His head was marred—deep cuts covered his head, neck, and back. Tremors of fear rippled through his muscles. In spite of the cool October morning, he was covered in sweat. Kim had said it was bad. And, dear God, it was.
Lauren had been at church when Kim called. The ranch founder never called on Sundays. Lauren instantly knew something was wrong. But what? She excused herself from the service to answer the phone.
“Lauren, we need you,” Kim had said, unable to hide her distress. “Well, really Joey needs you. He won’t get in the trailer, but he has to and we don’t know how to make him. He’s hurting and . . .”
Her words had tumbled out so fast that Lauren couldn’t make sense of most of them, other than the words Joey needs you. That’s all she needed to know.
“Lauren.” Kim was still talking. “Hank found Joey rolling on the ground this morning. He was in terrible pain. Dr. Gallagher was just here and says it looks really serious. He said to meet him at the clinic with Joey as quickly as possible. It’s been a nightmare, though. Joey’s crying and keeps trying to roll. Whatever sedative Dr. Gallagher gave Joey to calm him down is not working. I honestly think it would help him to have you here.”
Lauren had walked back into the sanctuary and motioned to her daughters that they needed to leave. She drove the girls home, quickly changed her clothes, and was at the ranch in less than thirty minutes.
Joey needed her, and she would be there.
A look of relief crossed Kim’s face when she saw Lauren approach. She whispered something to Joey and waved Lauren over.
“Hey, Joe-Joe, love,” Lauren said, stepping up to his face.
Joey’s head jerked up. He whinnied, a mournful, terrified sound.
“Shhh, baby, I know it hurts. That’s why we need to get you to the doctor.”
“Is the trailer ready?” Lauren asked Barb.
“Yes, Hank hooked it up to the Tahoe. But we can’t get Joey to move another step. It took us an hour just to move him out of his paddock. He keeps trying to go down.”
Tears pooled in Barb’s eyes. Everyone’s face reflected the emotional strain of the situation.
“Okay, my friend,” Lauren said to Joey, taking his large head gently in her hands. “We are going to go nice and slow to the trailer. I know you’re scared, so you just follow me.”
She held his muzzle—one hand on each side of his face—and took a step back, keeping her eyes on him. She inhaled loudly, then forcibly exhaled as she stepped, praying the sound resembled that of a relaxed horse. Praying that the familiar sound would help calm Joey. He stepped forward as she stepped back. She exaggerated the sound even more, Joey’s head still resting in her hands. They continued their slow movement across the ranch.
“Lauren, the bond you two have is extraordinary. Joey feels so safe with you,” Kim said, encouraging her lead trainer.
Lauren’s gaze never left Joey as she replied, “The feeling is mutual.”
Joey occasionally stopped to thrash his head and let out a loud cry. Lauren would begin talking quietly to him, sometimes even softly singing “Amazing Grace” or “Jesus Loves Me”—anything to try to get his head turned back to her. Then she would begin moving again.
It took thirty minutes to cross from the paddock to the trailer and another thirty minutes to get the agitated, terrified horse loaded onto the vehicle. Joey had not been in a confined space for more than four years. To Lauren’s knowledge, Joey had never entered the run-in shelter in the paddock. Small spaces seemed to scare him.
Lauren secured Joey, then shimmied out of the tight space, closed the trailer door, and jumped into the Tahoe behind Kim and Barb. Barb slowly maneuvered the SUV and trailer down the gravel drive, and Lauren turned around to look at paddock two.
Fear filled her heart. Joey might never be coming back. Kim was on the phone with Sarah, who was at a training seminar about an hour away. Lauren listened as Kim explained what had happened to Joey. When she finished the call, Kim’s eyes were glistening and she grabbed Lauren’s hand. For the rest of the ride, the three women prayed without ceasing.
Sarah sped into the parking lot at the vet school. It had taken her two hours to get here. Of all the weekends to have been away. She saw the Tahoe with the trailer parked in the back spaces. She hurried from the car, checked in with the receptionist, and raced back to the stall where she knew Joey would be. How did they ever get him in there? She turned a corner and came to a halt.
