Waldo Hills Heritage Ride

The plan was to take William on his first trail ride.  He had his shoes on, he was all ready to go.  Until, he got in the trailer with my friends 3 mares.  They did not agree that he should be allowed to go.  They all threw up a stink and Will jumped out of that trailer faster than I could say "Knock it off!"

So, I took a barefoot Laredo.  Four grueling hours, Larry and I slogged that trail like nobody's business.  Bring it.  And I rode it all in a crappy English saddle!  Bam!

Half way through we had a bbq lunch (delicious) and by the time we were done, Larry had been kicked in the chest by said mare above, and had four chipped hooves.  Darn rocks.  But no worries, he was fine, except for the rub mark that left his flesh sore under a boot cover.  Dang those boots.

We got home and I cold hosed him, fed him, doctored his little cut, found a sore on his back tendon, cold hosed some more, and then put him to bed.  This morning, he was bright and happy!  (although moving slow... just like me!)  Happy birthday me!

To Emerge

From beneath ruins of broken soldiers

She emerges with valiant whispers

Of a past she cannot shed.

But her feet are shaking,

Unsteady beneath her waking spirit

As she stumbles to find

what she is looking for.

He holds out His hand to catch her,

Puts His ear to her lips and hears

Her valiant whispers of uncertainty.

This is the pillar of two hearts

Fighting for life and love.

One sacred one broken.

This is the column of two strangers,

Brought together with reserve

And an expanse that no man can fill.

And she puts her hands on His chest,

And feels his heart beating there,

the fire of His love, His pierced heart…

and she emerges from her broken ruins,

and lets her spirit wake.

And They never forget...

Finally had enough sunny days to where the pasture dried up enough to do a little driving.  I'm too pregnant to ride right now, so I took the opportunity to check up on the boys and see where they are as far as remembering thier stuff.  William did AMAZING.  He was releasing his tail, lowering his head, picking up his back feet and propelling off the inside, soft in the mouth, well rounded and willing.
Laredo was stiff at first, argued with the outside reign a few times, but soon remembered what was up and who was boss.  He too calmed and rounded himself.  He is still unsure of the cantor.  I think he needs a back adjustment.  Maybe it just hurts?  Other than that, I have not been more pleased in a long time.

Then my 3 little cousins all got a ride on Laredo, who instantly realized children were on his back.  His eyes softened, his head dropped to the floor and his ears swiveled around to listen to their giggles in the saddle.  He was so sweet and calm.  That is why I bought this horse!

When all else fails...

For those of you who know the difficulty I had getting back to Oregon from Texas, it will be of no surprise to hear that the day before I was scheduled to leave, my horse hauler canceled.  He called me up and had the guts to say he had loaned his trailer out to a friend over the weekend, and it got totaled.  He had also conveniently lost his credit card and so could not rent a trailer to do the haul.  Did I mention I was at the airport picking up my mom who was going to be driving home with me the very next day? My world was shattered.  I was not going to leave my horses in the Texas waste land with no food or hay in the care of my landlord, nor was I going to send them to an auction.  They had both been up for sale for months with no real interest.  Suffice it to say, I was in a pickle.

That night, I barely slept.  I agonized over what I would do and how.  The next morning my mom and I went to this awesome little mom and pop cafe in Aubrey Texas, out by the vet clinic who had so graciously updated my boys' health checks the day before.  And we made phone calls.  So many phone calls.

"Hello, do you know of anyone who can haul 2 horses from Prosper to Salem?  HOW MUCH? Oh ok, thank you..." and so on.

Finally, we got three different referrals to Cross Country Horses, and on a last ditch effort, I called the number.  Turns out, God takes care of His own, even if it is in His own way.  Rene, the owner of the business, offered to pasture my boys at her private place until she returned from her current haul and could take them all the way to the front door of the barn outside of Salem.  Not only that, but she took the saddles and the tack box too, and the hay.

I was concerned that the horses shouldn't stay on the property another night, and refused to leave Texas without knowing the boys were safe, so Rene called a favor from a friend who was an equine dentist, and he showed up in less than an hour with a gorgeous trailer (and a beautiful blue heeler dog) and picked up the boys, the papers, the tack, the saddles, and the fee.  God gave me this kind of tranquility about the whole thing.  Laredo loaded like a champ, and William loaded right behind him after some investigation of the trailer.  With their little heads tucked in, and the extras on the back of the truck, I thanked God for coming to our rescue, yet again.

