at this advanced age, there is not much more time left.  I am someone marked to fail at intimacy in a most tragic way, because I cannot imagine anyone who has tried as hard as I have at it and failed so many times.  It is baffling.

Fortunately, I find my joy elsewhere, in my beloved breed, the borzoi, and the people who breed, love and nurture them.  I am so over the cripples who try to tear me down with their inadequacies only to make me feel I did it to them.  I no longer will believe the love word when it is whispered and the despair expressed at having found me too late in life, I am just going to go on being me, happy among my borzoi and their breeders.   I actually think the gentlemen know I love the breed so much and it distresses them, like they are competing with a dog, and they cannot handle that.  Well, yes, they are competing with a dog, but I have a great capacity to love, and I can love both humans and dogs.  Whatever it is at the root of this failure, I will rise above it, especially next week.

Next week, the Borzoi National Specialty Show will be held in Wilmington, OH and I shall be there.   I will be flying there, and I have a room mate at the host hotel.  That is such a blessing and an accomplishment that I am not going to allow myself to be affected by this gentleman or that, one who cannot speak at all, another who wants to talk to me about “romance” but that’s all.  None of the men I meet really ever wants to meet, being on a dating sight is just something they do because for some reason, each specific to the individual, they are out there failed and alone like me, and that is the best they can do.  It is very sad.

But, I am looking up and forward to Ohio and being among people whom I respect and have learned so much from, people who have welcomed me into their lives and their homes, people with generosity of spirit, who have given me the supreme complement I could ever have, the placement of their borzoi and Silken Windhounds at Blyss.

Two week-ends ago  was the May spring borzoi specialty shows and the Central NJ Hound Association show.  The borzoi were stunning, and  many bred in Europe were entered.  I only went to the Hound Club show, because on Saturday, I celebrated Mother’s Day with my son and his family so I had a conflict.  But it was a lot of fun being there with everyone on May 9.  The show was very well attended, and the quality of the dogs being shown was high.  On Saturday, a great win, BISS and BOS, went to our first borzoi mentor and seller, Joseph Lara and his partner, Scott Modica.  It was well deserved.  On Sunday, Jennifer Zucker and Linda Barad’s Swiss import won Best of Breed and went on to a Group Four.  A lovely bitch she was showing from Ksar kennels in Atlanta GA went Winner’s Bitch and Best of Winners.  She was acquired as a stud fee acquisition and fits in beautifully with their current line of borzoi.  So, even though a lot has changed and it was different, at the end of the day, many of the same skilled, committed people were there, 20 years after we first got our first borzoi, Casanova, from Joseph, and he kindly introduced us to everybody and sponsored our memberships into many clubs.

Maybe my idea that I am not happy is a delusion.  I have my male admirers on the fringe of my life who keep me in their loop, but that’s the best place they can handle being in with me.  I have been told I can be hard to know or be with, and tough  minded.  Well, yes…   I have had to fight hard to stay standing in my life.  And I am still standing.

I leave next week to go to the National in Ohio, and I could not be happier about  anything else than that.

The days after Easter at Blyss

It was just Easter on Sunday, and on Saturday, I spent the day with my son and his wife at the home of his wife’s parents with the baby, my grand-daughter, Piper Starling.  It was a fun day because  I got to hold the baby a lot, and she likes me to hold her.  In addition to that, many people have commented that of everyone there, she resembled me the most, even some Facebook friends commented on the resemblance.  She is very verbally precocious and charming.  My son made a delicious leg of lamb, and I bought a very special decorated cake for Easter in the shape of an Easter egg from the very creative, upscale bakery in Summit, Natale’s.  On Sunday, I was invited to an Easter dinner with my sister and her family, including her son Logan, who happens to be my God-son, whom I love very much.  I had not seen Logan in about two years due to the COVID quarantine.  It was a lot of emotional stimulation and excitement for one weekend.

I posted pictures from both days on Facebook, happy pictures and posts.  I have not been well since my sudden, forced separation from my last boyfriend of one year on Valentine’s Day weekend.   Last week would have been our first anniversary of meeting face-to-face, a joyous occasion, allowing us to be in quarantine together.  I have to ask myself why I am such a loser in my relationships with men.  It is the ruination of my happiness and my life.  I wish it would just end and be over because I cannot take the pain and the loneliness anymore.  The last one swore we would be forever so I am shaken to the core this time.  He has since ghosted me.   I don’t know how someone does that.

