GoLightly, A Story of Hope & Luck

Me & GoLightly, 1984

This is a work of fiction I began writing about a year after the real GoLightly was sold.
I'd like to thank some of the readers of the Fugly blog, for their encouragement and inspiration. I couldn't have finished it without you all.
I hope you enjoy it.
This is for All Your Good Horses.

They galloped across the field for home, his cat-like balance floating them over the rough ground, ‘ware hole, and he was sailing across the 5’square cedar-split oxer, just before it registered in her mind. “Okay, that’ll do” Gen thought, and her Golly eased to a walk, her legs feeling the deep draw of her horses’ lungs, and his heart still leaping. How handsome he always was! He was a bright mahogany bay gelding, no white to speak of, tall and rangy, the perfect Irish-bred type. Gen loved his noble head, as he cocked his ears back at her, listening to her thoughts.
She swung easily with him home. She cooled him, hosed the mud, dried his legs, gently curried and groomed him. His hide was tender, laughable in a 17 hand horse. Flake of hay, check his water, and to bed for GoLightly. She looked back at him, after tidying, treats and talks were done, remembering how long ago they’d met. They’d gone through so much together. Sometimes prayers and wishes can come true.

Part 1
Golly was about two, estimated when she’d first looked at him. Standing in the aisle, he’d pretty much filled it, even if he hadn’t been striking and snorting. She felt some internal force to keep moving towards him, although the run-in shed was truly frightening. Scrawny, tall and completely black painted. She couldn’t tell, just that it was the worst smell she’d ever experienced, and the lone horse needed someone quick.

She didn’t consider herself a buyer; she worked “undercover” for her province’s humane societies, by checking the for-sale ads, scoping the worst looking ones, and rescuing whatever she could. She didn’t always find sound solid animals underneath the grime of her volunteer humane work. They all found a home, whether as one of her schoolmasters, or as pasture ornaments. All of her “saves” showed a deep, loving, long-lasting gratitude for humans. Their trust was never shaken again.

She always traveled with her German Shepherd Dog, for company and protection. People in the horse trading business can be crazy.

“4yr horse, big, open to offers” like $1.50/lb for meat if you’re into that too, she thought, but the picture got her to pick up the phone, for no horse could be that solid coloured. The horse was indeed painted black. His skin was raw in places, but from over painting, urine-burn spots, or constant abrasion from the black nylon webbing hanging everywhere in the dark, dim stable, she couldn’t see enough to tell. His halter, (kind word for a black nylon rope jammed into, and around his jowls), seemed to shimmer crazily in the poor light, giving him a ridiculous sequined aura. If the owner moved, he spooked, no matter how small the movement was. “What’ve they done t’ya?” she crooned, under her breath, and the horse stared back at her desperately, silently. He was skin and considerable bone, and she wondered aloud at his parentage. The seller replied, “No idea, found ‘em loose one day, and trapped ‘em with food, ‘n here he is.”
“He’s mean, though!!” the man exclaimed, as if the horse had no right to refuse to be painted.

She didn’t ask why the horse was painted black. She guessed he’d been stolen, but his original owners were never found. She brought her trailer, and with the proprietor standing there astounded, he halter broke in 15 minutes and followed her home. She kept the sequined halter, until it finally disintegrated in disuse, as a reminder of his start. GoLightly seemed to follow from that, a natural name for a horse with such a dark beginning.

Golly’s new light life had so much brightness; his eyes raining tears for hours every sunny morning.
Gen couldn’t tell how much damage his vision had borne. She knew he could still smell, by the deep sighs he would blow, after hearing her step and call.
He very gradually accepted her friends and students, but he was comically challenged at socialising with her other animals, particularly his own species.
His astonishment that first moment they arrived home, and the general bedlam of animals and sounds and sights, transfixed him. She let him stand in the yard, and shushed all her greeters as best she could, and watched as he accepted it all, for her. Rusty, her little fox-like mongrel dog, squirmed in for her nursedog-nose-to-knee press of the new arrival. Gen thought Golly’s eyes would pop if he opened them any harder, but he never moved, and Rusty became his second friend that day.

Golly didn’t let anyone else into his circle for weeks, as if he was carefully saving the first two he’d ever had. He became their protector, a massive, mangy creature guarding her and her fox-dog. His trust would wrap around her, warm on her shoulders, as he’d hang his head over the stall door, watching her feeding, mucking, working with her horses. Golly’s eyes, great brown orbs, soft on her back as she’d ride.

Golly suffered through the re-growth of his chronically burned skin, allowing trickle baths of warm saline water, and his stiff, black, spiky hair gradually disappeared to show his charcoal grey skin. He was the oddest-looking animal in her barn, a giant patchwork of peach-fuzz, crumbly black swatches, and red, raw flesh. He looked like a giant cutout made out of multi-colour roofing shingles, especially when he’d freeze into immobility. The raw wounds took their time, but slowly, by the end of the first year, she recognized the bright bay colour shining its’ way out. His black mane and tail-hair, which were almost absent when she brought him home, shyly began to grow again, but so slowly that his braiding for show would never become even slightly necessary. That thin straggly mane & tail hair was his only life-long-lasting physical reminder of his first two years of life.

Golly was kept away from the other horses for the first year, his smell and touch would have made no sense to her little herd, and she didn’t want him ostracized forever. The herd could look at him, but no touching was allowed. For his part, Golly kept his eyes firmly down whenever another horse came by, not daring to look again until the animal had passed. His eyes would do their widening, wondering stare. GoLightly was soundless, and would freeze whenever he heard his stable-mates talking to one another, and his thoughts would turn inward for a moment, struggling with the instinct that understood them. His first year with her was healing time. Gen asked nothing of him, other than that he follow her, which he excelled at, and that he stood still while she tended him. She’d loose him in a small paddock, out of touching range of the others, and wonder at his everything-is-the-first-time experiences.

Grass underfoot was heaven, and she’d laugh as he’d sink first one, then another hoof into this delectable surface, his eyes closed with the pleasure his senses were giving him. It was his complete transformation, learning that touching didn’t have to burn, didn’t have to hurt. He loved the warmth of sunshine, even when it stung a bit, healing him with light. His saving grace was his black points, for if they’d been striped with any white, paint would have been their first and final coating. Gen shuddered when she thought of it, glad she didn’t have to know the outcome of such a lunacy. His feet were almost perfect, big, round and strong from life over concrete. His heels stayed wide, and he had managed to stay straight and true through his months? Year? Inside a 10’x 14’ “stall”. The ceiling had been no more than 5½-6’, low enough that his neck took some time to adjust to her bright airy, “tall” stalls. His low head was always within reach of her hands. But when he finally realized he could look up, his amazement at birds was his epiphany, for his eyes cleared. He lifted up on his toes to touch the clouds over his head.

