“Please God, don’t let Jack die.” My prayers of late have had a thematic pattern…asking for something. The requests have had the vibe of a business email, lacking both the gracious salutation and the closing of politeness that is the hallmark and expectation of a proper Red Bucket correspondence, and certainly the tone of my personal values. There has been urgency, pleading and desperation, and my brain’s amygdalae have resorted to bartering…and asking. Most importantly, I must remind myself that Jack had already been the beneficiary of a great many answered prayers. From being saved by Red Bucket after being abandoned without any food, surviving starvation…and later a nearly fatal case of Laminitis, and managing to be made comfortable enough after rotating, to live one more year and enjoy the gentle retirement that he so richly deserved. We had been on borrowed time for the last few years, and our dear Jack managed to give back more than he took in equipping us with his tenured oversight of his small donkey charges, providing training and gentle tutelage for our inexperienced volunteers, and supervising several foal crops on how to behave like a lovely, well-mannered horse.

In my somber reflection, it was Magnum that taught me the lesson that Jack had mastered so elegantly; to give rather than take. We rescued Magnum back in May of 2009 as a part of a breeding scandal. He had been so severely starved that every part of his skeletal structure was prominent, every bone distinct and recognizable. The only non-bony surfaces were his back legs; both were horrendously infected and cloaked in angry proud flesh. His tail, like the tails of the other stallions, had been eaten in a last desperate act of survival. It was his eyes that had the strongest impact; his head was hung in defeat, his long mane knotted like an old nautical rope of barnacles and layers of matted neglect, but his eyes were soft, liquid, and held a whisper of hope and longing that I still see…and feel viscerally.

A bond developed between us, and in caring for and loving Magnum, he loved me back. As his legs slowly healed his ribs faded, leaving a giant baby horse with kind eyes and a heart that seemed to grow daily. I carefully placed him in a private barn off of the beaten path in order to distract possible adopters from his astonishing beauty, as he still needed considerable rehabilitation and training. Saddle training was effortless…he trusted me, and in his gratitude he made it easy to climb upon his now broad back and begin to teach him the fundamentals. It was within the bull pen walls and later with the privacy of a curry comb and soft brush that the idea of adopting my “baby cow” started to germinate and emotionally fuel my dreams. The Strawfords, Ali in particular, changed my world view even before I could surrender to a looming possibility of selfishness. A visit to find a perfect horse for her young daughter Phoebe ignited an introduction of Magnum’s “little” brother Dashiel. At the end of a beautiful day I brought Ali to my special barn, and choking back sobs, handed her a lead and told her that I thought she would be leaving with two horses rather than one. A beautiful matched pair of brothers, one small and one giant, left us six years ago this month for a fairy tale life, first in Colorado and later in Wales, where they lived the life of the wanted that this wonderful family generously gave. I received a gut-wrenching and thoughtfully written email this weekend that Magnum had died after a struggle with a debilitating illness. In my raw heartache and tears, I found that my prayers were of gratitude for the cherished life that Magnum had experienced, and the beautiful family that had loved him so.

Long after his final breath, I sat with Jack for a good long while, unable to get up and unwilling to leave him. I gently pulled his huge head into my lap, and long after my legs were numb and coldness had crept into his lips, I caressed his now grey brow and lightly rubbed the velour softness of his muzzle. I straightened his forelock and tenderly stroked his perfect teepee-shaped ears. I longed for one more nuzzle…one more nicker…just one more anything. In the later stillness of my grief, and in my final farewell, I found the footing to the bridge that I had been missing: “Dear God, thank you for Jack. Thank you for positioning us to save him. Thank you for allowing me to serve. Thank you for Red Bucket, for this ranch, for the opportunity to give. Thank you for our horses, for the clarity of vision, for our generous donors and devoted volunteers who make our life-saving work possible.” I rediscovered Magnum’s gift, and filled my spirit with the gratitude of giving rather than taking.

This Culture message is dedicated to Jack and Magnum, to all those who helped us help them by giving, not by taking. To our donors, our volunteers, and to Dr. David Treser and Dr. Brigid Murphy, for all their extraordinary gifts.