Joey? He looked so sick. His head hung over the stall door. He was covered in sweat and hooked up to a long IV line. Lauren’s face was pressed against Joey’s. Kim and Barb stood behind Lauren, holding on to each other. Sarah was afraid to announce herself. Her limbs grew heavy, her fingers tingled, and her head buzzed. She hadn’t experienced anxiety in such a long time. But how could she feel anything but anxious right now?
Finally, Sarah whispered, “How is he?”
Two tearstained faces met hers. Lauren did not turn around, did not take her eyes off Joey. Kim shook her head slightly and motioned for Sarah to come closer, wrapping an arm around her.
“It’s not good,” Kim said. “There is nothing they can do for him.”
Wait. What? What! Sarah immediately tensed up and pulled away.
“Nothing they can do?” she all but shouted, feeling her control slipping away. “What do you mean? What’s going on? Where’s Ryan?”
None of this made any sense. Joey was fine. He had been fine. She had just been with him two days ago. Surely someone had made a huge mistake.
This wasn’t like Speckles. He had been sick; they had known that. But this was Joey. Joey was fine.
“Severe colic.” Kim winced at the words.
“Yes, horses get colic,” Sarah interrupted, feeling completely frustrated. “Joey had that minor episode several months ago. We just needed to change his supplements. We can do that again, right?” She shook her head, willing Kim to see reason. Why was she so freaked out? This wasn’t a big deal. What was everyone’s problem?
Kim placed her hand on Sarah’s arm.
“Ryan and the other four vets believe that Joey likely has a tumor wrapped around his stomach, cutting off his digestive tract. It’s a complete blockage that is hard to reach. And with Joey’s limitations, surgery really isn’t an option.”
Kim looked at Joey. “He’s terrified being confined here. Can you imagine making him stay here for weeks, recovering from a surgery that most likely won’t even work? They have a few more tests to run, but Ryan said to be prepared for some hard decisions.”
No! Sarah wanted to scream. This cannot be happening. Not again. Please . . . not to Joey. She wanted to run. I have to get away.
Joey’s head jerked out of Lauren’s hands. A cry escaped his lips. Lauren and Barb each began to stroke his face, immovable buttresses, supporting and comforting the hurting horse, standing with the one who had taught them so much.
Sarah’s heart raced as she made her way to Joey, not stopping until she stood nose to nose with him. He recognized her scent, and she took in his.
“I gotcha, Joey. I’m here for you,” she whispered. They were the same promises she’d made the first time she met him, injured and bloodied. “I promise. I will not leave you.”
It was time. Lauren knew it in her gut. But how could she possibly let Joey go? He had seen her through the crushing grief of losing Speckles just years before and helped her begin to live again. What would she do without him?
Dr. Gallagher opened the door to the stall. Joey stood in the small room, looking so lost, so tired.
When Kim, Barb, Sarah, and Lauren entered the stall, Joey turned his head, clearly aware of their presence, and yet slipping away. Lauren knew that Joey would be taking a piece of her heart when he left this world. Joey had taught her what real courage looked like: moving forward even when you can’t see the road in front of you by trusting the one who is leading you.
The massive amounts of painkillers had quieted him somewhat, but he was stil
l sweating profusely and experiencing regular muscle spasms. He was in agony. The four women silently gathered around the beloved horse, each lost in her own thoughts. One by one, they laid their hands on the horse who had touched them all in profound ways.
Kim began praying aloud.
“Lord, we need you. We need your Spirit of peace, comfort, and hope. God, we can’t say good-bye to this boy.” Her voice broke. Barb hugged Kim close. “Father, we thank you for Joey. Thank you for preserving his life when he was abandoned, in order to bring him to us.” As Kim prayed, Joey became agitated. Lauren could tell that he wanted to drop to the ground and roll. She moved in front of him and touched her nose to his. Then she placed one hand on Joey’s forehead and one low on his muzzle.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Kim continued to pray. “God, so many people are going to be heartbroken over the loss of this extraordinary horse. Please comfort all of us, especially the kids who love Joey so much.”
