Great Horse Stories

by Rebecca E. Ondov

  A light breeze had rustled the golden aspen leaves when Wendy unloaded Dandy from the shipper’s trailer. She led the horse toward the barn. The mare quietly followed her. But when Wendy turned to go through the gate, the mare walked straight ahead and slammed into the wooden fence. Shocked, Wendy’s heart sank. Carefully she guided the mare into the barn and performed some simple eye tests. The mare was blind.

  Wendy was crushed. Lord, where am I going to find the time to take care of a blind horse? How will she fit in? Blind horses often have to be confined in a stall to avoid being injured by other horses. Wendy stared at the beautiful mare and knew in her heart that God had sent her horses so she could be their caretaker. Maybe Dandy was one of them.

  Wendy scheduled an evaluation with the veterinarian. He didn’t believe the horse’s blindness was a genetic condition, and he gave Wendy a thumbs-up to use Dandy as a broodmare. Even though it was late in the year, Wendy bred the mare to her stud.

  At first Wendy kept Dandy in a small run so she could acclimate to the surroundings. Wendy’s goal was to have the mare become part of her herd, but in the back of her mind concerns nagged at her. Would Dandy be safe with the others? Could she negotiate the pastures and fences safely? Would the other horses accept her?

  Wendy soon realized her new mare had been kept in a small pen all her life and had never been in a herd. The next step was to introduce Dandy to the small group of young mares confined in the corral outside the barn. Leading her through the gate and letting the mare go, Wendy was shocked when the horse stepped among the other horses with an air of confidence. Dandy’s tan-gray ears tipped with black hair were constantly tuning into her surroundings. She seemed to ignore the concept of a pecking order among the herd. At feeding time she stepped up to the hay without hesitation, a brave thing for even a sighted horse to do. For a blind horse it was an act of faith. It was almost as if nobody had bothered to tell the mare she was blind.

  Once Dandy was established in the band of mares, Wendy decided to turn the small herd loose in a bigger pasture for the winter. She opened the necessary gates, and then started up their old pickup. The Chevy rattled as it chugged over the snow and up the lane toward the big pasture. Gary stood in the back of the pickup, his voice being jarred by the bumpiness as he called to the mares. “C’mon, girls! C’mon, girls!” Although he’d swung the gates open from the corral to the lane, the young mares were milling around the small enclosure.

  Wendy frowned as she watched them. Why aren’t they coming? The truck crawled into the pasture. Gary tossed flakes of hay on the ground and called some more. “C’mon, girls!” The horses watched and saw the hay, but they still held back.

  Wendy angled the truck so she could observe the mares. Why aren’t they moving? She glanced through the herd. Dandy stood close to the barn. Cautiously she shuffled through the snow until her nose touched the wooden rail that lined the top of the fence. Using her whiskers and nose, she slowly followed the rail toward the truck. Wendy watched in awe. The mare’s ears were swiveling as they traced Gary’s voice even as she held her face next to the wooden rail. Feeling her way slowly, Dandy walked into a corner and made the turn. She paused when she got to where the gate had been closed. She tipped her nose back and forth, exploring the empty space. It was new territory for her. Carefully she stepped down the lane and headed toward Gary’s voice.

  What happened next astounded Wendy. As Dandy passed the other mares, they slowly fell in line behind her. They had been milling around because they were waiting for their leader to go first! In spite of her severe handicaps, Dandy hadn’t just fit in, she’d become the herd mare, the top horse the others looked to for leadership.

  • Dandy and her foal •

  When Wendy told me the story about Dandy, I was spellbound. The mare had led with confidence even though she carried scars from the past—her ill-healed leg and her blindness. She hadn’t let her inadequacies keep her from forging ahead. I sipped my tea. What if people went through life like that? What if we refused to let the scars of the past and any perceived disabilities hold us back? What couldn’t we accomplish!

  The Bible reveals more than one person who refused to let the past hold him or her in bondage. In the Old Testament, prostitutes were looked down on. That’s why the one person who has always baffled me is Rahab, who was a prostitute (Joshua 2–6). Despite her unsavory occupation, she helped the Hebrew spies escape from the town of Jericho and put herself in danger. To my amazement, Rahab is mentioned in Matthew 1:2 as the mother of Boaz, who is in Jesus’ genealogy! I shake my head in wonder each time I read that.