My drive home was a disaster.  Day one landed me in urgent care with pink eye, day three with double ear infections and a near ruptured drum.  Day four got me a speeding ticket, and all the while, we were burning so much gas from the loaded down civic, I was worried I would run out of money.  Still, every day I prayed that God would be my guide, that his angels would fly with us all the way home... and they did.

I expected my horses to land at Rene's for a month, and for her to haul them up in the beginning of April, but she was so on the ball that they left Texas on the 18th.
Two days before they were supposed to arrive, the barn owner where I was going to board called me and explained that a nasty strangles like cold was going around, and it was up to me if I wanted to risk exposing my boys to it.  As thin and hungry and tired as I knew they would be, I decided against it, and begged my cousin to let me borrow her horse barn for a few weeks.  She said yes, and again, I looked toward God and thanked Him.

Then, the night of the horses arrival, it snowed.  Not just a little snow.  It pummeled my cousin's house and barn.  We advised Rene she should wait until morning to risk coming all the way into Salem.  Another sleepless night.  The morning did not melt the snow, and I was anticipating the huge hill that leads to my cousin's barn, extremely steep, extremely icy, with a few blind corners thrown in.  No problem.  Rene's 63' truck and trailer setup crawled down that hill, straight to the front door of the barn.

My boys hopped off with bright eyes, healthy legs, happy nuzzles and ready to eat some Oregon hay.

When I think of how disastrous things could have gone, I again thank the Lord for all He did for me, my horses and Rene with her huge trailer.  If my boys had gone with the first hauler, who knows if they would have even made it?  I looked at Rene's website for a long long time one night, praying the two horses would make it safe, when I saw in the corner of her page these words:  "Runnin on Faith." Isn't that the truth?  Love has no Fear, and Fear has no place in our lives if we are living on love.   There is that theme again.  To love like Christ commanded, one must forgive, one must have faith, and one must be willing to sacrifice.

I know that Rene made a sacrifice for me and my boys.  She couldn't have possibly gotten a profit for hauling my boys so far for so little money, let alone keeping them on her personal property like she did.  But, I think that is just what people who love God do... they say yes, they love, and they run on faith.

Thanks Rene!

http://www.crosscountryhorses.com/

Sarah learns to love

The second Sunday of lent, 2012. 

On the second Sunday of lent, the sun shone.  Coming from Oregon, this beautiful Texas weather astounded me.  It shone so bright I was able to wear a sundress, and by 10 O’clock in the morning, had the windows and doors of my cottage thrown open.  But this Sunday was a Sunday like no other.  The patches of blood from Freedom’s killing still stained the gravel behind the pasture, but for some reason, the sun washed away its blackening color.  And then there was Sarah.

I met Sarah on Thanksgiving Day, the day I met the landlord and his family, and the day before I moved into the cottage.  The day I met Sarah, she was a mud covered mean nasty thoroughbred mare, what we often call the “boss mare”.  It was her duty to kick and bite the herd into submission under her, and if the herd failed to obey, she would pin her ears and force her bitterness onto the other horses.  As I went from one horse to the next, meeting all eight of them with the landlord’s children happily naming and pointing to each one, we came to Sarah.  She stood there with her eyes threatening, and her ears half pinned. 

I reached for her, but she was shy, and threw her head away.  I noticed her mane was matted and covered in nasty burrs.  I reached for the burrs, but her temperament would not allow me to touch her, and within seconds she had galloped across the pasture.  

Over the next few months, I noticed that Sarah had a special bond with Freedom, the large jumping Gelding and pasture mate.  They could not be separated.  She truly loved his companionship.  The next few months for me were also some of the most difficult I had ever experienced in my life.

