Starting and running a rescue is like walking straight into a strong wind. You need to square your shoulders, brace yourself, and keep moving. When we started Red Bucket over 5 years ago, I went out and quickly purchased a book on starting a rescue. The first chapter of the book instructed the reader to first read the book before rescuing any horses…oops. The advice was too late; by that time we had 8 horses and eight shiny new buckets. Fortunately, we were way ahead of the subsequent chapters, and our small effort soon grew into a meaningful, if not a magical, venture. For those who know the story, 4 months later we had 74 red buckets and an equal number of deserving and grateful charges who were in various stages of healing and recovery. We hunkered down against the various elements and set forth on a journey to save desperate and deserving horses, and to make a difference that would change the world for one horse at a time.
 
During a recent pre-dawn tour with a journalist who was photographing our horses for an upcoming story, I found myself embroiled in an unexpected conversation about our horses’ eyes. The dialogue started innocently enough with a casual walk past Presley, who was still in his nighttime turn out and was waiting to be taken in for breakfast (and his routine morning slumber in freshly laid shavings). I was certainly aware of Presley’s eyes; they were practically boring a hole right through my back. He was quite indignant that I would be casually sauntering right by him chatting with a stranger rather than grabbing a lead rope, ruffling his forelock, and marching him back to the barn. Jay, the photographer, stopped in his tracks, unaware of the silent complaints that Presley was telegraphing, but astonished by Presley’s captivating light blue eyes framed in an illusion of dark eye shadow and frosty white lashes. Jay had never seen anything like the remarkable beauty adorning Presley’s face, but still oblivious to the depth of what was beneath the beauty…the story…the horse.
 
With an unspoken but somewhat humorous apology to Presley, we continued on our tour. Jay’s artistic intuition was now awakening, and we began to discuss the differences in the eyes that followed us on our walk. Micah’s little mischievous eye popped up as we entered the winter barn, peering over the stall door imploring us to slide it open and invite him to play. The combination of curiosity, playfulness and impish mischievousness was juxtaposed to the very clear relief that his mother Angelica conveyed with every soft blink that she took as she nuzzled her foal and peered at us with what is the most profound gratitude that I have ever seen or felt. Angelica knew what Micah did not; they are alive because of our dedicated work and refusal to turn our back. Her previous guarded and fearful eye had been washed away and replaced by the relief of the rescued. The gazes of our horses watched, followed, and thanked us as we exited the barn and rounded the bend to the Isolation barn that serves as temporary housing to Talulah.
 
Talulah’s eyes are not yet soft, or trusting, or restful. She is still recovering from a horrific trauma and terrifying ordeal. Her eyes, however, are beginning to brim with hope and interest, and in spite of her still too prominent shadow of ribs, communicate an expectation that her breakfast is on the way. Her healing has begun, and we will gladly give her the time that she needs in which to transition into the life that she deserves. We ended our tour at the east paddock and were greeted by soft liquidly chocolate brown eyes of “my boyfriend.” Jay seemed transfixed by the depth of the soft eye that peered at us through a thick fringe of black bangs. This horse, I explained to Jay, had been tortured. I paused, not so much for dramatic effect, but because the words stuck tightly in my throat. If you allow yourself to be still, I told him, and quiet the internal noise, you will see and experience what true forgiveness looks like. I then walked our guest through the wrought iron gates that flank our little ranch, and thanked him for his interest in our horses and for using his skill to help us tell the world about our beautiful work. As I headed with a hastened gait to get Presley out of the turn out, I felt a soft breeze at my back, and realized that soon the wind and the dust would settle, and our gates would open to welcome so many horses that a!wait the promise of Red Bucket and a safe tomorrow.
 
This culture message is dedicated to the new Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Pasnik, who began their new “tomorrow” at the little red ranch that the horses own.