This week marks our year anniversary for moving our program to the ranch that the horses own. 77 additional horses have been saved during this year and we are grateful and humbled to be able to save and serve.I rescued my first horse at the age of twelve, two of them actually, two chestnut Tennessee Walkers, an Eight year old mare, Maria, and her two year old filly, Heather Glow. They were horribly neglected, emaciated beyond description with rain rot and weather bumps covering what little surface area they had.
 
Unwilling to walk away, I located their owner, a wealthy doctor who practiced medicine in our little town of Elizabethtown Kentucky. My very liberal mother and conservative father didn’t always see eye to eye, but in their hushed conversations, it was pretty clear that they shared my heartache and outrage. The good doctor easily agreed to move the horses to the 300acre horse farm behind the dairy farm that boarded our home, which would allow me to continue to care for them. My sister, Dana, and I shared a wicked welsh pony named Magic who lived on the farm. Maria and Heather Glow began to blossom, and as so many rescues do, they developed a devotion and gratitude that can’t be explained…only felt.
 
My Irish father could with some regularity be heard boasting that I saddle broke my first horse at twelve. If the story were accurately told, I did start to ride Heather Glow when she was three…and shiny, and healthy…and glorious. There was no “breaking,” no drama, and certainly never a buck. I can with great clarity remember more than one occasion when both mares could be credited with keeping me from great bodily harm, perhaps even worse. Dana and I would ride “the girls” bare back throughout the rolling bluegrass hills of our youth. We explored perhaps the most beautiful countryside imaginable, swam the horses in the large ponds, and jumped the small creek and fallen logs. While I never attended a school dance, or a prom, or even had a date, I began a love affair that shaped my thinking and definitely my character.
 
The good doctor visited my girls only once in four years. He stopped by our house one afternoon with his new girlfriend on the back of his motorcycle. He had been on his way to the farm to show off “his” horses when he saw them in our yard. We had pitched a tent in the back yard for a “sleep over” and had just given the girls Magic bubble baths. They were grazing in our yard; Heather Glow had wild flowers braided into her long mane, and I was in my usual position, perched on Maria’s broad back. He seemed angry to come across such an innocent and gentle scene, and when I told him that I had been saving the money that I had been earning mucking and exercising horses, he informed me that he was building a big house and would be taking them to live with him. They were his, they were not for sale, and I probably shouldn’t get too attached. The move, and my heartbreak, occurred simultaneously. The good doctor took “his” horses, and my family moved to France for a year.
 
While the conventional story of Red Bucket begins with Harlow, there is an earlier imprint that fuels the Often unconscious drive to save and serve horses. That early raw outrage that I experienced of a horse, any animal, being considered either disposable or a commodity, instilled a penetrating, almost primal need to not only right a wrong, but to impact and influence a better world. With every horse that we save, with every second chance that we provide, we are paying back a debt to the indescribable gifts and miracles that have been provided to us by knowing these wonderful creatures. When my family returned to Kentucky almost a year later, the first phone call that I made with a shaking hand was to check on my horses and arrange to see them immediately. The good doctor, without remorse, absent even a hint of responsibility, and without sensitivity for the anguish that began to build deep within a place that I didn’t yet know existed, told me with a cold and flat voice that two weeks after I had left, Maria became tangled in a fence and died.
 
May 31st marks our one year anniversary of purchasing the ranch that our horses own. June 15th will be the celebrated date of moving our Red Bucket horses onto the home that will serve as a safe landing place for them and the many horses who will come to us for the promise of safety and a second chance. My brother told me recently, in a tender moment, that if my parents had lived to see this amazing and magical accomplishment, they would be proud. I hope that in some small way, Maria and Heather Glow would be as well.
 
Red Bucket, our horses, and our mission belong to all of us. Like the horses that we serve, we all have a story that drives our dedication and commitment to our deeply meaningful and impactful work. With every horse that we save, every spirit that we mend, and every new home found brings us closer to our vision of becoming the most recognizable and reputable equine rescue in this Nation. It is imperative that we focus on raising awareness and donations to fund our meaningful work. Please be reminded that our funding comes from the generosity of those who want to help us help the horses. Please help tell our story and raise awareness about our meaningful work; certainly the press is the best outlet for sharing our story. If anyone has any contacts, I would be most appreciative of any introductions. Thank you for all of your compassion and support in helping us make the world a better place for horses. Thank you to all who contribute to making our horses’ world a better place.