But I have my beloved Kensey, who makes me very happy.  She is always there for me with her emotional support.  Moreover, I will be attending the spring dog shows, both locally on the first weekend in May, and in Ohio, where the Borzoi Club of America will be holding its specialty show during the last week of May.  These are reasons for joy.  I will be among friends and their borzoi, and being happy.  I will see many people whom I only see at this show, and it will warm my heart.

If only my boyfriend had not abandoned me in February, this could have been such a happy time.   He is a hard hearted person, one has to have a heart of stone to act the way he acts, knowing how much I loved him.  But we can only be who we are, and that is who he is.  People do what they want to do.  He needs to be free of the ties that bind in a relationship whereas I need to be held close and loved. And I still love him so much I could die of it.

Remembering Bob and Opal at Blyss

This month, March, is the tenth anniversary of my husband, Bob’s, death.  I find myself recalling him a great deal, what we were doing when we learned he was sick, and how little time we had left together, of  how he was robbed.  He had another great love in his life, greater than his for me, that being his two sons.  They were just entering adult life when he died.  He did not see them grow into young men, get married, and have children of their own.  I think he would have truly enjoyed that.  I believe he would have found the thrilling bliss in that that I found with the borzoi, although he did love his borzoi, too.  For me, I learned I never really knew what love was, never having had it growing up as a child.

My childhood was an ordeal of survival behind enemy lines, with parents ruling the house like they were Gestapo agents, imprisoning their children, ruling them with what can only be described as a rule book that grew thicker with every passing day.

Their favorite adages were: Spare the rod, spoil the child; and, You should only kiss your children when they are asleep.  They did not notice that their three children were growing up despising them and being totally self destructive.  They were too busy being angry all the time, with one another, and their offspring.    Somehow, sadly, we survived.

I understand Bob had a happy childhood, with laid back and easy going parents.  He, and all his siblings, always appeared to have smiles on their faces.  My siblings and I were profoundly emotionally disturbed, and did not wear smiles well.  We looked rather ghoulish with smiles on our faces, so we practiced looking in mirrors trying to look intelligent or serious instead.  It seems particularly sad that  I, who am so damaged, am left alive while Bob had to die ten years ago.  I feel so sorry for him that he had to miss so much happy, quality, family time.    I know how precious it is, but I had to learn about it from borzoi.

Borzoi taught me about love, human love.  I thought I loved Bob when I married him, but I had been made too damaged by my mother to be able to love anyone again.  It was fun and easy to love the borzoi.  When I look back at my old photographs with them, I don’t recognize myself.  I look so healthy, and am always beaming in a huge smile I cannot diminish.  In January, 2005, we  bought Opal.  I became manic with joy.  Eighteen months later she died, and I crashed into a devastating depression and have never been the same again.  I cannot forget what I lost when she died, my greatest loss, my heart itself, my joy that only she brought me.   I have read accounts like this by  other people sometimes on FB, not often, because usually people have multiple borzoi and the others help the owner get over the loss.  However, sometimes, a kennel will have one of those very extraordinary borzoi that transcends who and what it is, and when the owner writes about it, I recognize and understand what has happened to them.

Somehow, I am learning to love and smile, because I have grown from that place.  In the process, I have learned that Opal made a difference in my life, by enabling me, after almost 15 years, me to experience love and joy again.  I do not mourn her, I celebrate her, every day.  I was the luckiest person in the world to have had her.  I believe we will be reunited upon my death.  Opal is my definition of heaven.  Someday, when she comes up to me and looks up, and then hit me with her paw, like she used to, then, she will never be far away again.

“They call me Mimi but my name is Lucia….”

I have been having a busy week.  I had my six month checkup for my lung cancer surgery last September, with a CAT-Scan with contrast media, and follow up with the surgeon.  I am very aware that breathing is a different experience for me, and not for the better, but I am adjusting.  I even gained five pounds, which is a significant for me.

