If you had told me when I was a kid growing up in California that I would one day become a rescuer of horses, I would have been very excited. Because from the time I was a child, it seemed like animals came to me. In turn, I always found solace in them.
My parents, both my sisters, and I loved animals. We especially liked dogs—puppies and dogs were my first friends. In our home, we had Rottweilers from Germany, Tosas from Japan when they were first imported to the United States, and mastiffs from France. We all loved horses too, but we didn’t have them or any other large animals. Owning horses seemed more like a hobby for the very successful.
Nevertheless, I fell in love with horses at the age of three. I vividly recall being placed way up on the back of a horse behind my cousin. I hung on to my cousin for dear life, and I was thrilled to be there. The horse started bucking because of a horsefly, and I was still excited. My love of horses was born then and lived quietly inside me. Like many girls at the time, I fed that desire by collecting Breyer horse statues.
I grew up and went to college. The degree I received wasn’t really getting me work, so I waited tables. It was while I was a waitress twelve years ago that my love for horses moved out of my imagination and into my life and took over.
I was driving to church one Sunday morning and stopped for a red light. Off to my side was a junkyard, and on this day, I noticed three horses standing in it. All three were emaciated. I had not seen them before, and it troubled me. But the light changed, and I drove on to church.
The sermon that day had to do with stepping up and taking action when nobody else will. It made me think of the horses I’d just seen. I took the sermon as a sign to do something, so after church, I drove to the junkyard. There was an emergency number written on a private property sign. I called, which put me in touch with the owner of the junkyard.
I asked about the horses, which he claimed were not his. I asked him if the owner might be willing to sell the horses. He said yes, all three could go for $3,000. Reluctantly, I told him that was too much for me. I also reminded him what poor shape the horses were in. We made no deal that day, but the next day he called me back. He asked me what I would be willing to pay. I told him $300 for all three. He agreed to it.
Now I found myself the owner of three, not-in-good-shape horses. My first problem was that I had no place to put horses. Oh, and I had no experience with horses, either! I was a single woman waiting tables in the expensive state of California. What was I thinking?
I managed to find someone to transport the horses to a friend’s house a half hour away where they could stay for a while. Another friend gave me a thousand dollars to pay for the vet, and we got the horses healthy. Then a lady in Tehachapi, not too far away from where I lived, offered me the use of her field. This was a generous offer. We moved my three horses to their new home and watched them thrive.
Sometime later, my sister learned on social media that there was a donkey in trouble in Texas. She encouraged me to save this donkey, and I managed to do it. I was so excited that when I met that sweet donkey—all the way from Texas—I started crying. I hoped he knew that he would be okay now.
Much to my surprise, my grandfather surprised me by telling me how much he loved donkeys. Grandpa loves donkeys? I had no idea. It turned out he worked with donkeys during WWII in France and Germany. Corps of equines helped the war efforts on both sides, and Grandpa told us stories I’d never heard before about his wartime experiences involving these sturdy animals. He got involved in the care of this donkey, and we had good family time bonding over that.
By now, I had a job working full-time in sales. But my sister decided that I should start an official animal rescue. She reminded me that I’d been saving animals since childhood. She also reminded me what I had written on Facebook—that my passion was animals and that my hope was to someday help them and, in the process, help humans too.
She helped me figure it out. I filed for and received nonprofit status. Then we rescued a Thoroughbred, a mini horse, and an unhandled quarter horse and her filly. Then a few more animals came in from Northern California. I was still keeping them in my friend’s backyard—about three acres that he let us use. Eventually we acquired more acreage across from a pistachio orchard and put down roots for an actual rescue. We named it “All Seated in a Barn.”
As you can imagine, the rescue became my whole life. At first, I was the one cleaning the stalls, building social media, and paying for things by draining my savings account. Fundraising was difficult, and I had to get creative. I started having events so people could come meet the animals, and that helped with feed. I posted on Instagram and got lots of followers. Just before COVID hit, we had about fifty animals and some volunteers. My boss told me I couldn’t keep working like this, and I’d need to choose my job or my rescue. I chose the rescue. Then COVID hit, and I realized I would have been laid off anyway.
