Rural Landscapes

Jun 25 2021

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.

Mar 08 2021

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.

Feb 11 2021

Finding wisdom on Facebook for Blyss

I am frequently amazed by the truly great pieces of writing that end up in my Facebook feed. It is as if the writer were sitting there in the room with me and looking deep into my very heart and knows exactly how I feel and expresses it with perfect clarity. So it is with the writing of Stephanie Bennett-Henry, especially one particular post, that I will share on my own blog, here that she posted on August 2,2015:

“I want the weirdos, the clumsy, fumbling, awkward ones who call themselves a big mess. That’s where it’s at. Give me the one whose eyes are colored with shades of madness. Throw me in a room with the loners, the ones who never found their place. Sit me down at the table with the dreamers, the ones who feel with their eyes and see with their hearts. Surround me with the extraordinary souls who inhale passion through their fingertips and exhale creativity from masterpieces in their bones. I want to dance with the ones who will break their own hearts because they only know how to love too hard or not at all. Build a path with the pieces of the broken ones. I will follow the trail and carry each piece back to its owner, showing them the stained glass pieces of their beautiful, broken magnificence.”

Stephanie Bennett-Henry. Copyrighted.

So yes, there is dignity and loss in defeat. There must be, be some positive dimension for humans since it is so ubiquitous and it does not kill us, it just keeps coming. Is this a realistic interpretation of the human condition, flailing around, coming up short, losing everything, “dying” even, when you are still very much alive? I am a master at surviving deaths. I have had several reincarnations: surviving my childhood, surviving my first and second marriages, and coping with the tragedies that befell my kennel. First, a puppy died unexpectedly. I had forgotten puppies died, as I was so focused on breeding them and on their subsequent arrivals! After, the puppies from my only litter were sent far away by my co-breeder, the one I got to keep was very sickly his first two years of life and was not emotionally sound. This was challenging and I was focused on these events more than it was warranted until the punishing hand of God delivered its final blow: taking my darling husband, prematurely young, from cancer. The only mercy to the story was it was swift.

My dreams of an adult life, happily married with a child and a houseful of dogs, Llewellyn English Setters come to mind since I did not know what borzoi were then, a show kennel and horses in a pasture, and never at a loss for love, was a bitter delusion that I never stopped pursuing long after it was feasible. I pursue it still, and I am a very old woman.

And there lays my psychosis. It is what places me in the room with the eyes colored with shades of madness, thrown in a room with loners who never found their place, who feel with their eyes see with their hearts. And yes, I have wanted to “dance” with the ones I knew would break my heart because they, too were flawed and could not love, so like my parents before them. My life is lived on a path of broken stones and every step is painful. But I see no magnificent stained glass portrait of myself to hang in the window to catch the sun and celebrate my life. I am in a very dark place. The pieces of my life lie on the ground like broken stones, and an urn will hold my ashes in a mausoleum when I die.