I got laid off from my job and only source of income.  I was terrified.  Six months pregnant, alone, struggling financially so badly I worried how I was going to keep my electric on.  I took the weekend a weekend in January to wallow in the despair I felt.  I decided to go for a walk along the back side of the ranch.  I pulled on a pair of cowboy boots and a jacket and made my way down the gravel road toward the back pasture.  As I was walking, I gave up a series of prayers to the Lord, asking him in devastation to have pity on me and help me wade through this mud.  It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen any of the ten horses that roamed the property, not even my two geldings. 

As I walked around a heap of brick and other pieces of debris, the back pasture came into view.  But it wasn’t the pleasant pasture I was anticipating.  Something was wrong.  Sarah  had tangled herself in the white stretchy fence wire, ripping it from its posts, and dragging it about 60 feet into the pasture.  The wire was wrapped over her neck, between her breast and the around her left hock so tightly her leg was up and her head was low.  She couldn’t move.  Remarkably, my geldings calmly sandwiched her between them, heads low, softly nickering to her, reassuring her.  I approached her softly, and as I did, my geldings moved away.  The rest of the herd looked on with sadness; sure Sarah was a goner. 

At six months pregnant, I had a lot to lose by trying to free this mare.  She was known to kick and bite, but for some reason, I believe she knew I was there to help her.  For about 20 minutes I struggled, pulled, gently rearranged the wire.  Finally, she broke free and cantered off to join the ecstatic herd.  They leapt and reared, grunted and whinnied at the wonders of liberty as I stood there pondering this lesson. 

And then God spoke.  Elizabeth, you are this mare.  Do not struggle.  If you struggle, you will surely fall. Have faith.  While you are stuck in this fence, you must wait patiently for me, for I WILL rescue you, just as you have rescued this mare.  Do not fear.

Then, one by one, the herd returned to me, walking this time.  Each had kind eyes, and heads low.  One by one they came to me and touched me with their noses.  One by one they thanked me.  And at that moment, a peace washed over me, a grace I had never known, and I thanked God.

Sarah began to transform too.  In the barn, she would weave, a terrible habit created out of frustration.  I would often comfort her, pet her lovingly, and she would calm down.  But still there was something she lacked, or perhaps it was something that I lacked, that kept us from trusting each other.

And then Freedom died.  Sarah’s rock, her cornerstone, her best friend.  She watched him die.  For a week after his death, I monitored her.  She stood alone in the pasture.  She did not eat.  She did not bother the other horses, nor did she pin her ears or bite.  I worried about her, but there was nothing I could do.  Throughout the week I would go to the pasture and stand with the horses, talking to them softly, petting them one by one.

But something about the sunshine on the second Sunday of lent brought us together.  Sarah stood at the water trough, thirsty and looking at the dry plastic.  I pulled on some boots and immediately went out to fill the bucket.  She played in the water then, something I hadn’t seen her do.  She pushed her nose through the water, splashing me lovingly.  Then she put her head over the fence and stood looking me straight in the eye.  There was kindness in that eye, so I reached for her.  Instead of pulling away, she leaned into me.  I scratched her neck, her face, her ears, and one by one I pulled the burrs from her matted fur.

Again God spoke to me.  See how much she has grown and changed?  See how much more she is capable of love, and kindness?  She the anger she has left behind?  The fear of you she has conquered?  Soak up the beautiful sun and know that you have come this far as well.  You are yet again a new creation.  And I am proud. 

I was astounded.  It hit me quietly, peacefully, this revelation that not only had Sarah come so far, but I TOO had traveled this road with God by my side, and not only transformed myself more into his liking, but also those around me.  As people kicked and bit me along the way, God gave me the grace to love them anyway, to reach out my hand and fill their water troughs, remove the burrs from their faces, and offer my hand. 

So the two verses that follow truly made sense at that moment, a lesson learned yet again through the gentle quietness of a horse.

Stop being mean, bad-tempered, and angry. Quarreling, harsh words, and dislike of others should have no place in your lives. Instead, be king to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving you because you belong to Christ. 

Ephesians 4: 31-32

Look after each other so that not one of you will fail to find God’s best blessings, that no bitterness takes root among you, for as it springs up it causes deep trouble, hurting many in their spiritual lives. Hebrews 12:15

The death of Freedom

On the first Sunday of Lent, 2012, Freedom died.  And it was the violent and sickening death of Freedom that showed me the beauty of Peace, Love and Humanity.

