T. Martino
The horses watch me, their eyes bright and deep. The fields are frosty and the horses stand, staring intently. Their coats fuzzy and thick: black, grey, red roan, bay. The sun comes up behind the grey clouds, turning the morning pearl. The sun brings hope as it turns each starting blade of spring grass bright. The horses look at me in hope and trust. Their trust is amazing. Each day they know that I will be here and they will be fed. They'll be fed good feed, have rugs taken off and or replaced, have injuries treated and wounded souls healed. And, they in their turn, heal us. These horses are valuable. These horses are teachers.
I wonder sometimes what exactly I am doing. These are not the horses of a competition barn. Not sleek and well bred, but injured, old, or mental ... perhaps the occasional green bean thrown in our youth project from a well-meaning owner. These are the horses of Wolftown! Each horse brings its own story into my life and the lives of the project kids.
Each day I get up, pull on clothes, and go out into the biting dark and load hay, break ice, turn on the hose. The thousand little chores that horse people know well. The first horse to catch my eye is Terpchichorie. She is very old, with a sagging lower lip and sway back She resembles a cartoon horse. She whickers softly as I toss her hay and pour out her can of senior feed. This old roan mare was destined for the meat market. As I work, I remember phone calls on the old mare's magazine ad. Voices ring through my head. People tell me, " Oh! She is so oldI don't want my children to see her die. I don't want them to see that."
I listen in silence, wondering how they will protect their children from the reality of life. The drama, beauty and poignancy. The briefness that makes life all that more precious.
One of the early morning Saturday kids comes up and throws her skinny arms around Terp's neck. "I love you Terp," she whispers to the old mare. "Terp is the best horseisn't she, Tee," Jasmine says to me. I nod.
The next group of horses is waiting and I push the hay cart over the frozen mud towards them. A bright tall chestnut gelding comes up and shoulders his companions away. I toss him his hay first, then the rest. Jasmine says, "Can I ride Stewart today?"
"Not yet, honey..." I answer. He is still learning to trust us. The gelding chews his mouthful of hay slowly, watchful. Someone had beaten him so severely that when he first came to us we were told that he would attack people. This was not a backyard horse, but a big tall well-bred Thoroughbred. He reared and bucked at first. He spun on the lounge line as we slowly reschooled him. No harsh bits ... no spurs... no force, just slow centuries of classical learning, passed down from masters onto this reschool and my kids. "Does he love us yet?" Jasmine queried. "Almost.... time will heal him ... and being very patient." The girl pushes her hair back and rubs her hands on her torn sweatshirt. "Horses are like us ... huh, Tee. They want a family.... And friends."
I smile and walk on. I come to the big paddocks and a black Friesian walks carefully towards us. His head is low and he swings it back and forth. We can hear him sniff loudly, as if searching. I put his hay down carefully and the black colt walks over towards it, sniffing all the while. Jasmine pours out his measure of grain, "How long will Mojo be blind?"
"Always." I say to her. He had an accident and lost his eyesight. He will be blind for the rest of his life."
Jasmine frowns, weighing the grim truth. "That is very sad, never to be able to see." "Yes." I answer, " But Mojo doesn't think of it like that. He knows that we love him and he will always be safe with us. And he teaches you kids."
Jasmine smiles carefully, "He does? How?"
"He teaches you never to give up on life. He teaches you courage under extremes."
The girl nods. "His old owner loved him, huh Tee?"
"Yes, she sacrificed to bring him down from Alaska to see if his sight could be saved. She put this horse before her own needs. She was a true horse person. And then, when it was thought that there was no hope for him, when she thought she couldn't help him, she found us."
"He's with us foreverhuh?"
"Well, for as long as he lives."
The morning meanders on and the horses are finished eating. My brother shows up and other kids trail in to clean stalls, do meds, and help with the running of the barn. After we are finished, the oldest interns get out the two little stallions, Inniskim and Sterling Moss. Sterling screams once and the girls cover their ears. Inniskim stands patiently waiting, as hands grab brushes and his hide grows clean again.
The girls ride Sterl in the pasture and practice with no saddle; they ride with a halter and the little willing Connemara trots eagerly under them.
I lounge students on Inniskim, who looks like he is smiling under his long, wild forelock. Jasmine is still with me, her questions coming fast and breathless.
" Inniskim loves people huh?"
"Yep...."
"He wanted to live with us and not be a wild horse on the prairie."
I shrug, "Well, Inniskim grew to love the partnership with us."
"Look, Tee, an Eagle...."
I glance up and the bird turns in the brightness.
"How long will you keep the horses, Tee ... ?"
"As long as I can," I reply.
We finish lounging kids, Inniskim and I, and hopefully seats have improved. I walk through the barn aisle and one child stands staring at a black horse in a box stall.
"What's wrong with this horse, Tee?" The little girl asks me. Her eyes are deep and serious.
I stop and look into the box. "That's Boomerang. He was a racehorse and fractured his knee. The old owner decided to put him down, but the breeder called us and we are rehab-ing him."
The girl looks confused.
"Why did his owner want to kill him?" the child asks. I wonder at her perception. "Because he was confused," I slowly answer.
The girl is an orphan from Eastern Europe. She understands and nods. Then she says, "But we love him. We know he is good. We are his family now." My eyes grow bright and stinging with tears "Yes..." I whisper.
"Can I brush him, Tee?"
"Of course...." We enter the stall and brush the soft black hide. The horse stands quiet, enjoying the moment with us.
A family comes into the barn: mom, dad, and two kids.
"We heard you have a yearling for sale," they tell me.
"Yes," I answer. I explain the details of adoption or sale of horses through the project. The animal must be cared for correctly, it can never be sold as meat. We discuss their family's farm and situation. All seems perfect. They go out to look at the small weanling with the huge old scar on one hind leg.
I warn them again, "Now you understand he will only be used for light trail, not hard riding?"
"Yes!," they answer.
When I next glance out the barn door they are walking around in the sunshine of our pasture, their heads resting on the colt's back.
My oldest Intern comes up and smiles at the sight. "Tee, you must know what you are doing," the young woman comments, she is a B pony-clubber from Connecticut.
I turn and look at her, then glance at the small child still watching Boomerang in his stall.
"I think I do," I tell her. I wander back out into my fields and the horses watch me.
Wolftown! Is a 5016 Non-profit organization that does Horse Rescue and rehabilitation and Wolf rescue and education. (No we do not EVER feed horses to the wolves.) We do have a mentorship program for youth where we teach compassion, empathy and wilderness awareness.
Please! We need your help! Donations! Members! Volunteers! This is a unique and wonderful project that gives youth a place to grow and learn the most important aspects of lifethings that will help our world.
Come visit! www.wolftown.org Wolftown, PO Box 13115, Burton, WA 98013 or call 206-463-9113