My chronic anorexia, and the experience of being inexplicably abandoned by someone who swore his love and commitment to me, only to be followed up by  ghosting me, made the recovery almost impossible.  Without love, it took away my strength to recover, and my will to live.  But I am made of tougher stuff and survived in spite of it.

Today is very early spring, and I have reason for optimism and looking ahead.   I am attaching a photo of my son and my grand-daughter, Piper Starling Connolly, who visited me a week ago, making me very happy.  Kensie is standing by my side, where she can always be found.

I am reminded of Mimi’s aria in Act. 1 of the opera, La Boheme, set in Paris, my favorite city in the world.   I would like to share it as an ode to spring for all of us, and to my own victory over death and despair. Mimi is forced to face her own mortality by the end of Act 3, as shall we all.  But in Act I, there is flirting, laughter, and the hope that only comes in spring.  Find it on YouTube to listen to the beautiful melody.  The words follow:

“They call me Mimi, but my name is Lucy.

I embroider flowers, roses and lilies on silk.

I am peaceful and happy; it is my pass time.

I like these things.  They have so sweet a smell,

They speak of love, of spring, of chimera, these things

That have poetic names….. do you understand me?

Yes, they call me Mimi, why, I do not know….

Alone, I make my lunch for myself,

I do not always go to mass.

But I pray a lot to the Lord.

I live alone and cook for myself.  Alone….

But when the thaw comes, the first sun is mine!

The first kiss of April is mine!

Rose buds in a vase, leaf and buds

I watch them.  The flowers I make,

They do not have an odor

Rose buds in a vase,

Leaf by leaf, I watch it

The gentle perfume of a flower!

But the flowers I make

Ah me, they do not have any odor!

About me, I would not know how to tell.

I am only your neighbor come to bother you!”

From Act I of the Italian opera La Bohème by Giacomo Puccini

Libretto: Giuseppe Giacosa

First day of Spring at Blyss, Mountainside, NJ

It was a bit too cold for me to be happy about the first week of Spring, but it can only get better.  I have not done much yet outdoors.  I see the little bits of green weeds starting to show, and I know there will be more to follow, keeping me busy.  Some crocuses have bloomed between the snow drops.  No daffodils yet.   I might go and see the Philadelphia Flower Show in early June with a new friend I have met on Facebook dating who says he wants to take me.  We’ll see, we have not met face to face yet.  I am getting my second vaccine shot on Thursday, and then I  have to remain in quarantine for two weeks.
I have been spending a lot of time watching and/or listening to operas, on DVDs, CDs or YouTube.  I have quite a collection.  It has helped the long stretches of time pass.  I am tired of reading and watching movies, and I am a huge fan of operas.  Sometimes I just listen to arias, other times I want to watch the entire opera.  Recently, I have watched, over and over, La Traviata, La Boheme, Turondot, Madame Butterfly, Lucia de Lamamore, La Sommnabula, The Elixir of Love, Norma, Nabucco, The Barber of Seville, and probably others as well,  I used to go to the Metropolitan Opera, before I got the dogs.  There was nothing like it.  Ever.  My favorite singers are Pavarotti and Maria Callas.  I also like a soprano, Anna Moffo, who was very beautiful.  She has many operas and arias on YouTube.  Sadly, they are all  deceased.
Soon, I will have to resume my endless weeding.  I have begun walking Kensie this week for my 2 mile walk.  I see my surgeon for a follow up appointment on Tuesday.  I hope he is pleased with how I am doing.  I gained five pounds since the surgery.
Although I am alone and not happy about it, somehow, life just goes on.  I just put one foot in front of the other and it happens.  There is no point thinking about it, whatever I think about something doesn’t  matter, life itself is going to happen, regardless.  I think recognizing this has helped me attain a certain level of wisdom I did not have before.  It’s like the end of the movie, Splendor in the Grass, written by William Ing, when Deanie goes to visit Bud on his farm after she comes home from her stay in a psychiatric hospital.  In the scene, she asks him, “Are you happy?”  Bud looks at her and says, “I don’t think much about happiness anymore.  You have to take what comes.”  Deanie agrees that is best and they separate.   Like Bud, who as a young man “had it all”,  I try not to think of my life in terms of happiness being there or not, or how much I achieved, either.  Just given the passage of time, something new will happen to me that will be beyond my control, it will just happen, something good or something bad.  And I won’t be able to do a single thing about it.
Virus-free. www.avg.com
Virus-free. www.avg.com