  Rahab is a perfect example of how God’s grace and mercy covers our sins and weaknesses—no matter what they are or how deep they go. There’s hope for all of us. As soon as we cry out to Jesus and ask Him to be our Lord and Savior, He helps us discover our future in Him. If God doesn’t hold us back because of our disabilities or our past, why should we?

  Lord, show me how to live each day with confidence, forging ahead to accomplish the dreams You’ve placed in my heart. Amen.

  • Thoughts to Ponder •

  Have you felt inadequate because of your past—the mistakes, any disabilities, some inabilities? Have those feelings stopped you from pressing in and achieving your dreams? Have you considered that God is able to work through you, flaws and all? Have you asked Him to do that?

  27

  SHORT LEGS

  What’s in Your DNA?

  The Minnesota sun stood high in the deep-blue sky, casting its bright rays over the rolling fields of the Saint Croix River Valley. It was a perfect day—Saturday and school was out for the summer. At the horse stables, inside a wood-railed arena, a dozen teen girls sat on their horses waiting for the lesson to start. Some milled around practicing last week’s lesson, and others clumped in groups chitchatting. The girls had taken lessons together at this stable for several years.

  At one end of the arena a few riders on horseback stood in a semicircle. One of them, 13-year-old Jami, relaxed in her western saddle enjoying the warmth of the sun and the conversation. She gently stroked the neck of her chestnut-red horse named Honey. As the conversation lulled, a younger gal with sandy-blond hair and a tough disposition cocked her head and looked at Jami’s horse. Her voice cut like a dagger through the conversation. “Boy, she has short front legs!” A high-pitched laugh slithered from her lips. The other riders stared at Honey. They nodded in agreement and whispered. Jami wanted to crawl into a hole. She bit her lip. Is Honey built awkwardly? The words burned into Jami’s heart. She looked at the ground. It was true, but she’d never noticed it before. The other girls gawked at Honey like she was a freak.

  Honey had been Jami’s Christmas present several years ago. Standing only 13-hands tall, the horse was the perfect size to climb on and ride bareback. From her cross-breeding of a hackney pony and Morgan horse, she had a willing-to-please attitude. By the end of their first summer of lessons, Honey would do anything for Jami. Her trot was so smooth they almost always won the competitions where the rider balances an egg on a spoon while trotting across the arena.

  Perhaps the words about Honey’s short legs stung so badly because Jami loved her so much. Although Jami tried to ignore the words, they simmered in her mind. It wasn’t until years later that she made an exciting discovery about Honey during the middle of winter.

  Jami had always wanted to drive a horse and buggy. Maybe it was all the Westerns and the Little House on the Prairie episodes she’d watched as a kid. She bundled up and headed out to her dad’s pole barn. Digging through dusty leather straps, she found the perfect ones to craft a homemade harness so Honey could pull her on the toboggan. The cold air nipped at Jami’s cheeks. With mitten-covered hands she rigged up the makeshift harness. Honey stood quietly waiting and watching. Her breath rose like steam from her nostrils in the cold air. Jami put the harness on Honey, connected the toboggan, and then crunched through the snow as she led Honey down the driveway and out into a big, open fie
ld. Although the toboggan bumped behind Honey, she didn’t seem to mind.

  The sun sparkled over the endless fields of white. Jami brought Honey to a stop in the center of the pasture. Jami rigged the reins and then sat on the toboggan. The snow creaked as the sled sank into the snow. A twinkle sparkled in Jami’s eyes. She gently slapped the reins and said, “C’mon, Honey!”

  Honey stepped forward, but as soon as she felt the weight of the sled she stopped. She’d been trained to give to pressure, not to push into it.

  Wiggling the reins, Jami called again, “C’mon, Honey!”

  Honey stepped forward until she felt the weight of Jami on the sled. Confused, she reared up a little, as if saying, “I can’t pull against this. I’m not supposed to pull against something restraining me.” Dropping back to the ground, she curled her neck around. Her big, brown eyes questioned her friend.