GoLightly’s name was his happiness, finally expressed. Golly! became his easy-going barn name, for his expressions.

It belied his appearance, a huge, solid 16.2 hand CUI-Completely-Unknown, -maybe-Irish-bred?, and many commented on his unlikely name, until they saw him moving. Golly’s huge hooves were like India rubber, bouncing over the ground. He couldn’t maintain his airy movement for long at first, as his muscles so wasted from lack of movement. Gen took pictures of him monthly, and at the end of the first year, they were like an animated cartoon, so gradually, but so strikingly, did he change.
Her life apart from him was a busy one, juggling a job as a struggling rock-star, (she’d been there, but she’d been branded a “one-hit wonder”), and as a professional rider, with a training and sales barn. Business was fair to good. She’d made the national team for three years straight, unheard of in her country, and was short-listed this year for the Olympics with her good chestnut mare Allaflame. Her platinum hit “Joanie’s Gamble” had brought her into the high income-tax bracket, but it was always consumed, and she knew how quickly it could disappear, with one bad step.

She’d audition her new songs with Golly, and his eyes & movements would reveal new words and chords and rhythms. During one particularly hectic week, when she’d been on the road with her band, her barn manager, Billy, called her to announce that Golly finally had a girl-friend. Emily, a fine piebald jenny mini-donkey, was rescued from particularly brutal circumstances as well, and she recognized Golly’s peculiar odor. Her sweet, curious nature had finally broken through Golly’s refusal to make eye contact, mainly because she was only 11.5 hands. Billy suggested letting the unlikely new pair out with her burgeoning menagerie, but Gen pleaded with him to wait for her return, a little jealous that she’d missed Golly’s first contact.

They videoed the couple’s grand entrance together, one holding the camera when the other couldn’t stop laughing. Emily paraded out towards the center of the field, Golly rooted to the spot beside the fence where they’d loosed him. His great head touched the ground, smelling the hooves of his new pasture-mates, and he trembled with his fright. Emily stopped, looked over her shoulder, and brayed a sound Gen had never heard from the donkey. The other animals didn’t take one step towards the stranger, although they were keenly, clearly interested. They milled amongst themselves, not-so-casually grazing, their eyes trying not to look at Golly. Emily turned around, and very gently, almost as if she was simply blowing his great bulk along with her breath, cajoled him to follow her. As Golly slowly realized the other animals weren’t going to attack him, he gingerly followed in the tiny jenny’s footsteps. They proceeded out to the greenest part of the field to feast, the small leading the large, Emily’s flattened donkey ears the only signal necessary to warn the others away.

Emily had always been far from the CEO of her barn’s corporation, but Golly’s arrival catapulted her to the top. Gen’s herd was comprised of 4 boarded/in-training show-horses, 14 lesson horses, 2 donkeys, 5 horses in training/sales and “several” retirees, ranging from a slightly disabled old appaloosa called “Moon” to the oldest of her old friends, “Dakota Joe”, a truly ancient thoroughbred polo pony. She’d found Joe when discovering the owners had been teaching him to jump by using tacks on the insides of protective leg wraps, a built in rapping system, the owner said reverently. Joe was her first “rescue”, and she loved how quickly Golly learned to trust Joe as well. Emily, Joe and Golly became their own little herd.

Gen watched and laughed as Golly's new experiences taught him how to behave like a horse. His first neigh came out embarrassingly donkey-ish, but he practiced with Joe, a chuckler, and soon was greeting her with his voice as well as his eyes. He learned the joys of wither-scratching, head-to-tail fly-swatting, and rolling in dust (to his rescuer’s chagrin). He'd plume his stringy tail with excitement, a very strange sight. Like a wizened broom, sprouting from his huge haunches. Every new sound, smell and sight became something to investigate, thanks to Emily’s own natural guard system.

Spirits soared at her little barn, watching GoLightly becoming himself. In the second year, Gen started introducing him to ground work, long-lining and little cavaletti. Through it all he never questioned anything she’d ask of him. His gentleness when moving around her was so kind she’d choke back a tear through her smile, loving him completely. His skin and hair-coat finally healed itself, so thin and sensitive that she could never use anything but the lightest touch when grooming him. Her biggest problem at that stage was finding tack that wouldn’t rub his newly grown hair off.
Gen scoured the second-hand stores for cast-off silks, and wrapped his bridle, girth and breastplate with a rather garish variety of the fabric, much to Billy’s delight.
We should rename him GoBrightly, he’d crow gleefully, and she had to admit that Golly’s blond peach fuzz/dark-skinned tufts of bay with blinding lime green scarf was a little hard on the eyes each morning. She didn’t care; his gaits were tremendous.

GoLightlys’ behaviour finally started to resemble a young horse, which he was, but his previous history had matured him, helped him to understand how good his life had become. His gratitude towards his human and equine herd maintained his gentle nature, even when Gen could see how young and free Golly felt in himself. He’d learned to buck and play, watching her young horses, and his gigantic contortions when he was first turned out each morning left her weak with laughter. Most striking was how silently he moved, even during his biggest crow-hops and leaps towards the sun. Golly patted the ground like a cat, springing into the air, as if he had trampolines instead of hooves. Gen looked forward to showing Golly he could jump. As Golly had watched her schooling Allaflame, Billy swore he was studying, and taking notes. Golly would blow his nose noisily each time they landed from a particularly difficult gymnastic line, as if he’d been holding his breath.

Gen swung up onto Golly’s broad back the first time when he was four and a half, and felt like she had finally come home. They custom "fit" each other, to a T. Gen was tall, and slim, while Golly was tall & strong. She’d backed him with her saddle of course, but for his first true ride she elected to go bareback, to assure them both that nothing was going to hurt him, including even her well-placed saddle. GoLightly’s skin would never be tough enough to endure long periods under tack. She left the saddle in the barn, over Billy’s vehement protests. GoLightly’s chest puffed out, and instead of humping his loin at the extra weight, he rounded his back slightly upwards, lightening naturally in front & re-balancing, looking back at her as if to say “it’s about time you sat on me, too!” GoLightly loved her, and pointing his toes, slowly pranced around the ring, pluming his wisps of tail hair over his back with excitement. Gen followed him easily, marveling at the power she felt beneath her, a Cheshire cat smile from ear to ear. “In three years, Spruce Meadows!” she sang out to Billy, and he laughed with delight at the picture of synchronicity in front of him.

