| General Non-Fiction posted January 16, 2023 |
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A rescue horse
Sweet Willie
by prettybluebirds
The horse never acknowledged my presence. The decrepit animal stood in the far corner of a muddy, manure-filled corral with its head hanging so low his nose almost touched the ground. If the horse was aware of me, it appeared he didn't care; he had given up on humans and life in general. The poor guy was on his last legs.
I had owned horses for many years, and after I married my second husband, I occasionally rescued an abused or malnourished horse. We operated a dairy farm with ample hay and grain to feed extra animals. I'm not sure my husband approved of the idea, but he went along because he knew I loved horses. To my husband, horses were hay burners, a waste of time and money. Yet, he always went with me to bring my latest rescue home.
One day we were in Muskegon, Michigan, because a friend told me someone wanted to find a new home for their horse. This friend also warned me of the animal's condition, so I wasn't surprised to see another neglected, starved horse. However, I didn't realize his condition was so bad until I looked closer.
The horse's hip bones jutted sharply out from his manure-caked hide, and his hooves were so long they curled up at the ends. The animal had not seen a blacksmith for a very long time. Cockleburrs and mud made it impossible to determine the color of the horse's mane and tail or the rest of his body. The severe emaciation of the animal made me wonder if I could still save him, but I was determined to try. With much coaxing and pushing, we got him in the trailer and took him home.
After several weeks of loving care and good food, the mud-covered skeleton began to look like a horse. My blacksmith made several visits until he finally had the animal's feet back to normal. And under all the filth, I found a lovely horse, chocolate-colored with a long flaxen mane and tail. Then, it was time to find out how well-broke he was.
A pleasant surprise awaited me the first time I saddled the horse and cautiously swung up on his back. While he wasn't well-versed in reining or riding aids, he was gentle and learned fast. Soon the horse would be ready for a new owner, which is what I did with the horses after rehabilitating them. Of course, I ensured they went to only the best of homes.
I named the horse Willie and immediately noticed something different about him. Willie became highly attached to me, more like a dog than a horse. He moped when I paid attention to the other horses or chose another horse to ride. He sometimes wouldn't eat until I spent some time brushing and talking to him. From my past experiences, I thought Willie's behavior was somewhat unhorse-like. I figured it might have something to do with what he had been through and that he would soon return to being like other horses. It didn't happen.
I decided my best course of action was to find a kind-compassionate person, preferably a woman, to give Willie a new home, someone who had time to give him the attention he craved. It had to be a woman because Willie definitely disliked men; perhaps a man mistreated him. I would have kept him, but I already had more horses than I wanted. Dairy farming is a full-time job that doesn't leave much time for other activities. No, sad to say, Willie needed a new home.
After several applicants came to look at Willie, I settled on a young woman named Joyce, who lived about ten miles east of our farm. She rode Willie several times, and they seemed to get along okay. I sent Willie and Joyce out alone to ensure the horse wasn't tolerating her because I was there. The two appeared to hit it off, so I loaded Willie in their trailer and sent him home with her. I heard Willie's frantic whinnies when they left the yard. It made me sad, but I was sure the horse would adjust to his new home, given time
Early the following morning, I received a frantic phone call from Joyce. "Willie is gone," she sobbed. I could hear the anguish in her voice. "Sometime during the night, Willie broke out of his pen. We followed his tracks west until we lost them in the woods. I will never forgive myself if something happens to him."
I would never forgive myself, either. I promised Joyce I would look for Willie as soon as we finished milking.
I didn't have to look far. With chores completed, I started towards the house, and you guessed it, there stood Willie by the horse stables, patiently waiting for his breakfast. I put him in his stall and scratched his favorite spots until he calmed down. Then I called Joyce to let her know Willie was okay.
It became a repeat performance. Joyce would take Willie home, and he returned to our place in a day or two. He unlatched doors, busted fences, kicked the wall out of Joyce's barn, or whatever it took to escape. Willie was a Houdini in horsehide. Joyce tried everything to win the horse's affection, and Willie did like her; he just wanted to be with me.
Finally, after Willie's seventh escape, Joyce and I devised a plan. She didn't want to give Willie up, but we feared the horse would get hurt on one of his trips across the countryside. I agreed to keep Willie at my place while Joyce paid whatever expenses arose concerning the horse's upkeep. It was a win-win solution for all of us, especially Willie. Joyce and I shook hands on the deal, then she hugged Willie, got in her car, and departed.
"Well, are you happy now?" I asked Willie. He gave me a horse's version of a laugh, curling his upper lip back and bobbing his head up and down. Willie was home to stay.
The horse never acknowledged my presence. The decrepit animal stood in the far corner of a muddy, manure-filled corral with its head hanging so low his nose almost touched the ground. If the horse was aware of me, it appeared he didn't care; he had given up on humans and life in general. The poor guy was on his last legs.
