An Unexpected Horse Tale
Tonight as I was processing an unexpected situation, another random life occurrence popped into the old brain box. When I first moved onto the land that is now my farm, I was a renter. My husband and I rented a home on the far corner of what was to become our farm many years ago. We lived on about an acre, and on the edge of our yard was a big pasture with a couple of Arabian horses in it. I grew up around mostly Appaloosas, Peruvian Pasos, and Quarter Horses with the occasional Tennessee Walker and Mule thrown into the fray. The only Arabian horses that I had spent a lot of time around were other people's horses and my sister-in-law's mare. All of them were a little flighty. The word flighty didn't begin to cover the gray mare that inhabited the field next to my house. There was a bay gelding as well, and before long I was riding that guy around the neighborhood as I am a horse magnet. However, the mare was a different story. She wanted to be loved on, but had this terrified aura. Her name was Angel.
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I expressed heartfelt gratitude to my hubs for such a thoughtful gift. Angel was the last horse I would ever pick for myself. She was beautiful, but as she was 8 years old, spooky, afraid of most everything, and so herd bound that I had to let her follow Indy (the gelding) and I wherever we rode, let's just say I wasn't too sure of what I was getting into.
It was only after I took possession of Angel that I found out what the poor mare had been through. She was born on our farm in the very pasture she lived in. She had also been harassed, tortured, and starved. The first time I walked into the field with the intention to halter her, she bolted through the fence. Her terror was so great that she didn't try to jump the fence, she ran straight through it. I later found out that my landlord's special brother would go out in the field, put a halter and lead on Angel, and crouch down. When Angel would sniff him to see what was going on, he would spray her in the face with fly spray and let her drag him around the field. Thus began her terrified fear of all things rope related. I know where I would like to stick a cattle prod when I think about the terror that jerk-face put her through.
After discovering just what my Angel girl had endured, I instead coaxed her in the round pen and "joined up" with her. When I was 19 I had a chance to watch Monty Roberts, The Horse Whisperer. All of my life I had grown up around people who "broke" animals, and that just wasn't my way. It was such a pleasure to have my eyes opened as to a method of partnering with an animal and asking them what you wanted from them, all through means of pressure and cues. In one session in the round pen I had Angel where I could halter and lead her around. After the next session I could rub a flag attached to a pole all over her body. We were pals and she trusted me.
Then, I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, and Angel and I didn't get to work together as much as I wanted to. What she did get was a peaceful life, plenty of food and company, and tons of love. Time went by, and before I knew it, my little Polish Arabian mare was 17, and that is when the next great adventure in her life began.
I have a dear friend, Mike, who is one of the best people I have ever seen with horses. He took my untrained, senior horse, and within a few training sessions had us all riding her. Although she is not the most supple to the left, Miss Angel is a fantastic trail horse that will take a moose sighting with ease. She loves getting out and exploring, and I think her story gives up some good themes to think about:
It doesn't matter how horrid your start is at or in anything, there is a good life out there to be had.
and
A new adventure can start at any age, you just have to have a willing attitude!
The attitude that my sometimes stubborn and flighty old mare exhibits is no match for her curious nature and serious attitude of fortitude. I consider it my privilege and honor to provide her with a comfortable place to enjoy her old age. She is now in her twenties and her main job is the babysitter of any new animal that comes on the farm. She has adopted my daughter's 4-H steer and fusses over him like he is her own foal. I'm just glad that she is content, for that old girl has taught me many things indeed!
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