Wednesday, January 24, 2007, 20:24

A Success Story

I was just carrying up to the house the frozen buckets of water that Isabelle and Kajun did not drink last night when the dogs started barking.

I looked toward the road and saw a woman on horseback with a dog running in front of the horse. It was one of our neighbors.

I figured I had better at least get a hold of Pixie and put her in the house. That way, there would only be one dog to deal with if Charlie decided he wanted to get nose-to-nose with the neighbor's dog.

While I was inside the basement with Pixie, I heard Charlie bark right outside the door. I opened the door, and there was neighbor, standing by the horse, holding the bridle.

"Do you recognize this horse?" she asked.

I looked at the horse.

"You're kidding!" I said. "Look at how big she has gotten!"

It was the filly we had rescued last summer. The one that the owner did not want and was going to shoot if no one would take her. I had contacted the neighbors. They went to see her. Then they ponied her home with two of their own horses for 10 miles. When I had seen the filly last, her feet were in terrible shape and her knees were swollen from walking crooked on her feet.

"What do you think of her feet?" the neighbor asked.

I looked down at the horse's front hooves.

"They are in a hundred times better shape than when I saw her last summer!" I said.

"I work on them every week a little bit," the neighbor said. "When the farrier first saw her, he said if we worked on them frequently, they would probably get a lot better."

As I looked at the filly, I could not get over how she had grown. She was big when we saw her last summer, but she is bigger yet now. A tall, rangy, smooth-muscled Appaloosa.

"She's so big!" I said. "I thought she was big as a just-turned-two-year-old, but look at her now."

The woman nodded. "I know. She was out of a little mare, too. And she won't be three until next summer. I think she's crossed with Standardbred."

"Standardbred!" I said.

My own believed Irene Cappy, the horse I had gotten when I was 14, was a Standardbred. She was absolutely a wonderful horse. A tall, beautiful bay.

Standardbred would explain this filly's long, rangy body and the height, of course.

"We call her Mindy. She's going to be a quiet horse, too. She's nervous now because she wants to run with your horses," the neighbor said.

Isabelle and Kajun, in honor of an equine guest in the driveway, were tearing around and around their pastures.

"She's friendly, too. You can catch her anytime," the neighbor said.

When we had seen her last summer, the filly had come right up to all of us. She was not the least afraid of people.

"Well, I guess we'd better get going," the neighbor said, turning to lead the horse down the driveway.

"Thank you for stopping!" I said.

"I wanted you to see how far she's come since we rescued her," the neighbor replied.

Oh, my, yes. The filly has come very far.

As I carried the frozen buckets into the house on a cold January day with a stiff wind from the north and only a little thin, watery sunshine, I felt warm inside.

The filly is safe. She's coming alone nicely. And she's with people who care about her.

And to think. Someone wanted to end her life, to throw away her life as if she were no more important than a sink-full of dirty dishwater.

And to think. Someone else came along who would not let that happen. Who took the time to rescue her. Who is taking the time to work with her.

I'm glad I know people like my neighbors.

LeAnn R. Ralph

Tuesday, January 23, 2007, 18:32

Anticipation

While I was chipping up frozen horse manure and tossing it over the fence in Kajun's pasture this morning, Isabelle was already ready and waiting in her own pasture across the lane.

It is a cold January day here at Rural Route 2. The sky is cloudy, a dull, flat, pewter gray, the air temperature is around 15 degrees, and there's a stiff breeze out of the north/northwest. Occasional snow flurries whirl through the air.

I finished up Kajun's pasture, picked up my spade and my manure picker and crawled through the fence.

Isabelle came closer to the fence by her feed tub, watching me closely.

As I crawled the fence, she turned her rear end toward me and began backing up slowly.

"In a minute, Isabelle," I said. "I want to get this frozen manure broken loose and tossed over the fence first."

I went about hacking away at the frozen piles of manure with my trusty spade. Cleaning up around the pastures is never easy in the winter when the temperature is far below freezing.

As I moved around from pile to pile, Isabelle moved with me. When I stopped, she would turn her rear end in my direction and slowly start backing toward me.

Isabelle has grown quite a bit in the last year and a half. She is still not a tremendously big horse, but she's bigger than she was, that's for sure. And if she bumped against me, I knew she would easily be able to knock me down.

"Not yet, Isabelle," I said.

The black horse with the white T on her face moved away a few steps and watched me as I made my trips back and forth to toss horse manure onto the pile on the other side of the fence.

"Okay," I said. "I'm done now."

I tossed the picker and the shovel over the fence out of Isabelle's reach. Everything is a toy as far as Isabelle is concerned. Rakes. Shovels. Manure pickers. Buckets. Feed tubs. She's like Snowflake that way. Snowflake thinks everything in the house is a toy. From time to time, I have to keep reminding myself that it's the job of young creatures to play and to explore the world around them.

I picked up the little pink brush that I use to brush Isabelle's mane and tail.

Isabelle heaved a deep sigh of happiness and turned her rear end toward me again.

As I started brushing her tail, she heaved another sigh of contentment.

Isabelle loves attention. She enjoys getting her mane and tail brushed. I use the little brush to brush her body, too, and to get the hay chaff out of her long winter hair that gets stuck when she lies down inside her shelter to rest.

Now that I am much busier with newspaper work, I don't have as much time to pay attention to Isabelle. So when I do get the chance to brush her, she wants to be sure she doesn't miss a single moment.

"I bought some hair bands for you Isabelle," I said, as I moved forward to brush her black mane. "But I'm not going to braid your hair until it's warm enough to be out here without gloves."

Part of Isabelle's mane toward the top of her neck likes to flop in the wrong direction. I am going to use the hair bands to braid her hair. If I leave her hair braided for a month or two, eventually the hair will be trained to lie on the same side as the rest of her mane.

I moved around to the front to brush Isabelle's chest. She nuzzled my shoulder and snuffled at my ear.

"Okay, Izzy. How's that?" I said, giving one final swipe with the brush before walking toward the fence.

I didn't want to look back at Isabelle because I knew she would have a disappointed expression on her face. Isabelle would stand still to be brushed all day long if I wanted to stand and brush her all day long.

Isabelle followed me to the fence.

"With any luck, I'll have time tomorrow, too," I said.

When Isabelle saw I was headed back toward the house, she went back to eating her hay.

Last fall when the hoof trimmer was here to trim up the horse's feet, I told him that Isabelle will stop eating her hay and will walk over to the fence when she sees me coming with a brush because enjoys being brushed so much

"I like that in a horse!" he said. "There are three kinds of horses. Those that don't care one way or the other if you are around. Those that want to run away from you. And those that enjoy the attention and want to be with you. The ones that want to be with you are the easiest to work with. I really like those kind!"

So do I.

LeAnn R. Ralph