Great Horse Stories (2 page)

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SkySong
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SkySong
is my mainstay saddle mount. He's a tough, mountain-bred horse with a tender heart. I crafted his name especially for him. I love to pray when I ride, and prayer is a song in the sky to God—voila!—SkySong.

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Little Girl
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I bottle-fed
Little Girl
, my brown mule, because her jaw was broken when she was two days old. She was never supposed to live to be three days old—but I prayed and God answered. Now she's over 30 years old and enjoying retirement.

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Wind Dancer
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I planned
Wind Dancer
, my sorrel mule, from conception and talked with her while she was still in her mother's womb. I was thrilled when she was born, and she instantly knew who I was when she heard my voice. Currently she's my training project and an up-and-coming saddle mule.

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Sunrise
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Sunrise
wriggled her way into my heart as a puppy. My fun-loving golden retriever loves romping behind me when I feed the horses and mules and trotting beside me when I ride the trail. She's so smart she taught SkySong to scratch her belly. Her boundless energy adds a zest to my days; and her soft fur makes a great foot warmer on winter evenings.

1

THE CLIPPER

Friendship

A
light, spring breeze whispered past me, carrying the cool scent of snow down from the Rocky Mountain peaks that rimmed the Bitterroot Valley. I stretched the yellow extension cord across the winter-browned grass to the corral. My three horses and two mules were lined up at the gate begging for attention. They nipped at each other, trying to shoo each other away so the “top critter” could hog all the attention. My senior mule and my ancient horse sauntered to the other side of the corral to get out of the action. This day was “beauty parlor day.” The mules would get their manes roached, and the horses would get their bridle paths clipped.

I picked up the large electric clipper to plug it in and noticed that SkySong, my dapple-gray horse, glanced at it and then walked away. I shook my head. I'd only owned him a few months. He'd been green broke when I bought him as a four year old. I'd wanted a horse whose bones and joints were fully formed before I asked him to scale tough mountain trails. And I wanted a horse that I trained. SkySong was perfect. Well, almost. Because his training started so late in life, he tended to be a bit snorty about some things. The electric clipper was one of them.

I pulled the halter off the wooden fence rail and walked across the corral toward him. He stopped and faced me. I slid the halter over his nose. Pushing his thick black mane aside, I buckled the halter behind his ears. “We're going to get you trimmed up.”

Suspiciously his gaze darted to the side so he could watch me as I chattered. His feet clopped on the hard-packed dirt behind me as I
walked to the gate. When I picked up the clipper, which I'd set on top of a tall, green trash can, SkySong threw up his head, his eyes focused on the dreaded equipment. The white whiskers on his muzzle stood straight out like porcupine quills.

I chuckled. “You silly boy. The clipper isn't even turned on. It can't hurt you.”

SkySong wasn't impressed with my reassurance. When I held it out for him to smell, he clamped his nostrils shut and squinted his eyes.

I pulled the clipper away, and SkySong lowered his head and puckered his lips. I shifted my weight uneasily.
Lord, how is he ever going to get over this attitude
?

Reaching the clipper toward him again, I felt a nudge on my back. I turned. My black Tennessee walker had bumped my arm. “Dazzle, what do you want?”

She leaned her shoulder into me and arched her neck, as if asking me to clip her mane.

I patted her soft coat and laughed. “Okay, just a swipe for now.” I clicked on the clipper. When it buzzed to life, SkySong threw his head up and snorted. Placing the clipper behind Dazzle's ears, I shaved off a small piece of mane just behind her ears.

I felt SkySong's breath on my neck. I glanced over my shoulder. He stared at me totally confused, almost as if he felt left out. He knew that the clipper was for him, so what was this clipping Dazzle all about?

With the clipper still buzzing, I turned toward him. He cocked his head and then stood still as I rested the cutter on his mane just above his withers and clipped a little bit of hair. Then I turned and clipped another piece off Dazzle. A nose nudged my back. I looked over my shoulder. It was my mule Wind Dancer. She stood on the far side of SkySong bobbing her head at me. The long winter growth on her mane flopped side-to-side. She too wanted her hair done. For the next 15 minutes I'd buzz a swipe off Wind Dancer's mane, then SkySong's, followed by Dazzle's. Back and forth I went until the job was done.

The first time this happened, I thought it was a novel experience. For the last few years, it's been the same—and not just with the clipper. No matter what SkySong's afraid of, his best friends come alongside
him. I'm sure they're telling him, “See? There's nothing to worry about!” With a companion on each side, he draws from their strength and faces his fear.

What would happen if people did that for each other? If people are afraid of something, instead of teasing them, or telling them to buck up, or offering advice on how to solve the problem what if we came alongside and stood with them? Maybe all they need is a pat on the hand or a kind touch on the shoulder to remind them they're not alone.

