Mouthy Mondays

You guys have got to check out Life at the Rough String, if you haven't already looked. She's on a mustang head count this week-end, complete with photos and a little video. It's beautiful to see. I truly felt a pang. I would kill to get to do something like that. Sigh.

Susan sent me this a while back, I have some more great stories from Shanster and some new ones have just come in. I'm posting them in the order I get them, no editing from me, so be patient, keep reading and your submission will show up.

I don't know about you guys, but I love these stories. It gives me a little insight into the people who read my blog. So far everybody seems like someone it would be a blast to sit around and drink coffee with. Or tea. Or Margaritas. So here's Susan,


Anyway How did I get Started in Horses?

I can blame my British Grandparents. When I was 5 years old, we went on a trip to visit my Grandparents in Britain. They took us to the dells for a picnic, where the ponies run semi-wild. I was immediately drawn to the ponies, and they to me.

My parents later told me the ponies followed me around like a magnet, much to all the grownups dismay. Somewhere there is a photo of me on the misty dells, in my print dress and sweater, with the ponies behind me as they were wary of the person with the camera.

When we got home, all I could talk about was horses, and my mother being British, of course bought me Black Beauty to read. (yes, I was reading books like that at 5, although it was a big type version, with drawings at each chapter heading) I loved it!

Not long after I finished the book the rancher (cattle) who owned the land behind our neighborhood turned out a group of horses in the weed filled lot by the hwy. He fed them corn stalks, and little else.

There was one old chestnut who had hooves grown out in slippers, was ribby and covered with sores, whom I immediately dubbed Ginger. The others were also named from the book, but I felt esp. sad for Ginger, and she was the lowest on the totem pole in the pasture, and was covered in bites and kicks. They pushed at the fence all the way around the field, trying for the scraps of grass they could reach.

When I realized they were hungry, I spent hours each day with my wagon and pulling long grass to feed the horses. The horses soon learned to wait at our section of the fence for their daily ration of grass. They would whicker when they saw me and my wagon full of grass. I spent hours doing this each day.

Most of the horses would leave as soon as the grass was gone, but a few stayed for petting and scratching, they craved the attention as much as the grass. Ginger esp would stand with her eyes closed while I petted her for as long as I would stay. For most of a summer, those horses were the center of my world.

All too soon, we moved (my dad was in the military), and I never had horses that close again until I was old enough to buy my own. My friend next door wrote me a month later, saying the horses were still waiting at the fence for me. Then another letter later saying they were all gone, and the field empty.

Looking back on this now, with the knowledge of an adult, I know those horses were destined for slaughter (back then, horse meat was the main ingredient for pet food). While I am glad I was able to give them a bit of love and attention before they took that last trip, even now, 40+ years later, I am in tears thinking of those horses patiently and faithfully waiting, day after day for their friend to come back. Hopefully looking up the street for a child and her red wagon, and a bit of love and kindness.

It's why I support rescue today. It's why I can't count the number of old ribby horses I have brought home, fed and re-homed. I have supported legislation, voiced my opinion, offered transport and homes to slaughter bound rescues. Horses have been a large part of my life for almost 30 years, all because of an old chestnut mare who loved a 5 year old child.

Susan
http://ihaz2manyhorsez.blogspot.com/
http://shadowsrider.com/