Beginnings

He came to me at one of the lowest points of my life.  A broken engagement, a horrible job, and a heart desperate for something tangible to love; and I found it in a four legged woebegone thoroughbred-cross down on his luck and in need of love, too.  His shaggy black hair that hung down from his forelock belied the beautiful and expressive eyes.  Though he was only four years old, his hips jutted out at strange and grotesque angles.  Every bone in his rib cage could easily be seen.  His neck looked as if it had been put on upside down.  But when I climbed onto his back, I fell in love.

“Listen, I have a deal for you.  He is bred out of the Native Dancer line and he was used as a hunter in Ohio.  He was bought by a young guy who decided not to feed him and left him in a field because the horse threw him off of his back one too many times.  I just want to unload him.  What you are seeing is a horse that I just put a hundred pounds of groceries on his body.  A little more weight and he will be perfect,” he tipped his withered cowboy hat back and sucked on a piece of hay.

“How much are you asking?”  I only had $800.00 in my savings; it was all that I had.  I wanted the horse badly.

“For you young lady, I will give you a deal of $1,500.00.”

He paused for my reaction.  I knew I did not have the money.  My hesitation led him to impulsively say, “What about $1,200.00?”

“How about a $1,000.00?”  I rocked back, realizing that my dream of owning a well-bred horse was slowly gaining momentum.

“I don’t want to be taken advantage of young lady.  This is a fine looking animal.  He will be worth a lot more than $5,000 with a little more groceries.”

“Could I give you $800.00 and pay you the rest next month?”  I was hopeful.

“Try him out and pay me the $1,000.00 next month.”

“I will take him!  It is a deal!”

“Well, you are now the owner of Raise Your Dreams.  I hope he brings all of your dreams to come true,” with that he handed me the lead rope of my very first horse.

I was incredulous.  I got to take him home that day.  When I looked at his paper work, I knew then that I would name the farm, Raise Your Dreams, because it truly captured all that a farm would mean to me; and I hoped what it would mean to others.

As soon as he came to the farm where I was boarding him, he became a model horse.  He was neat and tidy with his stall.  He loved everyone and relished in the attention that I gave him.  Greedily he ate every meal and slowly his skinny body filled out to a beautiful shimmer.  His favorite activity was to chase the chickens that happened to wander into his field.  The neighbor had a Bassett hound and he had the unfortunate mistake of wandering into Raise Your Dreams’ field.  He thought it would be a great game to try and catch the low-bodied, uncoordinated dog.  The dog howled with sheer fright.  He escaped with his life and never was he seen in the field again.

I now called Raise Your Dreams, Bud, in memory of my grandfather who encouraged my dream of someday owning a horse of my own.  Bud’s favorite activity was jumping out of his field.  Many times I would drive to the farm only to find him frolicking with the mares in the adjacent field.  I would yell at him, and he would promptly jump back into his field. 

He was a gifted jumper, never one to turn down a jump no matter how large or how high.

One day I took him to a clinic with a professional show jumper.  She asked me to jump a very difficult and technical jump.  I told her that I knew he would do it; but I knew my limitations, and I was certain that I would not be on his back after the jump.  His jumping style was so majestic and powerful that the saddle would slap me on my bottom.  We would laugh at the farm because you didn’t have to see me jump you could hear me.  The clinician asked if she could try him.  I told her that she could.  She was promptly jumped out of the saddle and landed on his neck.  He stopped and raised his head to save her from falling.  She shook her head at me, climbed off of him and promptly offered me $10,000 for him.  I told her that dreams weren’t for sale.

What I loved doing more than anything else was taking him through the Brandywine Valley, my home.  We would ride all over the valley; sometimes we would languish for hours over a picnic lunch, or go out for a morning gallop while the sun was just rising.  He became more and more powerful with every ride over the beautiful hills, for they worked his body like nothing else.  At shows, people would stand in awe of his presence peppering me with questions about him.  With muscles bulging and eyes expressive, I was always in the ribbons when I showed.  He loved it when the audience would clap, and he would stop when he heard the applause and relish in the attention.  He started to realize that he was special. 

Little children and special children would be drawn to him because they knew that he was kind.  I knew that I would make their dreams come true with a pony ride on his back.  He was always gentle with his little charges.  My tiny nephew, after being admonished for running behind Bud decided that it would be better if he went underneath of him.  Bud just sucked up his stomach and looked down at the little child next to his feet.  I cannot tell you how many times the sheer joy of being around a horse would propel children to grab his back leg and give him a hug. 

My horse became more than a friend, he became my confidant.  Hours were spent together riding or walking in the fields together.  I would talk to him for hours, sing terribly off key songs, and silently contemplate my life.  Never would he complain, he was a silent companion.

Nothing could prepare me for the trial that I would be asked to endure.  On the way home while on the horse trailer. he fell and broke his knee.  The vet suggested that I put him down.  For three months he was confined to his stall.  Our unusually close relationship became even more so, I felt that I could actually feel his pain.  His actions revealed the days that were worse or better for him.  On good days I would carefully walk him to the field and allow him a few luscious bites of rich green grass. 

With boredom at hand he recognized everyone that came to the farm and his whinny was the usual greeting.  He would beckon everyone to give him a treat and a pat.  He became in a sense the barn mascot.  He would shake his head and whinny louder if ignored, so no one really had a choice but to pay attention to the big bay gelding in his stall.  He would tenderly put his head on the shoulder of his visitors as if to hug them for being there.