One great example of this kind of friendship occurs between David, before he became king of Israel, and Jonathan, King Saul's son. “After David had finished talking with Saul, Jonathan became one in spirit with David, and he loved him as himself” (1 Samuel 18:1). Love bound the two together. Until Jonathan died, the two were like brothers. They believed in each other and helped each other through many trials.

From my animals to Jonathan and David, examples of true friendship are all around us. I want to be a true-blue friend who reflects God's love. How about you?

Lord, when my friends are experiencing difficulties, show me how to come alongside them without judgment and support them with love. Amen.

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Thoughts to Ponder
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Have you found that sometimes simply your presence is enough to give a friend the encouragement he or she needs? What meaningful ways have people encouraged you? Do any friends need you to come alongside them right now?

2

THE MISTAKE—HEAVEN MADE

God's Plan

T
he old, red pickup truck puttered down the Alabama highway. The muggy summer air blasted through the open windows, rustling Becky's long, blond hair. A couple times a week her daddy drove her out to a friend's farm where they pastured Becky's pony. Becky leaned forward as they passed the swampy area riddled with trees. Next was Boy's pasture. A barbed-wire fence surrounded the grassy field. Boy, an albino pony, was out in the field cropping grass. As soon as he heard the engine of their truck his head popped up. Spotting them, he gathered his haunches underneath him and raced toward the truck.

Becky couldn't imagine life without Boy. He'd become her physical therapist and most trusted friend. He'd shielded her from life's brutal storms. He was her miracle because he wasn't supposed to be alive.

The truck slowed to turn through the opening in the fence. It rumbled over the cattle guard and bounced across the grassy two-track that led down to a weathered barn. They coasted to a stop as Boy skidded to a halt next to Becky's door. The truck door groaned as Becky flung it open and hopped out. The little pony stood perfectly still when Becky wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane. She gave him a big, long squeeze.

Boy rested his head on her shoulder and drew the girl closer to him as if he were giving her a return hug.

For a moment Becky leaned into his neck, burying her nose in his fur. She drew a deep breath. She loved the way he smelled. She always
felt safe when Boy gave her hugs. She looked up at the pony's eyes, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a soft peppermint stick.

Boy's eyes lit up. His whiskers wiggled as he caught a whiff of the sweet candy. Gently he placed his lips over the peppermint and took it from her hand. Becky giggled as he slobbered and smacked his lips. She remembered how she'd gotten him and what a miracle that was.

“A mistake.” That's what Boy had been labeled. The colt of an unplanned pregnancy. The situation started shortly after her dad discovered his wife was pregnant with Becky. Her dad had stopped by to visit an old army buddy. Mr. John showed him a stunningly beautiful Tennessee walker mare and shared his high hopes. The mare was to be bred by a well-known Tennessee walker.

But as best-laid plans often go, the mare preferred the neighbor's Welsh pony.

As the pregnancy progressed, Mr. John was so upset that he threatened to kill the foal if it came out remotely resembling the neighbor's pony. Becky's dad loved horses and had raised and trained many. Although he was poor, he couldn't bear the thought of the foal being killed. He chimed in that if it looked like the Welsh pony, he'd take it.

Time went by, and Becky was born. Her leg was turned in at the hip, but the doctors weren't too concerned when she wobbled as she crawled. During the time Becky struggled to walk, her dad got the call from Mr. John. The foal was a blasted pony that looked like the Welsh sire. It was ready to wean, so if he wanted it he should come and get it right away.

Becky's dad put a rack on his pickup and took off. He brought home an albino Tennessee walker/Welsh colt. He started training the horse right away, and it was a good thing he did.

As Becky grew, her leg stayed canted to the side. She was taken to physical therapy regularly. One day at an appointment, her dad watched the doctor manipulate her leg. He cocked his head and asked, “Wouldn't horseback riding do the same thing?”

Becky's first memories are of her dad's strong arms lifting her on top of Boy's white, fuzzy back. She'd ride bareback and grab a fistful
of Boy's long, white mane. Her dad would walk by her side and show her how to use her legs for balance and to steer the pony. By the time she started school, the hours of riding the pony had strengthened the muscles in her leg so much that it stayed straight unless she was tired.

Now, years later, Becky fondly remembers Boy. She still thinks of him as her own personal miracle. She marvels at God's planning. A Tennessee walker mare had fallen in love with an unlikely prospect—a Welsh pony stallion. The owner of the mare threatened to kill the newborn when her dad was around. Her financially poor father rescued it. Boy and Becky were born at nearly the same time. She needed physical therapy that Boy could provide. And most of all, she would need what the pony had to give—his love. Perhaps Boy had been a mistake by human standards, but Becky knows that by God's standards that pony was a great blessing He gave to her. Without a doubt, Becky knows Boy was born by God's design.