I would like to think it is getting better at Blyss with Kensey

Today, I awoke slowly.  Over the weekend, it was time to turn the clocks ahead so we are in “Daylight Savings Time”, that gives us more sunlight in the afternoon and evening.  That gives me time to give my dog a second or third walk in the late afternoon or after dinner.  It is usually the warmer time of year, so I am out more, working in my garden or talking to the passers by, or my neighbors.  My home, and home town, are particularly conducive to this.  All I have to do is get up and live and I find myself enjoying the idyllic surroundings with which I am blessed.

I have been more blessed in past times because I had lived with several borzoi, as many as five or six at a time.  That is a memory bourgeoning with bliss running over, especially when our litter was born. Then my last husband, Bob, was alive.   Bob, who was taken from me almost violently, was ravaged by pancreatic cancer at the age of 56, ten years ago this week in 2021.  I came across some photos this weekend during happy times, in particular, the time of our wedding in 2000.  We looked so happy.  I declared myself  a “Millenium Bride”! looked so amazingly beautiful and young.  I do not look that way anymore.  The last twenty years have been cruel.  I have had cancer twice, and lived through the ravages of two nervous breakdowns.  Sadly, I recovered and did well on my own after Bob was gone, and missed him terribly, knowing we would have been happy together again, but it was too late.  Following his passing, I have just endured ten years of bitter loneliness as I have dated one loser, liar, basket case cripple after another, looking for love.  I am a woman who craves human love, never having had it as a child.

Today, I am no longer able to keep borzoi, I am just too frail from  having lost so much weight during my illnesses.   I am still active, however, in my clubs, I participate in Meet the Breeds when it is in NY City, and I am an active member of the Borzoi Club of America. However, I have ventured into the world of Silken Windhounds and I am currently living with the irresistible “Kensie”, from the Wind ‘n Satin Kennel of Mary Childs in Ohio.  A more precious creature with a princess attitude cannot be found.  She is loved and adored by all who meet her.  She knew instantly I was her person and what her job was.  She is a jewel of a dog, so much like a borzoi in every way, just half the size.  I will admit, she does not have the “drama” of a borzoi, but in every way, she is  just perfect.  I was profoundly depressed when she came.  My maintenance medications were all increased, and with her presence in the home, and the structure caring for another living creature creates in your life, I began to feel better quickly.  The same thing that would have made me happy as a child makes me happy as an elderly woman today.

This old horse, the Rancher said……

Along the Dusty Trail

 This old horse, the Rancher said,

She’s seen some better days,

She’s eating up my profits

And costs a lot for hay.


Another horse would suit me

A stronger one at that

She’s seen a lot of miles

Like my cowboy hat.


This old horse, the Rancher said,

She helped me herd my steer

I’m pretty sure she’s magic

I know I hold her dear.


Another horse would suit me

One that can run fast

Maybe one that’s younger

Or maybe one that lasts.


This old horse, the Rancher said,

She’s long and far in tooth

My children do remember

Her fondly from their youth.


 Another horse would suit me

A gelding in its prime

One that needs less fixing

That helps me save a dime!


Why, they ask, then keep her?

Why not trade her now?

Bring her to an auction,

Replace her with a cow?


 The Rancher’s brow grew heavy

He took a staggered step

His eyes did show his friendship

In wrinkles, as they crept.


His breath, he took in deeply

As he poised to say his words

It’s as if the earth grew silent,

That his message could be heard.


This old horse, the Rancher said

Has given me her life.

I would not trade for anything

Nor either would my wife.


Another horse would suit me,

And perhaps someday will come,

But this old gal, I love her,

She is the chosen one.


The old horse, the Rancher said

Her services she did lend

Her and I have seen the years

This old horse, she is my friend.


Another horse would suit me well

And younger days for me

And I will keep my promise,

Until our last breath sets us free.

