Our culture at Red Bucket is one of doing as much as we possibly can…and then a little bit more. The manifestation of how we live our promise is: one more groom, 24-hour-a-day, round the clock turnouts, 10:00 pm late nights during psyllium week, and a host of activities that are designed to support our horses in a life that is well rounded and healthy emotionally, physically and socially. This extends to our model of rescue, which plays out in rescuing as many horses as we possibly can…and then one more. While we cannot save all of the horses in the world, we know that it means all the world to that one horse that we do save. We tighten our elbows…and our belts…to create an extra spot at the dinner table, and we are always glad that we did…always. I was recently telling the story about “the one more” as I was giving a tour, and the names of those grateful horses filled my mouth and heart in such a way that I could barely speak their precious names: Brix, Brinker, Malone, Fenton, Tess, Cornelia, Casey, Frankie, Angelica (and Micah), Baldwin, Prinze, Elwell, Darcy (and Mathe), the list goes on….and of course there is Wallace.

We first learned about Wallace when we were rescuing Trinket and Penelope from a slaughter auction. We were feeling a familiar financial pinch at the time, with very little elbow room and little room for another place setting at what had become an overcrowded dining hall. Rescuing the little mini mare and filly from such horror was a no-brainer, and while it was clear that the tiny little mini’s did not belong in such a horrible place where their worth would be determined by a livestock scale, their overgrown feet and negligent care communicated a divergence of thought on the part of whoever had intentionally dropped them off. As we were making arrangements for Trinket and Penelope, we heard about a little brown pony who had given up fighting for the meager rations amongst the anxious and terror-filled horses in the yard. We figured that surely we could squeeze a little pony into our trailer, surely we could save one more…and so we did.

We named him Wallace, sight unseen. As a matter of fact, we did not see him at all. We paid for him (by the pound) with PayPal and he was loaded onto a trailer headed for hope, promise and forever. “Where is Wallace?” became the question, as we had never seen him, and somehow the very shy shadow of a pony escaped the snapshots through the trailer slats that were photo texted to us as our new little friends made their way from rest stop to gas station to home…a ranch that they had instant equity in…Red Bucket. “Where is Wallace?” was the question that we asked when we jumped up on the side of the trailer to meet our newest residents. We did not see him initially, and it was only after opening the trailer door that we saw him in the corner, a far cry from the vision of our fantasy pony….round, dappled, and perhaps a wee bit opinionated. He stood as if he were an afterthought; thin, dull, and two or three shades shy of lackluster.

For those of you who know the story of Wallace, you know that one might mischaracterize his initial integration as “struggling to fit in”. In reality, he did not struggle…and he did not fit in. He stood dejected and detached as if even he did not think that his life and well-being was worth effort. The horses pushed him around, the ponies rebuffed him, and even the donkeys seemed to scorn him When the rain fell and the horses all snuggled under their shelters foraging for the last bits of evening hay, Wallace stood in the back of his paddock, wearing his depression and sadness like a wet cloak…too heavy to shed. For those who know Red Bucket know that isolation is not something that we allow, and we began in earnest to find a buddy for Wallace and a place for him to fit in. Ironically, we had a similar search occurring on the other side of the ranch. Polo, a very dear “retired” geriatric who had been lovingly adopted by Karen several years ago, was looking a little bored. It was in our effort to add richness to Polo’s life…that we thought about introducing him to our wayward Wallace. The union was that of a hand and glove; Polo found the missing piece in his life and Wallace found a home. Our culture is one of commitment, and as actions are a much stronger representation of values, Polo “adopted” Wallace on the anniversary of his own adoption. During nighttime rounds, rain or shine, Wallace could be found snuggling up to Polo, under the shelter of their shared paddock…and mutual home.

It was during rounds one morning months later that we found him, and set off the internal siren of an emergency. Something was very, very wrong. Wallace stood in the back of his paddock, his obvious distress was camouflaged by his stoicism and while his temperature was abnormally low, his heart rate told a story of urgency. We locked down the entire side of the ranch and called Dr. Murphy, and by the time that she arrived we had deployed our bio-security protocol, all while fretting and consoling Wallace who struggled to breathe and seemed paralyzed with clear mucous streaming from his mouth and nostrils. Within 30 minutes Wallace was loaded onto the trailer and headed straight for the hospital. Little Wallace had the benefit of an entire “A” team of professionals who surrounded him like an Indy 500 pit crew….3 surgeons, residents, techs, Dr. Murphy, and of course, representatives of his Red Bucket Family; Shona, a white-knuckled Karen, and myself. As it turns out, Wallace had a very difficult choke, which proved especially difficult due to the location of the choke and the presence of a diverticulum pouch which made clearing it extraordinarily challenging. The hospital stay lasted 12 days and carried the price tag of a luxury car lease. Poor Wallace, isolated in a hospital stall on rubber mats which he refused to lay down on, as well as a liquid diet, reverted back to a depression and heaviness that was unbearable. We visited him daily of course, and our visits found Karen sitting with her pony, who nickered shakily when she tried to leave, so she seldom did, but only to make the special arrangements that Wallace would require upon his homecoming: A special shelter and paddock that would separate (and protect) Wallace at feeding time that would allow Wallace and Polo nose-to-nose contact but prevent Wallace from eating Polo’s hay, a new water source, replacement of the shavings with birds-eye, a new feeding protocol. Essentially, Karen hijacked the east side of the farm with a hybrid move of a southern helicopter- tiger mom, leaving no stone unturned.

The homecoming was one that would trump even a Hallmark moment; Wallace nickering and rolling gleefully in his paddock, scrubbing off the darkness that had settled onto his little self during his hospital stay. Polo repeatedly touching his pony with his nose as if to make sure that Wallace was really home, and Karen fussing about adjusting fly masks and rearranging feeders, and making busywork in a poorly disguised attempt to stay close. Later in the day, I found her grating down an entire bale of alfalfa to prepare Wallace’s special new lifetime diet of “leaves only”. While diet is a restrictive term, those who know our culture know that everything we do is to support the health and happiness of the horses we serve. We seldom hear “no” as a no, and we view a closed door as an opportunity to find an open window. The news that Wallace could never again enjoy his favorite treat of carrots led us to the obvious question of, “What if we shredded them?” When the answer to that question was also a “no” and this time punctuated by what appeared to be a slamming of the door, it caused us to put our red thinking caps on. During night buckets, as our horses delight in their small pieces of carrot (except Jack and the donkeys who enjoy the crunch of their celery) Wallace enjoys his special bucket of organic carrot juice that Karen orders just for him, with a seemingly new understanding that yes indeed, he is important, that he is valued, and that he is loved. Today, if one were to ask that familiar question of “Where is Wallace?”, we would easily respond that Wallace is right where he belongs, he is home.