  Determined, Jami continued tapping. “C’mon, Honey. You can do this. Let’s go! C’mon, Honey!” The horse nervously shifted her feet, but then she lunged forward. The toboggan jolted, throwing Jami’s weight backward. Jami got resettled, and they were off! Around the field they went.

  Honey is a natural, Jami thought. Of course! The hackney breed is used as carriage horses. They were bred with short but powerful front legs to be smooth-gaited while pulling. Honey’s short legs were an asset—a quality breeders strived to achieve…a gift.

  The sled cut through the snow. The cold wind sprayed snowflakes into Jami’s face. She giggled and laughed as they bounced around the field. That is, until they turned down the driveway to go home. Honey trotted faster and faster, and the toboggan slid easily across the plowed snow. There was something Jami forgot to consider—how to stop the sled so it wouldn’t run into Honey.

  Jami tugged a rein to turn Honey to the side. The horse veered sideways. The teen pulled both reins to stop her and then bailed off the sled. Jami tumbled to a stop, and Honey kicked the sled to a stop. The stop definitely needed some perfecting, but the short-legged horse was perfect.

  Has anyone spoken disparagingly about you or someone you love? Words can hurt, and often our interpretation of them causes us to feel shame and anger. Then the devastating emotions get buried in the deep recesses of our hearts, where they wreak havoc when similar situations arise.

  The interesting part is that the very thing that is being made fun of is often the very thing that makes you unique and special. Although the girl made fun of Honey’s short legs, that trait was tucked inside Honey’s DNA by God. When Honey became a driving horse, she was doing what she’d been bred to do.

  Have you wondered what God tucked inside your DNA? Ephesians 2:10 says, “We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” God planned our gifts and talents before we were born. It’s up to us to join with Him in a lifelong voyage of discovery to find those special niches He’s carved out for us.

  When Jami discovered Honey was a natural at pulling, she bought a real harness, and her father restored an antique doctor’s buggy for her. Honey loved driving so much that Jami barely had time to gather the reins and get on the seat before the horse trotted down the driveway. And Honey never slowed down until she returned home! Her head would swing left and right as she enjoyed the view and proudly did what she was created to do.

  • Jami and Honey •

  Lord, open my mind to how You’ve created me. Give me the courage to pursue what You want me to do. Amen.

  • Thoughts to Ponder •

  What has God put in your DNA? What gifts and talents has He given you that might be buried because of hurtful words or painful experiences? How can you start using your gifts and talents for the Lord?

  28

  DEE GIRL

  Anxiety Attack!

  A light breeze rustled the tall evergreens that lined both sides of the road leading to the farm in the Maine countryside. Down a small hill, an antiquated red barn stood on the left and small, grassy paddocks were on the right. Beside them, in a large green field, a dozen horses were grazing in the afternoon sunshine. Wearing her barn coat, Cheryl walked into the ancient-smelling barn, picked up a halter, and walked down the aisle between the wooden stalls. She’d boarded her horse here at Selena’s place for several years, and she sometimes helped do chores.

  A deep and robust nicker greeted Cheryl as she approached one of the stalls. She grinned and then heard the horses outside answer with whinnies. Although the black mare in the stall was nearly 30 years old, Dee Girl was still the herd mare.

  After buckling the nylon halter on Dee Girl, Cheryl led her out of the barn toward one of the smaller paddocks. The mare’s hooves clip-clopped on the dirt road. The horses in the big pasture raised their heads and watched them. Because Dee Girl was so ancient she was kept in a small paddock next to the big field. She was currently serving as a nanny for a young horse. Suddenly Dee Girl stopped. Cheryl glanced back. Something was horribly wrong.

  The mare looked like she was having a seizure. Her body shook. Her eyes grew wide. Every muscle stiffened. Her breathing sped up but then became shallow and labored. Within seconds the shaking stopped and the mare stood as if she were frozen.

  Cheryl gasped. What happened? This is Selena’s favorite horse. Nothing can happen to her! She stroked the old mare’s neck. Under the fur, the skin felt cold and clammy. The horses across the way milled around the fence, pacing as they watched Dee Girl. A wave of panic crashed over Cheryl. What am I going to do? What’s Selena going to do? She had to get the horse to walk 30 feet to the paddock so she could turn her loose and run for help. Wiggling the lead rope, she urged the mare forward. Dee Girl’s head hung low. In slow motion she lifted her head as she dragged one front foot forward. She appeared woozy. With concentrated effort she propped her leg a little to the side, swaying off balance as her muzzle nearly hit the ground.