Freedom, a nine year old registered thoroughbred gelding with impeccable confirmation, beauty and temperament, was the victim of inhumanity to the utmost measure.  Standing 16.1 hands tall, with what horse owners fondly refer to as a “soft eye”, Freedom was my dream horse.  And his only sin was being owned by a man who didn’t care.

                Horses, especially thoroughbreds, are prone to abscesses of the hoof in winter time.  Debris, nails, broken glass, rocks and other items can puncture the bottom of the hoof and cause a painful infection, which if left untreated can enter the blood, infect the bone, and cause unimaginable pain.  I watched Freedom suffer three abscesses in the months I lived on the ranch.  I also watched his owner, my landlord, shrug his shoulders and do nothing for the horse.  So, in my compassion for all living creatures, I took Freedom under my wing.  I hired and paid for a ferrier to come out to the ranch and trim Freedom’s hoofs, drain the abscess and take away the pain.  I fed and watered him, stalled him, and tried to help him.  But on a tight budget, I couldn’t afford the pain killers, or the other supplies to knock the abscess out.

                As a compromise, I asked the owner if I could search for a new home for Freedom, where he could have a job, and a family to love him.  Freedom was trained impeccably, and had been a winner in the fox hunting circle before falling into the hands of the owner of the ranch.  I found the perfect match for Freedom, a 14 year old hunter jumper named Taylor.  The moment she met Freedom, she saw what I saw – a diamond in the rough. 

                She and her mom took Freedom to the vet to get his feet looked at, and sadly the X-rays told a woeful story.  Freedom’s abscess and lack of care had been going on far longer than the few months I had been helping him.  Years.  His hoof wall was filled with debree due to no one taking the time to soak his infected feed.  There was swelling and scar tissue.  The outcome was that Freedom could get better, but would have cronic problems, and would need constant monitoring of the feet.  He did have a good outlook however, if someone would take the time to let him heal. 

                Unfortunately, Taylor and her mom didn’t feel that they were in a financial position to give Freedom what he deserved, or to take the gamble to undo what his owner had done to him.  They brought him back to the ranch in tears. 

                I met them at the barn and helped unload Freedom.  We all cried, and in our anger, expressed how shameful it was for his owner to treat his horses so poorly.  Choice words were said, and unfortunately overheard by the landowners 15 year old step daughter.  The stepdaughter in turn used our words as ammunition that evening, as she agreed that his cruelty to animals was wrong, and fought with the owner.

                At around ten that evening I got a phone call from the owner.  His voice was angry, and he told me how his step daughter was lecturing him about his lack of care toward the horse, and he didn’t appreciate that I had poisoned her with these thoughts.  He then announced that Freedom would be put down the following day, and that I was to remove my horses from his property as soon as possible or suffer the consequences. 

                The following day, I rounded up my two horses and put them in a safe pasture where I could monitor them.  I found Freedom happy in the back pasture, albeit in pain.  He greeted me and softly nuzzled me, let me scratch his head and neck.  I didn’t know it would be the last time I saw Freedom.

                At three in the afternoon, I heard a shot.  I ran to the big window of my cottage and looked toward the sound.  The land owner had brought all the horses to the pasture directly in front of my house, deliberately bringing them into view of my window.  He had shot Freedom, but in his anger and haste had failed to put the magnificent animal down.  Freedom’s eyes were wild, his head tossing in agony, blood spurting from his face and neck.  He struggled to get away from his owner, unable to find the strength to run.  The dogs ran away from the scene in fear, and the rest of the heard smelled the blood and began to pace and snort .  I ran onto the porch and started sobbing, the only words that could escape my mouth were, “Dear Jesus, no.  You sick son of a bitch, how could you do this?”

                Then the owner stabbed Freedom.  Freedom began to bleed out, and his head hung low.  The owner tied a rope around Freedoms head and staked it down, and one more shot later, the most beautiful horse I had ever seen crumpled under his own weight.  The shot rang out in my ears and I sobbed into my hands.

                As if he had just won a victory, the land owner left, coming back with a long strap which he tied around the animal’s body, and he drug the horse behind his station wagon, over a gravel road and dumped it into a pit, bruising the flesh and leaving a trail of blood. 