During COVID, I was dating someone long distance in Texas. One time when I visited, he asked if I’d ever been to a livestock auction. I had not, and it seemed like a good idea to go. Maybe I could save a horse or two. I posted a video on social media that I was going to my first auction, and my video went viral. Even a celebrity shared it, and, unbelievably, I received $40,000 to help me rescue animals at this auction. I bought and rescued ninety-two horses and donkeys.
The next morning, I woke up thinking once again, What have I done?
As it turned out, just before the auction I had run into a friend of mine I hadn’t seen in years, and it came up in conversation that he had three acres of land. I got in touch with him and said, “I have ninety-two animals and no place to put them. I need your land.” He came through, and we boarded them for as long as it took to find other rescues or homes for the animals.
I went to another auction and acquired eighty more animals. We were erecting pens and turnouts everywhere. Again, other rescues and sanctuaries stepped up and took the animals. People told me I was crazy rescuing so many animals. But I always believed that this was what I was supposed to be doing and that things would all work out. And they would. In the meantime, the operation continued to grow.
Which leads me to Felix.
A few years ago, a friend told me about a three-month-old baby zebra for sale online. In the United States, it’s legal to hunt zebras on private game ranches in several states. People pay to do it. The ranchers sell the zebra foal as a bottle baby and report that the mother died; in fact, the mother was hunted. The rancher gets paid for the hunted zebra and is also paid when someone takes the baby. This ranch was charging quite a bit for the baby, and I knew I couldn’t afford it, so the friend offered to buy the foal and have subsequent donations pay him back.
A couple guys from my barn drove to Wisconsin to pick up the colt. When he was unloaded back home, I was smitten. This baby was the first zebra foal I’d ever seen. He was about the size of a Great Dane, and he was very shy with beautiful eyes. It felt surreal to see this little guy. My heart melted. But my brain was saying, I hope I didn’t make a mistake taking this on. I wanted to do right by this colt, but I had some fear of the unknown. Zebras truly are wild animals, and I’d heard stories of them turning on humans. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt as he got older.
But I made the commitment and named him. I looked at him and thought, He looks like a Felix. Maybe all that strong black-and-white striping reminded me of the black-and-white cartoon Felix the Cat. Whatever the reason, the name stuck, and he has been Felix ever since.
We had a miniature baby donkey, so we put the baby zebra with him. Felix arrived with a pair of jeans that had been worn by his previous owner. For three days, I wore those jeans. After three days I hung up my own jeans with his previous owner’s jeans on the fence post near Felix. I eventually took the man’s jeans away and left mine. This helped, but it still took a good three months for Felix to see me as okay and start coming around.
Eventually we moved Felix in with an old, wise, sweet gelding who was more comfortable with people. So began Felix’s socialization with humans, and it worked, though he bonded with me faster than with others. He also preferred women over men. As he got older, he trusted me enough that I could halter-train him.
A zebra is an equine, but I learned that my zebra did not really act like a horse. To me, Felix seemed more like a cat—aloof and solitary—plus, like a cat, he expressed a lot with his tail. When he was done with his human or another animal, he was done, and his tail let us know before he kicked. The horses were terrified of him. He didn’t whinny, he didn’t bray, and at feeding time, he had his own sound: a-hoyt, a-hoyt, a-hoyt.
In many ways, he acted like a little prince. But let me be clear—it’s difficult to own a zebra. In the wild, zebras innately run from lions. Kicking is their first line of defense, and they use it freely. Their hind end is their weapon. Horses kick straight back—but zebras can also kick sideways. Obviously, this was going to be a challenge. The farrier said I’d have to figure this out myself.
So I spent special time with Felix, touching his back end and lifting his hooves so I could clean his feet. It worked. He’s now two years old and the size of a small pony, and I can trim his feet with the farrier. I can take him on walks, but he does not get ridden. We use him to educate people—that they should not own zebras as pets.
I love Felix. This is his home, and he has many animal and human friends. Felix reminds me how grateful I am that I’ve been able to make equine rescue my passion. It’s not easy. It can break your heart. Sometimes I need to make decisions I don’t want to make.
But the rewards are so great. And I know this work is my personal mission, the reason I’m here. I wouldn’t change my situation for anything.