I had owned horses for many years, and after I married my second husband, I occasionally rescued an abused or malnourished horse. We operated a dairy farm with ample hay and grain to feed extra animals. I'm not sure my husband approved of the idea, but he went along because he knew I loved horses. To my husband, horses were hay burners, a waste of time and money. Yet, he always went with me to bring my latest rescue home.
One day we were in Muskegon, Michigan, because a friend told me someone wanted to find a new home for their horse. This friend also warned me of the animal's condition, so I wasn't surprised to see another neglected, starved horse. However, I didn't realize his condition was so bad until I looked closer.
The horse's hip bones jutted sharply out from his manure-caked hide, and his hooves were so long they curled up at the ends. The animal had not seen a blacksmith for a very long time. Cockleburrs and mud made it impossible to determine the color of the horse's mane and tail or the rest of his body. The severe emaciation of the animal made me wonder if I could still save him, but I was determined to try. With much coaxing and pushing, we got him in the trailer and took him home.
After several weeks of loving care and good food, the mud-covered skeleton began to look like a horse. My blacksmith made several visits until he finally had the animal's feet back to normal. And under all the filth, I found a lovely horse, chocolate-colored with a long flaxen mane and tail. Then, it was time to find out how well-broke he was.
A pleasant surprise awaited me the first time I saddled the horse and cautiously swung up on his back. While he wasn't well-versed in reining or riding aids, he was gentle and learned fast. Soon the horse would be ready for a new owner, which is what I did with the horses after rehabilitating them. Of course, I ensured they went to only the best of homes.
I named the horse Willie and immediately noticed something different about him. Willie became highly attached to me, more like a dog than a horse. He moped when I paid attention to the other horses or chose another horse to ride. He sometimes wouldn't eat until I spent some time brushing and talking to him. From my past experiences, I thought Willie's behavior was somewhat unhorse-like. I figured it might have something to do with what he had been through and that he would soon return to being like other horses. It didn't happen.
I decided my best course of action was to find a kind-compassionate person, preferably a woman, to give Willie a new home, someone who had time to give him the attention he craved. It had to be a woman because Willie definitely disliked men; perhaps a man mistreated him. I would have kept him, but I already had more horses than I wanted. Dairy farming is a full-time job that doesn't leave much time for other activities. No, sad to say, Willie needed a new home.
After several applicants came to look at Willie, I settled on a young woman named Joyce, who lived about ten miles east of our farm. She rode Willie several times, and they seemed to get along okay. I sent Willie and Joyce out alone to ensure the horse wasn't tolerating her because I was there. The two appeared to hit it off, so I loaded Willie in their trailer and sent him home with her. I heard Willie's frantic whinnies when they left the yard. It made me sad, but I was sure the horse would adjust to his new home, given time
Early the following morning, I received a frantic phone call from Joyce. "Willie is gone," she sobbed. I could hear the anguish in her voice. "Sometime during the night, Willie broke out of his pen. We followed his tracks west until we lost them in the woods. I will never forgive myself if something happens to him."
I would never forgive myself, either. I promised Joyce I would look for Willie as soon as we finished milking.
I didn't have to look far. With chores completed, I started towards the house, and you guessed it, there stood Willie by the horse stables, patiently waiting for his breakfast. I put him in his stall and scratched his favorite spots until he calmed down. Then I called Joyce to let her know Willie was okay.
It became a repeat performance. Joyce would take Willie home, and he returned to our place in a day or two. He unlatched doors, busted fences, kicked the wall out of Joyce's barn, or whatever it took to escape. Willie was a Houdini in horsehide. Joyce tried everything to win the horse's affection, and Willie did like her; he just wanted to be with me.
Finally, after Willie's seventh escape, Joyce and I devised a plan. She didn't want to give Willie up, but we feared the horse would get hurt on one of his trips across the countryside. I agreed to keep Willie at my place while Joyce paid whatever expenses arose concerning the horse's upkeep. It was a win-win solution for all of us, especially Willie. Joyce and I shook hands on the deal, then she hugged Willie, got in her car, and departed.
"Well, are you happy now?" I asked Willie. He gave me a horse's version of a laugh, curling his upper lip back and bobbing his head up and down. Willie was home to stay.
 Recognized |
#16 January 2023 |
This is a true story. I have had a lot of horses, but never one that acted like Willie. Joyce kept Willie at my place for several years. When Willie got older, he must have decided to give Joyce a break. She rode him over to her house one day and put him in the barn. For some reason, known only to Willie, he stayed. He never tried to come back again.
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and 2 member cents. Artwork by avmurray at FanArtReview.com
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