Joey now stood perfectly still.
“God, we don’t understand why you are allowing this, but we choose to trust you, to walk in blind faith beside you.”
As Kim uttered a shaky amen, Sarah began to sing:
Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
The other three women joined in on the last line, each clinging to the hope that Joey would soon see once again.
Joey’s head jerked up as his legs began to bend. His eyes were wide, his jaw tight.
“It’s time,” Sarah said quietly.
Dr. Gallagher nodded and began preparing the final dose of barbiturates.
Lauren looked at Joey. “You did so much good. Now it is time for you to rest—and to see.”
“We love you, Joey,” each one of them said.
“You will never be forgotten,” Sarah whispered.
As Dr. Gallagher injected the barbiturates into the IV, Lauren rubbed Joey’s chin one last time. “My sweet Joey.” She choked out the words as she wept. “Good-bye, my love.”
CHAPTER 24
THE LOSS OF JOEY RIPPLED far and wide across the Hope Reins community. Children and adults, staff and volunteers, those familiar with the ranch and others who had just heard the story of the remarkable blind horse were now connected in sorrow. All were longing to do something, looking to honor the horse in some way. Messages of sympathy, cards containing special memories of Joey, and pictures of a spotted horse drawn in crayon poured into the ranch. For a week, Kim, Sarah, and Lauren grieved together privately, often finding themselves standing and reflecting in paddock two, just to feel close to Joey. Finally, the staff knew it was time to plan a memorial service to pay tribute to the horse who had touched so many lives.
“Do you think anyone will come?” Sarah asked during their first planning meeting.
“Based on the messages I’ve received, yes, I do,” Kim said. “But even if only a few show up, it will be worth it. We need to do this—for us, for them, and for Joey.”
Kim, Sarah, and Barb compiled a list of assignments and created a program. Kim kept wanting to ask Lauren’s opinion, but the head trainer had not been at the ranch for several days. Joey’s death had hit her especially hard; she needed more time. Kim intended to let her know everything they discussed and hoped Lauren would come to the service on Saturday.
As the meeting concluded, Kim gazed out the office window. Spirit had been moved back in with Gabe, so paddock two was empty. Would another horse ever call that field home?
The weather on that Saturday in October 2014 was picture perfect—not a cloud in the sky. The Hope Reins staff couldn’t have asked for a better day to celebrate Joey’s life. He had taught all who knew him what it meant to find beauty in brokenness, purpose in pain, light in darkness. The size of the crowd at his memorial service was a testament to how many people had been affected by the horse who had nearly been thrown away.
The Hope Reins staff had done a great job pulling the event together. Children ran carefree across the ranch, expressing the same kind of joy that the rescued horse had given them. Photos of the beautiful leopard Appaloosa had been arranged on tables in the common area, and Kim watched as people lingered in front of the images, pointing and smiling before wiping tears away. They knew firsthand the significant contribution Joey had made to the success of Hope Reins. Black-and-white balloons were tied to the legs of the tables, and paper was available for people to write personal messages.
Finally, it was time to begin. Kim welcomed everyone sitting in the common area, recognizing many familiar faces. Ethan, the first boy to ever work with Joey, sat in the front row. Jo Anne and Hank, the feeders who had found Joey that awful morning, stood on one side. Aly, next to her mother, was rubbing her hands on her jeans. She had just come from Joey’s run-in shelter, where she had traced “Aly and Joey 4-ever” in the sand. There was Nathan, whom Joey had “introduced” to his seeing-eye horse, Speckles. Kim saw her Hope Reins team spread throughout the crowd, all smiling at her in support. And there, standing behind everyone else, was Lauren.
Thank you, God, for helping Lauren to be here.
Kim took a deep breath and began, “Friends, thank you all so much for coming out today to honor a special horse. As you know, Joey was more than a horse. He was a light and an example. And he was God’s gift to us.”
Heads throughout the crowd nodded in agreement.