Gen never doubted words that she spoke, and in two & a half years they were winning whenever they competed, creating sheepish downcast looks among her competitors whenever she pulled into the show grounds. Her musical career was strong and steady, and so she was financially able to turn down vast sums of money for him. GoLightly would never have been for sale anyway, like Allaflame, he was too special to her, but it was still wonderfully empowering to say, “No, thanks a million, though!” They swept through the competition, winning all the big prizes. Golly was compared with the horse show-jumping legends Milton and Big Ben, for his great size and wonderfully light, elastic movement. He was compared to The Natural and Apollo, in concert. Starman, with a plainer head.

As the offers grew larger and larger, so did GoLightly's talent. A way has to be found to stop them, a few muttered, how are we to justify our own expenses, if we know we can’t win against them? A plot, sickened by the harsh & often desperate greed of the horse show world, was slowly hatched.

Part 2
GoLightly was nine years old when he disappeared, coming into the prime of his life. His unheard of success in the show-ring made him a vulnerable target, although Gen didn’t comprehend that until he was gone. She’d never believed in any type of security system for her little paradise. At the shows, she trusted the show management’s security. It had never occurred to her to be paranoid.
How stupid/naïve, she raged at herself, trusting her fellow humans not to try and hurt Golly again! Emily was inconsolable, and Rusty kept her little nose pressed to knees for weeks, trying to cheer everybody up. She posted “horse stolen” notices everywhere she could think of, and called the police station every week, but no-one saw anything.

Gens’ dreams became nightmares, as she tossed herself to sleep each night, frantic with worry for her horse, blaming herself alone. Who could have stolen him? Where was he? Gen had never been far away from him at shows, his stall was her six-horse trailer, and “guarded” by the presence, if not the demeanour, of her old shepherd, Simon.

Simon was found unconscious, with a bump on his head, and traces of Phenobarbitals still in his blood. Gen thanked her spirits that he was at least found alive. She wasn’t sure about the fate of Golly, and it drove her slightly crazy thinking about how she’d slept while her horse and dog were struggling with some unknown assailant. Her music and her business stuttered and flickered, and her fans and friends could offer little, other than compassion. Compassion wouldn’t find Golly though.

Gen rescued another German Shepherd, and set about, with her trademark single-minded obsession, to having him trained as a tracking dog. Gen named him Samson, for he had a truly Herculean task awaiting him at his “graduation”. Samsons’ story was typical, birthday present, father not home, mother at home with baby, no time for the dog, which naturally started making up important tasks for himself to do. Sam was returned to an animal shelter, with the complaint, “He lets himself out, he won’t come back unless he’s ready, he finds disgusting, smelly stuff and brings it home..” Samson was perfect for the job she needed done.

Gens’ music got angrier, and her riding and training suffered for what seemed forever, to her. The constant worry robbed Gen of her sleep, and her exhaustion slowed her instincts down. Gen finally let Billy finish Sam’s training, and little red nurse dog Rusty did her best to cheer her up daily. Rusty started hanging out with Emily, Golly's donkey, whenever she felt ignored. Driving onto Gen's property, one would come across an unlikely if incredibly affecting sight, the one silhouette, eight-legged, 2 long eared, two short, sitting/snuggling, watching the road, waiting for their buddy to come home…

Sam was rapidly becoming a genius dog, under Billy’s patient, careful tutelage, and took the credit for making Gen truly laugh again. His great shepherd head, with comically gigantic radar ears, would never fail to lighten her heart, as he would twist, first one way, then the complete other, straining to catch every micro-syllabic decibel that came from Billy’s mouth. Sam decided to bring back anything of same-scent that he might find in a day, stashing little proud piles around the barn, digging mightily in the manure pile and the plowed fields, to save his treasures from harm. Sam would invariably return all the items found, (if asked) however, they couldn’t deny him the trick, as it was (very) basically what Billy was trying to teach him… He would probably outgrow the digging and burying behavior, (they could only hope) and after all, he only did it when they gave him brief free time to be a dog.

Sam was the first and only dog she’d ever meet that would rather not nap after serious play and work-time. The gardens were never quite the same again. Gen watched him make up his games, fascinated by his thought processes, as Sam sauntered down the stable aisle. Sams’ great nose would casually touch something, like a pail, or a brush, although he would always smell a sweater or blanket if given the chance. That was his signal to start casting the air, sniffing/whuffling the air through his long snout. It was as if he was taking a great breath, and sorting out which way the next scent was coming from. He’d disappear, which was no small feat for such a large dog, and return with first, a halter or another brush, and then a dried ball of dung, etc. All would be carefully piled, beside the scent’s stall, or truck, or nest, for that matter. If no interest was shown in his prizes, he would bury them, with a look of profound concentration and much looking back, to exactly memorize where they were.

Finally, Billy announced “He’s ready.” Gen had of course kept all of Golly’s “clothes”, and stopped herself from washing them, when she realized what she was doing. They started casting Samson out, using Golly’s saddle-pads, at home. He mastered that concept completely, and started looking for GoLightly "clothes" and "stuff" on his own. Samson grew concerned that he couldn't smell this elusive horse.

The show caravan was loaded, and she worried over last minute instructions to her friends and family for taking care of her little herd. Gen and Billy were going horse-showing, as far as anyone knew, bringing some sale horses and students, as they had often done before. Gen was bringing Allaflame, the mare still had quite a few good wins left in her. Flame had always been a little aloof with GoLightly, and she got worse with him as he started winning everything. Golly had always admired her, and his dogged crush had only grown with time. (Gen hoped her mare would be able to smell Golly, too…)

She & Billy took turns driving, and with two bed ‘n breakfasts ‘n stalls booked, they made great time, arriving well rested & refreshed. After all, they only had four horses and two dogs to care for; this was going to be a breeze!!
Her students met her at the show, and helped with set-up, exercising /hand-walking and feeding, freeing their time to casually introduce Samson to the show-grounds. Sam was clearly intrigued by all the sights and smells, and they were glad they’d (almost) tired him before they got there. Sam wasn’t the least concerned with all the other horses and people, and enjoyed meeting some new friends, introduced by Rusty, an old hand at shows.

