The Ultimate Horse Lover by Marty Becker D.V.M

Author:Marty Becker, D.V.M.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9780757397844
Publisher: Health Communications, Inc.
Published: 2010-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

Mercy for My Soul

By Maureen Joseph

I climbed aboard my first horse at age six, half petrified and half in wonder at the sheer beauty and grace of these very large creatures. The horses I came in contact with in my younger years were all made of gristle and bone, seemingly with a single-minded determination to assist me in finding another hobby. But I was undaunted by their bucking, biting, and attempts to run away with me. Horses have always been a consistent golden thread woven through the fabric of my life.

Not long ago, at age thirty-five, I sat in my living room with only the flickering light of the television to keep me company. It was close to midnight, and I had stayed up way past my usual bedtime to watch a horse program. I felt like a kid, sitting cross-legged on the floor, my eyes and ears tuned to the set. One of the segments took my breath away. Tears welled as I watched the sheer magnificence of a ballet on horseback, and I knew immediately that dressage was my calling.

Being a Western rider, the conversion was difficult at times, to say the least. I had an old-style, bulldog-type quarter horse who was completely insulted by the thought of direct rein contact, much less the sissy saddle he stoically endured. After two years of trying to make him into something he was not, I decided to sell my best buddy. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but it was done and the horse search was on.

Patience, I kept telling myself, is a virtue. The search for a new equine partner took an immense amount of patience. Combing the papers, looking on the Internet—it all seemed futile as the most suitable horses were out of my price range. I knew I couldn’t afford a warmblood and wanted either a thoroughbred or an appendix quarter horse. It was early one Sunday morning when I spied a tiny one-line ad that read, “Registered appendix quarter horse mare, three-years-old, 16 hands, red, $1,000,” and gave a phone number. As I wondered whether the mare had three legs or four for that price, I crossed my fingers, called, and arranged to check her out. She was cheap, way too cheap.

There she was with a lovely head, nice clean neck, long legs, and every bit of 16 hands. However, she was painfully thin. Her backbone, ribs, and hips were protruding, and her eyes had no spark. The poor girl was starving. I moved my gaze from her bony frame to her legs, which showed no evidence of injury from the track (where the owner said he bought her). Her feet, however, were in abominable shape. The left front was six inches overgrown and its shoe was dangling. The other three were severely chipped and cracked and missing shoes. While I examined her, she stood quietly, sad eyes pleading me to take her away from her misery. I knew I’d

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