“For those who were blessed to know Joey, and extra blessed to be loved by him, you know that Joey’s life had a purpose. Every day, that horse stood in his field, or walked beside a child, or followed his trainer in blind faith. Faith that he would be cared for, faith that he would be led to safety, faith that he would never again be abandoned.”
She paused for a moment to fight back tears, then continued. “Friends, God used a blind horse to teach us what it means to walk by faith. He used a broken horse to show us what it means to heal. And he used a dying horse to show us how we should live. Joey is gone, and we all miss him terribly. But Joey lives on in every one of us.”
She took a step forward to be a little closer to those hurting with her.
“Each time we choose to walk in faith, holding tightly to God’s hand, Joey’s legacy lives on. Each time we choose trust over fear, Joey’s memory is kept alive. And even in our grief, as we press on like Joey did after the death of his best friend, Speckles, we honor his life. As we go from here today, let’s continue to shine God’s light—his hope and his comfort—into this world. That can be our fitting tribute to Joey.”
Just then, a horse neighed in the background, the solitary sound poetic and oddly comforting.
“And now, please welcome Aly, one of Joey’s friends.”
Aly, now eight years old, got up and stood in front of Kim, who put her hands firmly on the young equestrian’s shoulders. Kim had promised Aly that she would stand with her. The paper clutched in Aly’s hand was filled with words written in purple ink.
Aly looked at Kim and began to read. “I met Joey when I was five years old, and I loved him right away. When I was six years old, I finally got to ride him. I was very shy, but somehow I grew a big friendship with Joey.”
Her soft voice trembled slightly, but it sounded angelic to Kim.
“Joey respected me,” Aly continued, “and I respected him, too. Since Joey was blind, I had to speak up when I rode him. This was really hard for me, but I guess you could say Joey helped me find my voice.”
Kim smiled. And find it you did. Over the years, Aly had brought countless friends to the ranch to meet Joey, and they all had become fans of the spotted horse.
“While riding Joey, I learned how to steer a horse, ride bareback, and give commands. And,” she said, smiling broadly, “I learned how to make a horse hug me by holding a treat and moving it around my neck.”
Aly wrapped one arm around
herself as she spoke, surely longing to feel just one more hug from Joey.
“One day at Hope Reins, Joey gave me a big kiss on the cheek!” She looked up at Kim. “I’m glad Joey got to live the end of his life at Hope Reins because he deserved happiness. I miss Joey very much, and he will always have a special place in my heart.”
Sarah, who had grabbed Ryan’s hand the moment Aly stepped up to speak, now dried her tears on the sleeve of his shirt. Images of that first meeting with Aly flashed through her memory. Aly had been so silent, so withdrawn, so trapped. But now she was fearless. Now she was free. Just like me, Aly. God used a blind horse to help a silent girl, who helped a wounded woman. She snuggled against Ryan’s arm. Thank you, Joey, she mouthed.
Aly gave Kim a hug and then returned to her seat beside her mother. There were lots of tears during Aly’s speech, and some were in awe—those who knew the magnitude of what Aly had accomplished by addressing this crowd. It was a powerful testimony of God working in ordinary people, through an ordinary horse.
Kim once again got everyone’s attention. “I’m sure you noticed the balloons at the tables. Today, we are designating them ‘memory balloons.’ I invite any of you who would like to write a note of thanks to Joey, draw a picture, or share a memory to use the paper provided, and we’ll attach it to a balloon. Or feel free to use a permanent marker to write your message directly on the balloon. Take a few minutes to do that, and then bring your balloons to paddock two.”
Fifteen minutes later, Kim stood in the middle of Joey’s field and led the group in prayer.
“Lord, we thank you for Joey’s life. Thank you for giving us time with him. We miss him greatly, and we ask that you help us through this difficult time. Help us to love and accept others as Joey did. Help us to trust you in blind faith and total surrender, just as Joey trusted us. You are a God of hope and of healing. We love you, Lord, and we praise you for the opportunity to love our sweet boy.”
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