They woke early, and bustled about, readying her sale horses for their first “baby-green” classes. Her favourite of the little band was Dragonfly, his blue-black gleaming coat like dark, polished hematite. Fly loved to travel, and enjoyed lots of activity surrounding him, so she knew he’d be a natural for the show life. DragonFly puffed himself up when he was braided, showing off his long, curved neck and broad shining chest, pointing his toes like a ballerina. Gen left his warm-up to last, as she knew he’d need no extra time.

Gen watched a few rounds as a treat to herself, letting her students take care of the two babies for a change. The youngsters were well-broke, but their new experience was affecting them both, in their own individual ways. SeaBreeze was the quietest and most lethargic, not really caring where she was, as long as the hay and grain kept coming. Royal Chocolate was nervous of everything, needing soothing words and steadying routines. She’d kept her student’s personalities in mind when assigning them their charges, and was well pleased by the harmonies she saw. High-strung Michelle galvanized Breezy to brighten, while calm and cool Nancy was perfect for Coco's case of nerves.

Gen would ride Fly herself, to savor his first trip as a show horse, and to guarantee he’d look forward to his next.
Billy warmed Fly up for her, and she enjoyed watching his delight with the top youngster’s proud antics, Fly practically bowing to his audience. “Do I ever look good!!” laughed Billy as they pranced past, Fly’s tail pluming with excitement. Gen set some fences, rolling out groundlines for her amateurs, helping them find comfortable, consistent rhythms to jump from. The day flew by, with Fly completely brilliant, first year green champion. Her students placing very well in their divisions, improving the value of her young horses, by demonstrating how well they could go for amateur riders.

Showing done for the day, she took Flame out, to limber up her mature, ring-ready mare. Billy grumbled only slightly when told his time had come for de-braiding, and sent Samson with her for “protection”. They both laughed, half-heartedly. She wore her wrap-around sun-glasses, a little dark, but the mare knew these grounds like the back of her dainty hoof. While ‘Flame watched where she was going, the "surveillance team" would casually look around. Gen relaxed into the tack, and allowed the mare to choose her own road. The famous pair ambled through the grounds, stopping to chat with her mare’s first owner, Karen, ‘Flame giving the soft sigh she reserved for dear friends. The mare perked her lovely ears and followed the sound of her friends’ voices, her eyes widening and softening as they spoke of her and Emily and the animals they loved. Relaxed Flame decided to move on, and they promised to catch up later.

Samson, bored, had been pacing impatiently while they were stopped, and instantly went back on smell duty, gigantic nose on the ground, in the air, circling and twitching as he sifted scents, aromas and auras. Gen let Flame follow, as it always sparked equine blood to follow a dog on a scent. Gen remembered her old amateur jumper Kondor, rescued, and so lethargic she nick-named him Eeyore, for his “oh, well, maybe tomorrow” attitude. Kondor was so wearied with life that Gen deliberately started aiming him at her dog. Simon thought this was great sport, and would happily run ahead. Kondor started winning everything, and she learned never to school him at home, always letting him have fun with his pack. He became quite animated, to the astonishment of his previous owner, who was sure Kondor had lobotomized himself in a trailer accident.

Kondor’s previous owner, Craig, had recently served 3 to 5 for insurance fraud. Craig had followed the horse shows, and she’d received much teasing for “her fan-mail from jail”. Gen was looking for Craig this evening, knowing he was out of prison again. Gen asked herself for the millionth time, Why would anyone steal her horse?? If GoLightly was shown, he’d be recognized, so "they" just needed him out of the way, to re-distribute the show prize income back "their" way. Would "they" use him in a school?

Gen's mind stopped, and her horse and her dog stopped with her, feeling her sudden flash of awareness. School-Horse!!! Golly would be difficult & dangerous, she guessed, unless they tranquilized him, for he would still be grieving the loss of his friends. Who would want to keep such an ongoing problem? Was he dead? Gen had been asking herself such questions for almost a year now, and it never seemed to make any more sense to her. Why? She’d long since decided it had to be someone within her competitive circle, someone who’s income had been severely affected by her horse, but she couldn’t believe such animosity could come from a sport with a foundation supposedly built on the love of horses.

Golly! She’d give anything, almost anything to get him back, or at least to put him to rest, so she could properly grieve the loss. Would she find him at shows? Impossible? Could Samson find his traces? Sam had decided to snuffle noisily up ahead, tracking the scent? Did Sam understand, in his doggy head, what he was searching for? Samson had only smelled Golly, he’d never met him. Could his motivation continue, with such an uninteresting target?

Gen shook her head, clearing it of the cobwebs, sending Flame forward, wishing for clairvoyance, anything that would help her sort this problem through. They trotted and cantered through the beautiful old show grounds, both completely absorbed. Allaflame always loved to loosen up on a free rein, and Gen let her be.

Part Three
Golly’s first idea, when he was so rudely roused from his snoozing, was that his human couldn’t sleep, and needed his company to help her rest. He rose to his feet, shaking his head, snorting his mild indignation. Golly's eyes widened when he saw the face at the door, familiar, but unexpected at that hour. The man spoke to him gently, and haltered him, leading him out to the waiting horse-van. Golly followed willingly, trusting this man. Golly wondered at the tears falling from the man’s face, and nuzzled his shoulder, trying to comfort him. Simon was growling at the man, low and deep, and Golly was shocked at the sudden urgency in the mans’ voice, urging him onto the trailer. Golly walked on willingly, but felt a vague fear in his heart, not knowing why his Simon would be threatening the man. The man slipped a needle into his jugular, and quickly Golly slid down, sparing him at least, the sound of Simon yelping in pain.
Golly woke five hours later, still in the trailer, stiff and bruised from his fall. A stranger woman’s voice spoke harshly to him, startling him to leap to his feet, snorting and trembling. Golightly's memories of his past life were instantly wakened at the tone of the woman’s voice. The woman grabbed at his halter dangling a lead-shank, and Golly struck out, his instinctive reaction to such a threat. The crack of hoof against knee set off a cacophony of barking from the kennels outside. The air turned blue with her angry obscenities, worsening the din, and terrifying Golly even more. His hooves began to shiver, and with her next attempt at capture, he threw his head up, simultaneously throwing his body backward, away from her threat. The van, an old two-horse rear-loader, needed repair, and Golly highlighted her next problem by snapping the rear-door latches in two, ending up on his rear at the bottom of the ramp. Golly sprang to his feet, trembling all over, and galloped away from her as fast as he could travel.
“You idiot!” she screamed at her bewildered assistant. “Why didn’t you catch him?”
“I can’t catch that end.” mumbled the reply.