I tried to spend as much time as I could with him; and for hours I would quietly sit in his stall or read.  I know he enjoyed my company the most, and it was always painful when I had to leave. His loud knicker and whinny told me that he preferred my company than the loneliness that would engulf him.  That time made me realize that he loved me as much as I did him.

With lots of rest, prayers, and love he gained full recovery of a shattered and useless knee.  My vet said that he was a miracle.  Many years passed and the words echoed in my mind when my instructor said to me, “Jill, this horse loves you.”

One day while riding by myself, he was spooked by a man that came out of the woods.  I fell hard and laid on the ground writhing in excruciating pain because I dislocated my shoulder.  The man trying to help me walked towards me.  Feeling that I was in danger, my horse stood over me keeping the man from coming near.  We walked back to the barn together slowly negotiating the steep trails and dangerous ravines.  He paused when I paused and put his head on my shoulder, hanging his head low.  I knew he was sorry for letting me fall.  He was so tender towards me that I was touched.

My Bud represents everything that Raise Your Dreams Farm represents, love, hard work, perseverance and most importantly a commitment to excellence.  I know that God has given me an awesome gift with my horse, Bud.  But he has given me so much more than I have ever given to him.  The only horse of my dreams is Raise Your Dreams.

Pee-Wee

An angel came to my farm in the form of a brown pudgy pony aptly named Pee-Wee for his small stature.  He was non-descript with the exception of his beautiful soft brown eyes encased in long eye lashes.

The scars on his body showed neglect and possibly abuse in his life as a ranch pony in Mexico.  How he got to America, I don’t know, but he was quickly bought by Mindy, a neighbor of mine.  He was so unaccustomed to kindness and care that he absolutely flourished under Mindy’s love.  Through her, he learned to eat carrots and apples.  He languished in the hours of her scratching his belly.   He paid her back by taking her anywhere she wanted to go.  From trail rides to the show ring, he gave her his best.  She was confident that he would always take care of her.

One day, a phone call came from Mindy explaining that she would like me to take Pee-Wee and use him in my lesson program at my farm.  She was leaving for college and she hated the thought that he would not receive the attention he so desperately craved.  Confident that he would be treated like the king he was, she asked me to take him.

His unflappable nature, easy gaits and wide back made him more like a couch instead of a pony.  He accepted every rider with his easy going lovable nature.  The therapeutic riding students would hold his head in their hands profusely kissing his face; never did he pull away from their tight grasp, allowed Pee-Wee to quickly climb to the position of the favorite mount to ride.

For advanced students, he would carefully jump fences never unsettling his rider. In fact, he was the horse that taught all of my riders how to jump a fence.  If he felt the slightest weight shift, he would stop or position himself to keep them centered in the saddle.  For beginners, he taught them how to steer around obstacles, patiently enduring their mistakes and uncoordinated aides.  Never did he get frustrated or upset with them.  He loved everyone.

He thrived on attention and treats.  Apples dipped in molasses, carrots with the tops on, and yes, sometimes human food, were his favorite treats of all.  Cupcakes, French fries, a soda, ice pops on a hot day were only a few of the treats we allowed him to indulge.

He spent hours being bathed and groomed by the students.  His docile nature enabled him to endure countless costumes for the shows.  His lush tail would burnish with flecks of gold with every swipe of the comb.  He loved the attention and endured hours being brushed, primped, combed, and polished without a fuss.  What he really loved was being scratched on his belly.  He would tilt his head to the left and his lip would begin to quiver, his eyes would shut and his ears would flop to the side.  He was in ecstasy.   If an arm would get tired, he would then try to scratch you with his lip.  All would laugh, in his own way he was trying to give back what he had been given. Then he would stop and say with eyes, “Your turn.”

Pee-Wee was notorious for a taking a nap with his friends.  Around 10:00, in the morning he would stretch out flat on the earth and allow the sun to warm him.  Then his friends would come, usually a cat or two.  They would lie next to him or on top of his very broad girth. Sometimes his lips would twitch and his feet would move and I knew he was dreaming of teaching his charges.

Animals were always drawn to him, too.  Occasionally, a cat would sit in his stall and they seemed to share a comfortable relationship with one another.  Taz, a gray fluffy cat at the barn, for some strange reason, loved to eat horse feed.  He would patiently wait for some feed to fall from Pee-Wee’s mouth.  Sometimes, I think Pee-Wee allowed some extra feed to fall on purpose.  What I found most fascinating was a small bird that would sit on his back for hours as he grazed.  Horses usually cannot tolerate their sharp claws, but this bird was a constant companion.

Unfortunately, on a cold Sunday in December complications from Cushing’s Disease claimed his life. While only with me for three and a half short years he left behind a legacy.  His bird and cats miss him, but his humans miss him more.  There is an eerie silence in the barn without Pee-Wee’s usual greeting of a loud whinny when he heard me.  What I miss about him the most is the fact that he stood for everything good and right.  At the end of his life I knew he was in excruciating pain, yet he never lost patience with anyone.  He was always excited to see everyone even though he could no longer be ridden.  Standing was too painful and the students who had grown to love him would go in the field where he was laying and give him a special treat or scratch his belly.  He would thank them by licking their hands.

I don’t think I really understood the impact that Pee-Wee made on so many of my students.  They would stop by with pictures that they had drawn of Pee-Wee.  They would send get well cards and short notes that they were praying for him and his speedy recovery.  One of my students wrote a book about Pee-Wee complete with pictures of happier and healthier times.  One thing Pee-Wee were good at was leaving an impression on all that were touched by him.  He was an expert on giving confidence to the most timid of riders.  Most importantly, he made them believe in themselves because when he was by their side it seemed like everything was possible.