                My anger boiled, and my sadness at his inhumanity overwhelmed me.  I could not understand why or how any human being could do such a thing.  The most common synonyms for the word “humanity” are sympathy, tenderness, and goodwill.  And yet I had just witnessed a human act out of vindictiveness and hate, deliberately killing a creature for no other reason than power and punishment, and deliberately positioning the killing in front of me so I would suffer.  He had not put Freedom down out of tenderness or sympathy to keep him from suffering.  And he had not done so swiftly and painlessly.  It was a true act of Inhumanity. 

                I fled the property, the image of Freedom’s crumpled body fresh in my mind.  I went to mass, where I screamed up at the crucifix, “How can you allow these terrible things to happen?”

                And God answered me.  Freedom paid for the sins of his owner today.  He was innocent, perfect, beautiful.  Think now how I paid for the sins of all humanity.  Think of the Roman soldiers, and their vindictive hateful torture of me.  Imagine the pain you felt watching that beautiful creature fall, and magnify it by my twelve disciples and my mother as they watched me get dragged to my death, beaten and bleeding, defeated by this “humanity” that I love so greatly.  You must understand the true meaning of what was done to me.  You must understand the hate, the motivation behind my death, and yet I still chose to die.  Your tears for Freedom are real.  Your emotion is real.  Your love is real.  You are fighting all this hate with love.

                At the end of mass, the priest spoke the familiar words, “go in peace and love…” I wondered how one person going out into the world in peace and love could ever make a difference.  How many more Freedom’s must die?  How many more people must live not as humans, but as inhumans.  I thought of the disciples hiding together in a locked room, mourning the loss of their beloved friend. They were afraid to go into the world in love and peace at first.  They were afraid of the evil, the hate, the vindictive nature of the ones who despised God so much they would torture and kill him. 

                And in that moment, God gave me the strength to lean on his death.  As Jesus plead for all humanity saying, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do (Luke 23:34)” I know now that going in peace and love truly means loving all humanity, in its humanity and in its inhumanity, as Jesus did.  What greater price to pay is there, than death? And what greater way is there to conquer this than by loving and fostering peace? 

                Even in his death Freedom was beautiful, showing me what it means to love.  Even in His death, Jesus conquered hate, torture, anger, and inhumanity.  What more is there for us as Christians to do then truly go in peace and love? 

                Freedom, you are truly free now.  I will miss you, and I love you.

Quiet Mornings are my Favorite time of the Day...

After a night that is all too short, and often too cold for comfort, even with a cow hide on the bed, my alarm clock never gives me a break.  I'm up too early, every day, and it seems to be getting harder and harder.  My coffee pot broke (thats what you get for paying $9.89 at walmart for a coffee pot) and even if it did work, it doesn't have a timer on it to make the coffee for me to greet me when I get up.  Nope.  Nothing that fancy.  So the routine is getting old, but there are horses in the barn.

So it usually goes like this:  Alarm goes off, I hit snooze, and then it goes off again.  So I flip the light on, and wait for my brain to wake up.  When it does, I jump up and get as many jackets and sweats on as I possible can, then muddy boots, and a treck out to the barn.  The good thing is, the lights work in the barn now, so I don't have to use the flashlight app on my cell phone.  And then my favorite part of the day...

William's stall is on the very very end, so when I get close enough to see inside the dark barn, I can see him standing there, sleeping.  He is always asleep, tired and groggy.  But when he hears me, he opens his eyes and perks up.  I go to him first, and hug him, at least until he has to pee, and then he does, and I move on to give Laredo a hug.  (by this time, Laredo is wide awake and peeking over the stall door to say good morning.)  Then I pack buckets of water, and I chuck in the hay that isn't great quality but gets the belly full.

And all too soon its six o'clock and I'm going to be late for work, so I have to leave the quiet barn with its sweet smell, dusty stalls, and ponies.  That moment though, when all is dark, and I can see my breath, and my big Thoroughbred wakes up... knowing I am the first person he sees, knowing how much he loves me - he tells me so with his morning nibbles and kisses... that is my favorite time of day, despite the chore of getting up.