Golly’s flight to freedom actually saved his life, as the anesthetic they’d needled him with would have soon killed him. All horse’s guts need their natural movement to stimulate them, and his long sleep had left his insides ready for catastrophe. He galloped & galloped, his long strides eating up the ground, uncoiling the potentially fatal knots deep inside his body.

His new home was on one hundred acres, very well-fenced. The surrounding neighbors thought the woman just a little extreme, for the 6’ PVC/electric/wire/board fencing must have cost her a small fortune. However horse people are universally recognized as slightly to entirely insane, and she certainly never let her horses get loose from their fields, or onto highways, a practice most of her neighbors appreciated. The woman ran a perfect prison for horses.

March’s lion roared as the big bay ran and ran the perimeter of his prison. No-one tried to catch him. He finally slowed, and stopped, quivering with exhaustion. A gentle brogue asked “Hey, fella?” The gelding turned his head, and blew a long sigh, as he recognized his new friend for what he was. Golly's name wasn't spoken again for two years.

There wasn’t darkness at the big bay's new home, but that was about it for comfort. His new stable was the other end of the spectrum again. His standing-tie stall was narrow, and worn from other horses chewing away their boredom, his hay dusty, his water odd smelling. The “paddocks” were rings of chopped up heavy clay & sharp gravel. His tack was an ancient western saddle, and an old cavalry style bit, long shanks, vicious. He was in a riding horse factory, routinely drugged with tranquilizer, enduring overweight, &/or unbalanced &/or uncaring riders. The customers he was carrying didn’t know any different, although some of them might have cared, with just a bit of knowledge. All of them were city folk, first timers that came back for the purpose of bragging rights to their friends.

The gelding’s stable-hand had some knowledge, but was powerless to improve the situation. Tim worked hard all day every day, but there were seventy horses, and he was only one man. He stayed because he loved horses, and he had nowhere else to go, having closed too many doors behind him. Tim had very little extra time and indeed wasn’t allowed any. But his calm presence soothed the big bay. If not for Tim, Gen wouldn’t have found Golly again. The big bay would have succumbed to the indifference. Horses live to be noticed, to be loved.

Golly trudged around the gravelly rings, nose-to-tail. His skin chafed, his calluses allowed to grow. He had no indignation, he wasn’t fed enough to care anyway. Tim did what he could, and wondered at the sanity of his boss, who added tranquilizer to the horse’s water every day. Tim did manage to slip the horse fresh water occasionally, risking the boss's cruel wrath. He’d worked at the thoroughbred race track for a year after he’d gotten out of jail. It was all the experience Tim had with horses, although he was surprised at his own natural aptitude with them, a born horseman.

The horses were grateful to him, and loved him. Tim was born with the horse-sense to save Golly’s life.
So Golly followed the leader, and felt vaguely ill, and tried his best not to touch the humans that clambered onto his back. He learned to hollow his back, and shuffle his feet and carry the human around with as little commotion as possible. He was a living caricature of what he’d been with Gen.
His skin suffered, but Tim finally found time to notice, and surreptitiously cared for the worst of the sores. The old western saddle pinched his withers, which grew his only white hairs, later in life. The heavy bit was his owner’s deliberate sadism.

Tim's boss was a sour, crazy older woman, large and fierce. She’d been born into the horses, but hated them from the moment she could walk, as if she’d found her life’s work. She enjoyed burning noxious things, like cans and green weeds for the bad smell she could create for her horses. Her dogs were either tied or caged, and neglected to insanity. Her cats were emaciated and overpopulated. Her incredible ability to lie, her stable’s remote location, and her uncanny knack of remaining outside any circle that would report her, allowed her to maintain her own nasty little empire.

Part 4
Jessie was trying very hard to be calm. Her anticipation and excitement made her shake and then stop herself. She was beside herself, but admonished by her own self too. Horses can sense excitement, she knew, and she did not want the first horse she ever rode to be as excited as she was. Jessie had been riding horses in her dreams for most of her twelve years. Her father laughed and said “Hey, calm down!! This may turn out to be nothing. That sign could be one hundred years old, and I’ve never heard of any horse places around here!”

“Please, Dad? We’ll just look, okay??”
He didn’t answer, for he’d just noticed the fencing, and was calculating its’ worth. Lots of dough here, he thought, his spirits rising. This outing was his ex-wife’s idea, and he’d agreed amicably enough, for she was his halfway house right now. Who knew? Maybe a buck would be made in here. He needed to find an honest line of work, at least until his parole was up.
He mused aloud, “I wonder how long this place has been here? I thought I knew all the barns in Ontario! Look at the size of that gate!! Are they breeding giant horses in here??”

They both fell silent, as the narrow tree-lined drive opened up to reveal a massive black barn with an attached outdoor ring and a huge indoor arena. Her dad whistled softly and said “Look, Jess! There’s a horse for you!”
Golly was next in line for rental, tied to the fence, dozing in his usual stupor. Jess gazed at him in awe, his size alone overwhelming her.
“What do you want?” barked the boss, standing at the barn door. “This is private property!” she snarled, over the din of the dogs.
He put on his best sweet-dumb face and said “I’m real sorry to trouble you, ma’am. My daughter here has been begging for a pony-ride, and we saw your sign, and here we are.”

“We don’t have ponies here, but I guess you can lead her around on Hoss here, 50 dollars cash for half an hour.”
“He’s a bit big, isn’t he? Don’t you have anything smaller?” he asked, as nicely as he could, wishing suddenly they’d just kept driving.
“No! Take it or leave it, I haven’t got time for this garbage!”
“Okay, Jess?”

She nodded, holding her breath, and then she was up on the gelding’s back, sitting three miles above her father’s head, flying with her horse, a mere feather soaring across the fields. What felt like a second later, the woman was back, growling “Time’s up. Leave now.”
Jess, enraptured, speechless, smelled her hands in silence all the way home. She reverently placed her jeans and jacket, smelling of this precious, real horse, in her suitcase. The next morning, the heavenly scent was still there.

Her father, indeed something like a horseman, couldn’t get the farm out of his mind. He’d asked the fat, surly woman if she was looking for help, but the question only enraged her further. He wondered how she managed to feed all those horses. She obviously didn’t manage too well, as there was no fat anywhere, only on the woman. The horse Jess had ridden seemed too quiet, and he’d noticed the animal’s balance seemed a little off, as if it were weaving instead of walking. The shrieking dogs were ignored, and he’d been glad to leave. He’d seen dirtier, uglier places, but this farm had a bleak pall draped over it, a sour shawl. He decided to take his daughter to a more reputable place for their next day together, scheduled firmly by his ex-wife, who really was a good girl.

