I made a mistake. In actuality, it turned out okay, better than okay really, because it emphasized

his growth, confidence, and the embodiment of what “second chance” really means. I had been

trying to distract my mount and keep him relaxed and listening to me. Over the course of two

years, he had turned a corner in his re-training and was eager (laughingly, I call it hypereffervescent),

almost too bold and a bit chargey at the fences. I am not complaining, mind you.

When he came to us he would not walk over a pole, let alone even jump a cross-rail. He had been

lied to too many times and did not trust people, and even more heartbreaking, did not trust

himself. I approached a larger-than-normal fence, bending him a bit more than I intended,

burying him in the base of the jump. He did not see it until the last minute, I pinched a bit of

mane, bracing myself for him to protect himself by throwing on the brakes…instead, he protected

me and gathered himself, pushing off of the ground in a much more graceful push than I could

have even imagined. He landed without dust or drama on the correct lead and listened to me

respectfully as we rounded the corner. This time we were straight, I was soft and quiet, and he

dropped his nose, lifted his knees and landed with a confidence and self worth that I can neither

describe or define. The feeling is profound and it lives in the heart, which is only possible once

we have healed the head. My great love is embracing – and enjoying – a job that he once rejected.

He knows that he can trust me, and I know that he has reclaimed more than just his life, but the

joy of work and the satisfaction of partnership.

The dust billowed softly from the bull pen with the appearance of smoke from a

campfire…natural, contained, and organic. Durham and Jenon had advanced to integrating a

saddle into the routine of their ground work. Durham had perhaps been one of the most

suspicious and guarded horses that we have had the privilege of saving. In pasture, he cleverly

hid behind other horses, evading more than being caught, but being touched. Once at the ranch,

he refused all treats, cookies, and carrots as if we had poisoned them, and would later only accept

a snack on his terms. Perhaps we can rightfully ascribe some of his behavior to his being a

mustang, most likely the crux if his stoic defensiveness was a manifestation of a lifetime of

cruelty and abuse. Jenon, who has been resolute in her commitment to Durham, has also readily

embraced the Red Bucket philosophy of “It will take as long as it is going to take”, and has been

quiet, patient, and consistent in her dedication to allowing Durham to re-engage with the world

and with humans on a treaty negotiated by both parties. Jenon held her horse (and friend) as

Shona lightly slipped onto Durham’s back for the first time. He accepted the rider with a bit of

worry and concern, and then started to relax as he listened to Jenon’s almost silent voice. He

began to lick and chew as she spoke a language to him that few have bothered to learn, but he

understands and respects. I have, with confidence, declared that by summer’s end Jenon will be

barn-walking her horse all over the ranch. Durham’s heart and head are nearly mended, and his

second chance is waiting for him to choose to take the final step into letting go of the past and

stepping into forever.

Keely’s little life has until today been fraught with unimaginable loss and suffering. We had

almost said no to her, but that was before we saw her picture and knew that we could not turn our

backs. There were six in all, three mares and three nursing babies. Keely, just a few weeks old

pictured next to her mother at the slaughter auction, tiny, fragile, and wounded. With only hours

to spare, we launched a fundraiser to raise as much of the necessary funds as possible and bring

the 6 horses to safety. Keely’s mother, who had suffered from a previous head injury, tragically

died leaving little Keely very alone, emotionally delicate and physically compromised. We have,

of course, embraced her with every possible tool and resource that we have. She has resisted the

bottle and bucket, leaving us tapping creative ways to nourish a little one who is already so far

behind the eight ball. Her social and emotional needs are being catered to by a mini filly named

Confeddy, who has proven to be gentle, tender…and warm. This afternoon Keely’s depression

seemed to lift, and while I am sure that the new feeding schedule which has clicked is partially

responsible, I think that the consistent touch and compassion sprinkled with Confeddy’s

friendship is mending Keely’s fractured little heart. Keely and Confeddy played in their turnout

today; they bucked and sprinted around in a game of tag that left them breathing hard…and later

napping curled up together in a stall that they share, pooped from all of the sunshine and

romping. Little Keely still has a long way to go, and much of her journey will be uphill. It will

take as much time as it is going to take, and we will be right by her side, lifting her…and loving

her.