The older I get, the smaller the world actually seems. In my “day job” I continue to marvel about how previous clients keep materializing in new or current client systems, or how someone from my past will connect with me through someone I know. The same seems to be true of horses…we have more than a few now that I knew in a previous life, that have become collateral damage in a world with too many horses and not enough of the good, old-fashioned admiration and deeply held regard that once seemed to dominate the horse world. Maybe, just maybe, I had been naive and it was just me living in a horse lover’s bubble complete with blinders…I am not really sure. I am sure, however, that the definition of the “high-risk” horse has changed, and that I am grateful that Red Bucket can serve the diversity of horses that come to us for a second career…and a second chance.

I first met him approximately 6 or 7 years ago. He had been imported from Europe a short time before and arrived with the ceremony and flair of the grandiosity that accompanies the important…and expensive. He was taken to a small paddock with a five-foot fence, which was large enough to allow him to stretch his legs from his journey, but not big enough for him to get into any trouble…so they thought. His legs were protected with four crisp, white polo wraps, and to be extra safe, he sported a pair of bell boots. His new leather halter complete with a shiny brass nameplate was buckled over the gate picking up the rays from the sun, the lead rope draped through the throat latch. The still of the mid morning was broken abruptly by complete chaos. I do not speak Spanish…and while I add that to my regret list, I did not need a translator to recognize both shock and complete panic. The paddock was empty, the halter and lead rope were still hanging neatly on the gate with the ceremony of a suit jacket adorning the back of a theatre chair. Three grooms were running at top speed after the rascal of a horse whose tail was thrown over his back, flowing like a glorious flag. Even from a distance the game was obvious, and the imported fancy Warmblood show horse with the foreign name darted up and down the uneven terrain with what I can almost imagine was a good-natured smirk on his face, having easily sailed over the fence that enclosed him, shaking the kinks out of his graceful limbs…and getting a kick in the process.

While we have learned to think of him as a bit of a comic, there is other comedy that occurs in our back pasture. Perhaps the most innocent and most “red-donk-ulous” is the donkey turnouts of little Petey and Miss Manners. Now, while we have become less reactive to a large athletic knucklehead jumping out of our pasture for a little attention, the babies are in a different category altogether. Their mothers, Tornado and Millie, view the turnouts as time off, and do absolutely nothing to corral or contain the zooming little donkeys that dart about with a firefly swiftness and adorable comic book-like animation. Tornado spends her time rolling or laying in the warm sand, happy for a reprieve from her otherwise excellent mothering. Millie, on the other hand, uses the break to maximize the grazing opportunity at the slow feeder, and in true donkey form doesn’t tend to raise either her head or an eyebrow for the entire duration. The work is done by somewhat breathless red clad volunteers who rapidly lap the pasture with border collie instincts while their counterparts catch (with remarkable precision) an occasional 35-pound baby donkey who torpedoes through the lower fence rails like a small but mighty cannon ball!

He came to us last year…unwanted. He walked off of the van with a little less swagger than I remember, and no protective shipping wraps on his still elegant legs. The hauler stopped me when I took the rope from him, requesting that I return the halter; it did not belong to the horse and the hauler wanted it back. He still had his fancy name, and since that was all he had, we wrote it boldly on his new red bucket. His personality returned more quickly than his soundness. We, of course, carefully wrap his legs for his turnouts, and have learned not to overreact when he jumps out of the paddock which he does periodically, most often in search of a donkey or two, which seems to be his obsession. Our gate is always shut, and he is a very good horse, just looking for a reaction and a little excitement. I don’t actually think for an instant that he wants to go anywhere; he knows that he is safe, he is important to us, and we will safeguard him until a deserving adopter (with a fun loving personality) falls in love with a silly heart of a horse who loves to make a little bit of dust and a lot of laughter. We started to slowly leg him up this summer; so far he feels sound. He also feels athletic, energetic, and full of enthusiasm. He carries his tail over his back, and wears a mischievous and smug smirk, and always a twinkle on his beautifully bred face. We have found him an old leather halter that we carefully conditioned and hung on his stall door, and one day when he leaves us for the realization of our promise to him, he will leave carefully wrapped with the ceremony of the important, wearing his leather halter, with a red bucket bearing his name.

This Culture Message is dedicated to my friend Catherine who is not only a fine horsewoman, but also an amazing and one-in-a-million person. I admire you greatly!