Part 5
AllaFlame was spectacular in the grand prix, but an unlucky rub cost them the big prize for the Sunday class. Gen took Fly out for a last hack before loading up the van for the long drive home, and let his electric personality recharge her smile. Samson was hot, and tired from his week of working the show, the first time she’d ever seen him admit he was pooped, as he lagged behind them up the gentle slope. Gen loved these show-grounds, nestled into a valley with sandy, well-drained light soil, and lots of trails through the fields and forests surrounding the place. The horses always enjoyed this show, almost a holiday for them really, she mused as Fly cantered happily up the hill.

The DragonFly snorted, checking his stride a split second before attempting to spin a 180. Gen laughed, catching him with her leg and weight and balance. She gentled Fly back into his original cadence and circled to a halt in front of the Fly’s excuse to spook.
“Hello, Craigie.”
“Hey, Gen!!! How’ve you been?”
“’bout the same, I guess. How long have you been out?”
“Oh, about a month now. Got a job working for Rickie Thomlinson, you know him?”

Unfortunately she did, RT was one of the worst vets on the planet, responsible for uncountable equine breakdowns due to his admiration for phenylbutazone and acepromazine. She’d used him briefly, when her regular Vet had health problems, but never used him again.

“Sure, Craigie. Good for you! Well, got to keep moving, this baby needs his fun time everyday… “
“Yeah, sure Gen, I was just wondering if I could stop by your stalls for a minute, my daughter would love to meet you.”

Samson had finally caught up, and immediately alerted straight at Craigie.
Trying to sound nonchalant, she said, “Sure, give me a half hour or so, okay?” Samson, thinking she hadn’t noticed his response, barked, but Gen persuaded him to follow by cantering off again, Fly happy to comply. Once they were out of sight, she congratulated her brilliant dog, for his Samson power.

Gen’s mind was racing as she tried to calm herself down, knowing Fly would soon start to mirror her mood. Samson, very pleased with himself, had raced ahead of them. Fly’s Thoroughbred blood was game for the chase. She quieted them all down, and they walked thoughtfully back to the show stalls.

Jessie was thrilled for many reasons, and since she was trying to calm down, she listed them. She was 1) with her dad, who worked with horses, 2) at a famous horse show, 3) with famous horses everywhere and 4) she was about to meet Gen, one of the best, most famous riders in North America!!!

Jessie was trying to become a quiet steadfast horse, in her imagination, so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. A big strong Clydesdale she was now, beautiful bay, four white stockings full and soft, feathers, what an appropriate name for them! Jessie smiled, and sighed quietly, feeling the power of her body as she pulled a huge wagon.

Sometimes, Jessie was a race-horse, flying down the straightaway, pulling away from the others to win, but she usually dreamed she was AllaFlame, a tall, bright red chestnut mare, built to run and jump forever. The owner of AllaFlame would be here any moment! Jessie dreamed of her horses, and in the tack room, surrounded by the heavenly scents of horses, she was calmly and completely happy. Jessie was a natural born horsewoman, gifted beyond talent and ability and sense.

Jessie was blissfully unaware of her audience, immersed in her horse world, until a prodding of her foot, and then a very large wet & whiskery sniffing nose pressed her hand. She opened her eyes, and saw a huge German Shepherd cocking his ears at her, her hands half as big as said ears.

Her father, laughing, said “Gen, where did you find him?? That’s the longest, tallest Shepherd I’ve ever seen!”
“Another pound rescue.”
“Of course!!” Gen and Craig said in unison, and Jessie laughed, just to let them know she was still in the room. Jessie was introduced to Gen, who graciously showed her around her show stalls, and best of all, Jessie patted AllaFlame’s silky red nose. They chatted a bit, Gen describing how Samson had come to them, that he’d been a difficult dog to train for a small family, but that he’d found a new job that he loved.

Jessie’s dad started to look restless, and it seemed to Jessie that Gen was very excited about something. Samson hadn’t left Jessie’s side, sniffing her, sitting in front of her, staring pointedly first at Jessie, then at Gen, until he’d bark, and Gen would say “Good Sam!! Good boy!!”
Jessie asked Gen what Sam’s new job was, for he still seemed to be working.
“Horse hunter” said Gen, grimly.
Her father said, “Right! GoLightly was stolen while I was gone, wasn’t he? I’d forgotten that, sorry, Gen.”
“Yes, and he’s been pointing at your daughter, Craig, and he pointed at you too, when I met you out hacking”
“What?” Craig protested. “I just got out of jail, I mean, my training program last month, and I’ve been at Rickie’s since then. I’d recognize your horse, big bay, no white, scrawny mane & tail? He’s hard to miss, ya know, Gen.”
“Well, he’s still missing, Craigie, and it’s been over a year since he was stolen. Has Jessie been near any other horses?”
“Just with me, to Rickie’s and here.”

Gen sighed, more deeply than she realized. Craig started to apologize, and father & daughter left, Craig promising to let Gen know if he thought of anything. Jessie said something about a pony ride, but Gen didn’t hear them, lost in her thoughts.

“Remember my pony ride last month, Dad? That horse was huge!”
“Sure, honey, but he had a bald face and 2 white feet, and he was quiet as a mouse. GoLightly was abused before Gen got him, he could be a real bad actor if he got scared.”
So much for Craig’s powers of observation. He’d never been as gifted with horses as he was with making a quick, dishonest buck. He was far better at lying about horses. Craig could sell any horse, as anything the seller wanted. He'd always forgotten horses. Craig made his living that way.

Jessie was scrolling back through her memory of her first real horse-back ride ever. Her horse, with his impossibly high head, his broad back, her legs barely reaching halfway down is barrel. The horse had a swaying motion, especially when he turned, as if it was difficult to go straight again.

He was a bay gelding, she knew THAT much, even if she was 12 years old. The horse’s mane had been chopped off, and his tail was a solid tangle of burrs & knots, so it was difficult to tell how thick or thin it was. His white marking were dirty, and his white face had seemed like a frosted coating. The gelding’s nose-piece seemed to rub the frosting off. A light flashed in Jessie’s mind and she stopped and said “Dad! It was GoLightly, I’m sure! That mean lady painted him, so he’d be invisible!!”