  Cheryl inhaled deeply. What am I going to do if she falls over? The mare’s breathing was erratic. It seemed like an eternity before Cheryl managed to coax the mare into the paddock. Once inside, Dee Girl stood with her head hanging low, her legs propped at angles to hold her up, her breathing heavy and raspy. It looked like it took all her effort to not fall over.

  Cheryl knew this was the end of Dee Girl’s life. Thirty was old for a horse. A battery of worries assaulted her. How is Selena going to take this? Do I stay with Dee Girl? Do I run and get Selena? What if Dee Girl falls over when she is here by herself?

  Dee Girl shifted her feet and planted them more solidly. After taking a deep breath, she raised her head and looked at Cheryl, as if releasing her to get help. Cheryl sprinted to Selena’s home, a short ways from the barn.

  Hearing the news, Selena immediately called the vet, who said she’d come right over.

  After examining Dee Girl, it was determined she’d suffered a stroke and wouldn’t recover. With tears streaming down her face, Selena made the decision to put Dee Girl down. The vet said she’d come back that afternoon, and Cheryl offered to return later to support Selena.

  A wave of anxiety assaulted Cheryl as she drove home. What happens when a horse is put down? Will I be able to be strong for Selena? What’s the herd going to do without Dee Girl? Who would they look to now? How are Selena’s kids going to take this? And what am I going to tell my daughter? Doubts assaulted her as rapidly as machine-gun fire.

  Several hours later Cheryl drove down the long road lined by evergreens. She parked by the barn. A huge pile of dirt was heaped by the backhoe. Dressed in coveralls, the veterinarian and Selena stood in the paddock. Tears streamed down Selena’s face as she stroked her favorite horse. The old black mare’s head hung low.

  Gravel crunched under her feet as Cheryl walked to the paddock. Dee Girl didn’t even raise her head. The horse was only a shadow of what she’d been only hours earlier. Wanting to give Selena the last few moments alone with her horse, Cheryl stepped into the barn. Under the cover of the weathered wood, she cried and prayed. Dear Lord, I don
’t know what to do. When she paused, anxiety dealt a cruel blow to her heart. Pain was like spears being thrust into her. She closed her eyes and proclaimed aloud, “Please, Lord, give me strength.” Almost instantly she heard in her spirit, “Walk out of the barn.” She recoiled. She wanted to stay in the barn until it was over. But the thought nudged her again.

  Cheryl stepped into the afternoon sunlight. Selena and the vet slowly led Dee Girl out of the paddock. Step-by-step the horse struggled to drag one foot in front of the other. With each step Dee Girl grew closer to the paddock containing the herd. Then Cheryl watched a miracle unfold. In the paddock the most dominant horse stepped next to the fence and hung its head over the rail. Then the next most dominant, all the way down the pecking order until every horse stood lined up shoulder-to-shoulder. It was as if God had taken His hand and gently brought each horse up to the fence, one at a time. There wasn’t any biting, nipping, or squealing. Instead they all stood at attention, honoring Dee Girl. The peace of the Holy Spirit washed over Cheryl.

  With each step Dee Girl drew closer to the line of horses she’d dedicated her life to protecting. She lifted her head higher and higher until she looked like the black beauty she’d once been. Her mane gently tumbled over her neck. Gracefully she arched her tail. When she was even with the first horse, she stopped, turned her head, and whinnied. It was as if Dee Girl passed the torch by appointing a new herd mare, saying, “You’re going to have to step up.” That horse—and only that horse—proudly answered. Dee Girl took another step and focused on the next horse. Her voice sounded different as she whinnied this time. The second horse answered. Down the line of horses Dee Girl went, calling with differing tones to each one, and each horse answered. Was Dee Girl giving them final pieces of advice? All stood in line, their shoulders nearly touching until Dee Girl walked past, and then they slowly faded into the pasture.