 Facebook. March 9, 2021

This poem, like the one I posted a few weeks ago, “The Old One”, and the one I added earlier today, “Seven is the number of years”,  although not as eloquent and dramatic, speaks of the same theme, appreciation for an old horse that is obviously a burden now but still highly valued for the many years of service it performed for a rancher or a rider and his family.  As someone born to “city folk”, whose family  would never give stories like this a glance, let alone a second glance, or to stop and read it, and transcribe it in her Blog, where love of equines and canines are celebrated in full force. my passion for these beautiful creatures is an anomaly.  However,  I lack for nothing on the positive scale of compassion for all animals, domestic and otherwise but especially: canine, equine, feline, avian, porcine,   bovine, goats, and other barnyard animals too numerous to elucidate who live at the mercy of us humans and often suffer terribly from it. How can we wipe away their pain?  Why must it be there?  Part of it is financial, since veterinary care has become so expensive, and part of it is because caring for barnyard animals s so hard and labor intensive.  However, I am sure animal owners cut corners on quality of care and the animals suffer from it.  My heart, my passion, belong to horses and dogs, especially.

In my twenties, I rescued a thoroughbred from the track, and had a nice pleasure horse for a number of years.  Financially, long term, it was not realistic in relation to my salary.  Looking back, now that I am seventy, I realize it was not expensive at all, because the cost today is totally prohibitive.  I turned to dogs in 2002, borzoi, the most equine-like dogs in the world.  I compromised my deepest value and sold my horse, and was never being able to own on again.  I was destined to always have a horse, and I failed.  What I do instead today is donate to horse rescue charities in the amount to which I am able.  I have found many such charities on Facebook and many wonderful people, saints, who do this work.  When I find a horse poem or a piece of writing that celebrates equines, I save it because it always touches my heart.  I then share it by putting it in my Blog giving it a wider audience than it otherwise might not receive because I know I have a steady readership audience for the Blog.


Least we not forget, The Horses; from Facebook

Regardless of the depth and breadth of materials it holds, I find so much that is good on Facebook.  For me to note it, and then to wish to save it, and/or post it on my Blog means that I have been very moved by a particular piece of writing and it has made an impact on me.   I don’t know how all these disparate items appear in my feed, sometimes forwarded by a Friend, or just appearing out of the blue, but I receive the most astounding pieces of writing about life, the world, and our place in it.  Unquestionably, this one that I received today, stands among the best.  I feel compelled to share it with my Facebook friends and my Blog readers.  It follows:

Seven is the number of years I served my owner, trotting, walking, loping, quiet and gentle.  I carry her children, husband, friends and neighbors.  I have plenty of hay, horse friends, and time to myself.  Green pastures, blue skies, I am at peace.

Six is the number of months I carry on in pain after falling. I do it for her, anything for her.  She is impatient with me.  I try hard to keep up but the pain slows me down.  Every step hurts.  No one wants to ride me.  A new horse arrives to carry on in my place.  I do not know this word, “useless”.

Five is the number of hours I stand in the small pen at the auction.  I hurt.  I do not know these horses; I do not know these people.  I am far from my pasture.  I search for comfort, switching weight off my painful leg, the people notice.  I do not know the word, “lame”.

Four is the number of times my value is calculated by my weight.  I don’t understand their words but I can read their eyes.  Hard stares.  I try to be invisible, but they see me.  I do not know this word, “slaughter”.

Three is the number of sniffs I take of your face through the pen before deciding you are kind and safe.  I like your eyes.  They are soft.  I like your hands.  They are gentle.  Please don’t leave me here.  I try to pick up my feet for you.  It hurts.  I try hard.  I rest my muzzle in your hand.

Two is the number of minutes it takes for me to pass through another pen.  I am scared.  I am trapped.  I am alone, people are shouting.  It hurts to walk.  A man is talking; his voice echoes all around me, there are so many people watching the hard stares.  Suddenly it’s over.          

One is the number of hours it takes before I walk onto the trailer.  I am alone.  I am scared.  It is moving. The door opens, I hold my breath, and brace at the light.  It’s you!  I stand still and breathe slow.  Kind hands, soft words, I’m not afraid now.

Two is the number of x-rays the vet takes while I stand quietly for you, anything for you.  Many days have passed.  I have energy now, my pain is less.  I like my new pasture, I like my new stall, I like my new hay.  I don’t know why we have a vet but I stand still for his visits.  So many visits.  I do not know the word, ‘rehabilitation”.