Craig laughed, and ruffled her hair.
“Oh, Jess! Forget it! I know horses, and you don’t, not yet!!”
“But, Dad!!” She gave up, knowing how fruitless an argument with her father was. Once he decided, that was it.
But Jess couldn’t get the big horse out of her mind….

Gen rubbed Sam’s gigantic ears, lost in her thoughts. Her disappointment hung on her like a dark cloud. She asked Sam again, "What did you find, Samson?"
He barked, and Gen cried, a little.

Everyone dreamed of Golly that night.

Rickie Thomlinson was uneasy, and he had figured out why. Craig was a good worker, if not great, and he could be counted on to keep his mouth shut. But RT saw Gen & Craig talking outside her stalls, Gen and her huge Shepherd looking very intently at Craig. RT hadn’t thought of this.

Part 6
Tim groaned, and rolled out of his cot, shivering. It was 4am, time to start his 19 hour day. He could hear the horses stirring below, hungry, aware of when their barely meager feed was due. His big horse started the morning routine, and the dogs were quiet, knowing their rations were coming. He needed to hurry, the boss had ordered him to pick up at the feed mill, a rare privilege he’d lose if he didn’t get all his other chores done first. The boss had been drinking more heavily than usual, and she was far too crafty to risk a DWI.

Tim gave the big bay horse a good head rub, and finished his chores in record time, trying not to look happy at the prospect of leaving the farm for a while. His last time off the property was the previous year when he’d left the track to come to his new job. What a long time it had been! It was odd how time had changed since his life with horses.

The feed mill was busy; trucks lined up down the street. Even better, he thought, and went to for a coffee. As he returned to his truck in the feed mill’s lot he heard a dog barking behind him, which he ignored. He loaded his small order off the dock, closed the tail-gate and heard a woman’s voice saying firmly “Samson, come here!”. Tim turned to see a gigantic German Shepherd charging towards him, barking excitedly. Seeing the dog had no aggression in him, he knelt down and murmured “Hey, Samson, how ya doing?”

Samson immediately rolled over for a belly scratch.
“Wow! How did you know he wouldn’t bite?” said the woman and as Tim looked up to answer the question, he had to force himself to stand, for his knees tried to buckle before this incredibly beautiful woman. His face flushed, and he shyly muttered “Oh, he wasn’t angry, just excited.”
“Well!” beautiful woman said. “Not many people would know the difference. Are you a dog trainer?”
Tim tried to swallow, failed and managed to stammer a laugh. “No ma’am.”
“Please, call me Gen.” She said too quickly, because Sam was staring straight at this man. Gen wanted him to keep talking, but he looked so tired and thin and worried.

“Do you work around here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where?”
“I’m not allowed to say, ma’am, my boss is a little strict about things.”
Gen’s mind raced. “Do you work with horses?” She couldn’t see into his truck, and couldn’t tell what he’d bought.
“Well, I’m sorry ma’am, but my boss says it’s my job over, if I talk to strangers. I’d better get going now, I’ve chores to do.”

Gen could sense she had frightened him somehow, and never felt more helpless in her life as she watched him walk back to his truck. “Well, come visit my dog sometime! TouchWood Rescue, we’re in the book!” She’d added the rescue just to see if he’d react, but he only turned and drove away. She quizzed the feed mill guy, but no-one knew of him. What a fluke! she mused to herself. If we hadn’t forgotten Sam’s food at the show, we’d never have stopped there. What barns were around there? Billy couldn’t think of any, just on the outskirts of the city, so close to being developed into houses anyway. “What did you find, Samson?” Sam wagged his tail, proudly.

Tim drove back, unaware of the chaos he’d left behind, remembering every word the beautiful Gen had said. He wondered at how her eyes had flashed when he’d refused to talk to her. Why did he feel so badly? The boss had been very clear when she’d hired him – no outside contact with strangers, no information offered, ever. It never occurred to him that someone would even want to know about him, much less be offended if he refused.

Tim was just a nobody, in his tired, lonely mind. No friends, no family. Why would the beautiful Gen want to know anyway? He unloaded the truck, and set about mucking the stalls, enjoying the luxury of doing it later than usual. TouchWood Farms, her trailer lettering spelled. Why had this beautiful woman said rescue? Softy, his favorite big bay, nudged his hand, and blew a long low whistling snort, perking up harder than Tim had ever seen before. Tim went back to work, but he started changing Softy’s water every day. Surreptitiously, of course, but rescuing comes in many forms, from the smallest of gestures.

Gen decided to advertise again, in the area of the feed mill, but nothing came of it except the usual cranks. She wished GoLightly home every night, and her nightmares dreamed it was forever.

Part 7
Golly's morning had begun normally, until Tim changed his routine and didn't return from morning feed. When Tim returned, his smell was electrifying to the big bay. Golly perked up as hard as he could through the haze of the tranquilizer. He blew a long low whinnying snort, starting a ripple of nickers, and low whinnies from the rows of other horses.

"Yes, we are here. Please, please help us." "We remember friends". Quietly, as horses do, when they start to lose hope.
The big bay slowly started to feel better.

Dr. Rick was tired, more tired than in his Vet School days, when he worked two jobs to pay for the education. He survived, but 7 years of 21 hours days had taken its toll. Why, he often wondered, did I spend all this money on education, when my brain, as good as it is, was not physically designed to handle extreme lack of sleep?
Dr. Rick felt fuzzy, some days, the only word fitting to describe his state. Slightly erased, as if a piece of him was loose.

That piece was always his conscience.
So, there he was, 15 years out of high school, feeling 30 years older, deep into debt, and removed from emotion. It was easy to agree to the money and an easy enough plan. Lead a horse onto a trailer, with the help of an equally conscience-challenged groom, give the horse a shot of bye-bye juice and leave. His debts were erased, but instead of feeling sharper, better, he only felt fuzzier.

Dr. Rick fancied himself a rider. He liked to keep several sale horses. He had an excellent eye for good conformation. His horses, if ridden long enough by Dr. Rick, would show truly text-book results of how poor training and management caused structural lameness. The horses could only remain sound if they sold quickly.
Gen had bought one of his horses, but she had never used his sales or vet services again, making it that much easier for him to partake in her horse theft. She had soundly rebuffed all of his friendly advances.

