I was in way over my head. I had retired my laminitic older trail horse and was looking for a suitable replacement. I had brought home a beautiful black Percheron filly named Beauty who had been rescued by a friend from a bad situation. The plan was to give her the safe home she deserved and to train her to be my solid trail buddy.
Unfortunately, the filly had almost no handling and had nothing but mistrust and contempt for humans. I’d had horses for many years, but I’d never been around one who had been so mishandled as to be quite dangerous. Though she would appear passive and gentle at times, she would suddenly and without warning explode and begin bucking and rearing. More than once, she headed toward me full speed with the intent to intimidate me and remove me from her pasture. In spite of all this, I felt pity for the young horse who had been mishandled and ill-treated. I kept trying to overcome my fears and continued to attempt to work with her.
One day after a particularly explosive encounter with Beauty, I realized I could not keep her any longer and hope to train her. I had too much fear of her, and she knew it, as horses do. I contacted a trainer who had tried to help me with her. He was able to place her with a seasoned trainer who, after working with her extensively, was so impressed with her abilities that he wanted to use her as his posse horse. I thought that was a perfect fit for her personality. She had performed well for him, and for that I was happy. I was glad to help Beauty find her perfect niche, even it if meant she moved on. But now I was back to square one as far as finding a dependable trail mount.
Enter my Rocky. He was eight years old. A gaited Morgan gelding the color of creamy hot cocoa with a flaxen mane and tail, he was not only beautiful, but he was also a reliable and trustworthy trail horse. He proved himself many times to be everything a trail horse could and should be. He was steady on the trails and gentle with my grandchildren. He loaded into my trailer with never an issue. He watched out for me and was perhaps the kindest horse I have ever had. Sadly, he had a condition called heaves (COPD), which continued to grow worse each year in spite of all my attempts to treat his condition. Eventually for his own comfort and peace, I laid him to rest. I was devastated.
But God opened another door for me, and a spunky red roan trotted right through it and into my life. My husband had seen my sadness at the loss of my dear Rocky. He encouraged me to begin looking for a good trail horse, so I took him seriously and did some horse shopping. He likes to joke that one day he said I needed to find another horse, and a week later there was a new horse in the pasture. It truly happened that fast.
The fact was that Roanie (not a very creative name, but it fit him well) had been passed from one owner to another in short succession and was on the market yet again. When I found him, he was in need of some good care and a few hundred pounds.
At our first meeting, Roanie was being kept at a boarding facility until he could be sold. We are all aware that first impressions are lasting ones and often set the tenor of that relationship. At our initial meeting, I walked out into a large pasture with multiple horses gathered around a large round bale. Roanie ambled up to me and moved his face near mine, and with quiet eyes, he sighed a slow breath that spoke to me of relief. We placed a halter on him, and he led out quietly and nicely. So far so good.
Roanie was curious as we saddled him with an old, stiff saddle that they had lying around. We then rummaged around for a barely suitable bit and bridle for him. When I mounted him, he stood quietly and turned his head to me in his curious way. There was a main road right next to the arena, and as it was late afternoon, trucks and general heavy traffic moved noisily past us as we took our initial ride. Roanie was attentive and showed himself to be willing to listen to yet another unknown human asking him to perform. It took just that one ride for me to determine that he was the right one for me and that I was looking at my new partner.
Once I had my new horse home, he settled in nicely. But I was unsure of his abilities as a dependable trail horse, so Roan and I rode to my friend’s farm. It was our first outing, and my friend Merry was riding a horse who was new to her. As we headed out and turned a corner, we were surprised by two noisy cranes stalking across the road closely ahead of us. They passed in and out among the tall weeds, causing them to sway back and forth. As with many riding situations, there was no time to think or prepare for it. Roanie just stopped and looked at the cranes for a few seconds, then he continued down the road as if it were nothing unusual. His response helped my friend’s horse to move on as well. Roanie passed his first test with flying colors.
Since then, we have trailered several times to ride with friends. We have ridden through woods and streams and up switchbacks and along some rough terrain. He has proven himself to be exactly the right horse for me. He’s spunky with a bit of attitude, which is just what I need. His slight impatience keeps me on my toes as we move along.
My Roanie is now twelve and full of zip and personality. He is always ready for scratches and bits of apple or carrot that he asks for in his funny way. He makes me laugh every day with his silly antics. Then he gently places his beautiful head in my arms for warm hugs. We have been together for three years now, and our bond continues to grow. I’m not sure who rescued whom, but either way I’m very thankful for my spunky boy. I hope to continue to ride him into our sunset years.