Three is the number of months before the pain is all the way gone.  I am relaxed with you, we start to ride together.  I am afraid the pain will come back, butt you are gentle, so I try.  I try hard for you, anything for you.

Four is the number of weeks I learn a new way of riding.  Another person rides me every day.  I’m becoming strong.  I understand my lessons..  I am proud to work, I feel you are happy with me, visiting me, and learning together.  I do not know this word , “training”.

Five is the number of years I work hard for you.  We travel to shows, we work cows, we ride with friends.  We do hundreds and hundreds of miles together.  You trust me and I trust you.  I give you everything I have, everything for you, anything for you.  I memorize your rhythm, your looks, your moods.  I know when to be wild and when to be still.  We are a team.

Six is the number of minutes I try to hide the pain after a fall, but you see through me.  I stand for the vet, still as a stone.  The pain leaves but I sense your sadness.  I remember a word from before when I had pain, “useless”, but you never say that word.  You no longer ride me but I see you every day for carrots and treats and long walks.  I relax again.  You will not abandon me.  I do not know this word, “retired”.

Seven is the number of breaths I take in your arms.  I has been many years, we have grown old and wise and slow together.  I lay down like so many times before but could not rise.  You came right away.  I tried for you, but I could not stand.  You say, its okay, sink down next to me, I breathe slowly.  You are very close, holding my head, weeping. 

I feel your sadness so I put my muzzle in your hand one last time to comfort you, anything for you.  I breathe out.  Green pastures, blue skys, I am at peace.  I know this word, “loved”.

 Author Unknown.



How sad it is today that society has such a diminished use for horses over the last one hundred years that owning them has become a sport, or an expensive pleasurer hobby, or a breed farm for the horses to be sold for profit, with great emphasis on the economic worth of the animal that needs to offset the ever growing expense of owning it.  Although we are grateful for the advances in veterinary medicine that allow them to treat and relieve previously untreatable pain conditions successfully, thereby keeping their economic value viable, it comes at a high cost to the horse owner, an expense that they may not be able to afford.  Then, there is the kill pen slaughter.  In today’s story, one lucky horse found his Guardian Angel, a lovely lady who saw him broken down and thought she had a chance to heal him and could see the potentially good horse he could become for her.  She took that leap of faith; she did the right thing by purchasing, and transporting him, then by vetting him, then by “rehabilitating” him so he could live pain free.  In return, he worked his heart out for her, as in “anything for her”.  The story makes some serious assumptions, like the lady having the time and resources to rehab this horse and retrain him, with success.  She then had a great horse to ride and love, and she was loved back in return.  She had a huge heart for her horse and always did the right thing.  I cannot help but be very critical of society for failing to do the right thing regarding our domesticated animals most of the time.  Whether it is puppy mills, or breaking or breaking down horses, abusing donkeys, slaughtering donkeys for their hides and milk, seeing young thoroughbred break down on the track, I wonder, where will this end?  With horses no longer needed for work, will they go away like so many other animals that no longer walk this earth?  In the canine world, one may think there will always be dogs, and there are many, yet many breeds have been lost over the last 100 years, especially in Terriers and Sporting Dogs.  Once the breed is gone, it really cannot be brought back, as some breeds claim to have done, as with the Irish Wolfhound, by recreating it using similar dogs to  create a resemblance.  It is better not to lose the breed at all than have to reconstruct it.  Likewise, it is better not to break down a young horse than have to rehab it.  People do not think that way, they are abusive and selfish, thinking only of what they want to do with the animal in the present, and throwing it away when they are through with it.

The roots of mankind’s responsibility for animals is in the Bible.  Yet, we have done a sickening  job of failing them.  There are no shortage of tears I weep for the canines and equines who depend on mankind for their wellbeing.  God sees and knows everything  and has no inhibition to unleash karma for betraying the trust of animals in the hands of humans who betray it.   When I pray, I pray for the abused, abandoned, and dying animals before I pray for myself or others.  Animals do not have a safety net and need the prayers more.  Perhaps most of mankind has forgotten the animals, but God and I have not.