An original story by R.T. Fitch “It’s ‘Feel Good Sunday’ and I am going to do something different, today. Instead of sharing something that someone else has written I have penned, for you, a few thoughts and feelings that crossed across my heart this very morning. A true […]
Today is Sunday, precisely one week before Christmas so I tender for you, this day, an original equine related Christmas story. But today’s story tugs at my personal heart-strings with more vigor than necessary. This tale was written several years ago, immediately after the loss of my German Shepherd companion, Nikki. With her passing many creatures were living with a gap in their hearts, this feeling does not only apply to humans but to our animal companions as well. Her partner in arms and constant friend was Terry’s good buddy, Kenny, a massive white Shepherd that cried, howled and looked for Nikki weeks after her departure. The story that follows was one I wrote as Kenny and I tried to find our way through our sadness and grief and is forever alive in our book “Straight from the Horse’s Heart”. The hole is still there but both of us learned to live with it, except that today the hole in my heart is much wider as our good friend and trusty companion, Kenny, crossed over the bridge on Friday, December 16th 2011. We miss him, even the horses wonder where the evening guardian is that watched over the barn while they ate…it is now so empty without the bouncing, forever happy German Shepherd.
It is Sunday and once again time to catch our breath and reflect on why it is we do what we do as we charge forward in our battle to better the welfare of our equine companions, both domestic and wild. And being that we have rushed into the Holiday season, with little fanfare or warning, I would like to submit for your reading refreshment a story that appeared in my inbox, this morning. Likewise, we published this story last year and it, too, was submitted by another kind and caring reader.
Last night, July 3rd 2005, I entered Terry’s office to shut down the computer prior to heading for bed. Everyone else was tucked away and I was just doing the last minute security sweep when my eyes caught the bright glare of a fireworks rocket heading for the stars in the northern sky. When it reached it’s predestined point of suicide, it erupted into a brilliant display of red and blue stars cascading downward across the acres of millet that separate us from a distant subdivision. I walked closer to the window when, suddenly, the noise of the explosion reached our farm. BOOM! As the sound trailed off, another took its place -the thunder of hooves. The horses were freaked.
We are going to do something a little different than we have done before, instead of writing text I am going to read the text for you so that you can sit back, close your eyes and on concentrate on the impact of the words that you hear.
It’s been one helluva week. Many thanks go out to those who took of their own time, and resources, to plan, travel and execute activities during the BLM Advisory Board Meeting of this past week. My head is still whirling but then again, it does not take much to make that occur. But overall, the question remains…did we make a difference?
She didn’t know why she had not seen them before. She had driven by that little patch of pain for years and remembered seeing something up there, but she had never in her life seen what she saw on this day, never.
Once upon a time, on a small one-acre paddock in rural central Texas, there resided several horses; unfortunately, not in the best of conditions. It was a mean enclosure, boarded with barbed wire and natural cut poles whose bark had been eaten off long ago by the horses held captive within.
Recently I was engaged in an email conversation, with a group of colleagues, on the issue of the extensive cruelty exhibited by Federal agencies and our government, overall. The discussion was centered on the unimaginable suffering that our native wild horses are subjected to at the hands of the Obama administration’s Bureau of Land Management (BLM) headed up by Bob Abbey under the direction of 5th generation rancher, Ken Salazar the Secretary of the Department of Interior (DOI). As the conversation progressed it became apparent that the bulk of the mindless cruelty, shown to our federally protected mustangs, is administered by and distributed through men. Hence, the question arose,
Last night I lost my 43 year old friend and horse, Dusty Rose. I had rescued Dusty Rose about 13 years ago in response to a call for a home for a 30 year old blind Arab Morgan cross whose first rescuer had died of cancer. Dusty Rose was not only blind but she could be as mean as hell. Over the years she inflicted numerous bodily injuries on me including a fractured wrist. Once when I was on crutches she knocked me down and walked over me but we were friends and I grew to love the cantankerous old lady.
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