Dr. Rick was a handsome man, and he despised women who seemed immune to his charms. He made himself unavailable for emergency calls. He worked in a haze, brought on by his years of abusing drugs to stay awake. He was actually an excellent diagnostician, but he didn't like too many treatment protocols. Repeat visits weren't interesting enough for him. Dr. Rick's looks kept the new customers coming, though. So many wealthy naive women in this horse world, and Dr. Rick had so little time. He decided to hire on some new barn help, to off-set his own work load. Dr. Rick lived in a constant state of desperation for more sleep.

Craig, freshly out of jail, seemed the natural choice. Craig would close his mouth, anxious to avoid fresh trouble, but eager for quick money. Just Dr. Rick's type of guy.

Which, naturally, made his jaw drop when he saw Gen & Craig talking at her stalls. Craigs explanation of his little daughter wanting an autograph from the famous Gen was certainly plausible, even probable. The fuzzy part of the story seemed to be Gen's new German Shepherd Dog, Samson, who sounded like an enemy. Vets didn't usually think of animals as the enemy, did they? He decided to visit Tim's boss,and explain more firmly how imperative was the horse's complete isolation from the public. He wished the syndicate had just put the damned horse down. Dr. Rick chose not to think about further chores he might have to perform.

Gen hacked Flame lightly when they got home, groomed her and turned her out for the night with Emily & Joe. Samson curled up in front of Golly's stall, and slept until late the next day. Sam had finally worked himself to sleep, with the satisfaction of his job well done.

Part 8

Horses differ from riders in their capacity for honesty and generosity. Riders can be dishonest, even to themselves. Horses are utterly honest.
To live is to Ride. To Ride is to live. (thanks, charlie brown)

There are as many types of riders as there are types of horses. As with any large group, riders can be divided, not quite evenly, into 1) riders who sit the horse and 2) riders who merely sit on the horse.
A few riders are true horsemen. These riders climb inside the horse, not clamber onto it. Horses, ridden well, carry themselves. Any horse, ridden correctly, carries himself, happily. If he has bad natural balance/conformation/inclination, the rider can help or hurt, but the issue will never entirely go away, without good sustained training. And it's an issue to the rider, not the horse. Any sound horse, of course. A true horseman trains and loves the horse himself, for what he is, for life.

There are cruel riders, enjoying senseless arguments and relishing harsh punishments. These riders, thankfully rare as well, have no comprehension of how cruel they are. Horses endure harsh treatments, because of their nature.
There are timid riders, sweet riders, bossy horses, bold riders. Horses are drawn up like a quiver, trembling in place, flight, poised. A horse is a sensitive, nervous, herd animal. The horse knows he is prey, not predator. A horse, rarely ever, freezes. For long. If they do Stop, prepare to Go. Flight is faster than Fight, but they will, if terribly pressed.

A horse is born to move. There are horses born & bred to pull loads. To Trot. To Run Quick, or Run Long. To Jump. To Dance. All horses can do all of these things. Riders have narrowed their purpose/form & function with good precision, but all horses can do anything. Their basic gifts remain, no matter the "style" or "discipline". There are angry riders, loving riders, weepy riders. Horses can drop roots down into the ground, holding ground with hoof. Then, they can lift off, defying gravity. They dance on air, run with wind.

Good horses will try to respond to bad riders. Bad horses will not always respond to good riders. Bad horses are as rare as good riders.
School horses. Unsung pillars of the equine world. Heroes, for the deaths they don't cause. Sensible, honest, patient, kind, forgiving. The bad school horses can last a long time. Some are either outright lame, or "serviceably sound", as in medicated. Some join the schooling ranks unbroke and frightened. They learn, as best they can, often brilliantly, often safely. Some are so badly conformed, they are textbooks used for the Instructors that would mention such things. Hard to ride, because they find it hard to stand.

"Camp" horses, rental/trail horses are the worst statistical types for injuries, often bound for slaughter at the end of the summer. They should be forgiven any quirks in their personalities, they can feel the cliff coming. Horses feel their future. Their movement forward is their purpose.

Jessie's Mom half-listened to her horseman daughters' story, and hurried off to work. She'd listened to so many horse stories from her ex-husband. Jessie's Mom learned they were either untrue, or forgettable. Jessie's Mom didn't believe in her daughter's horse wishes. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, was her favorite expression. Horses were wishing for Jessie, though. Horses can recognize people like Jessie, for exactly what they are.

Craigs' father had been a "horseman", a member of the Mounted Police Force. Jessie's grandfather died before she was born, known before his death for his cruelty and love of alcohol. Jessie was a very lucky girl. After his death, drunk in a car crash, his cruelty to his son and his horses was largely forgotten. Craig had no love for horses. They gave him a living, like anything could, but their memories weren't important.

Craig was surprised to learn of his newly introduced daughters' obsession with horses. Jessie was also surprised by her newly introduced fathers' profession. She'd never met him, but he worked with horses. Jessie didn't understand his lack of interest in horses. He acted flustered and pestered when she'd ask any questions. Jessies' love for horses was actually all of her very own, her own private fire, warming her cold life, quietly. Her suitcase, tucked into her closet, continued to smell of GoLightly. Jessies' talent was as darkly hidden as GoLightly's first life.

Part 9
Gen decided a visit to Dr. Rick's was in order, and Billy agreed. The finagling of a good reason to visit took several weeks, as he'd sold his latest bunch of really nice, badly broken horses. Dr. Rick took the meaning "broke to death" to the extreme. Gen had felt Dr. Rick's eyes on her several times at the show, but his dark sunglasses hid his expression. She couldn't see any reaction when she noticed him looking in her direction, again, as she was chatting with Craig and daughter Jessie at her stalls.

Dr. Rick didn't allow dogs on his property. Gen and Billy carefully worked out a plan for Samson to get "loose", and trained him accordingly. Samson enjoyed his new training mightily, as good dogs do. Sam had extensive previous experience in the matter of clandestine escapes.

Dr. Rick decided not to visit Tim's boss, opting for a stern phone call instead. But after reviewing the matter of Craig & Jessie & Samson, any communication with the boss was to be avoided, for the moment. Craig had no idea where the horse was. Craig had mentioned Jessie's pony ride with a big horse to Dr. Rick, but Rick pretended he'd never heard of the place. The horse would be dead soon enough, anyway. The boss was very experienced in such matters.

Dr. Rick kept Craig on the home farm for the rest of the show season, though. Dr. Rick needed to be careful, for a while. Craig didn't mind, show work hours were much more brutal. Home Farm work was "easier", if only in measure of distances traveled and total amount of endless days.

Show Grooms, all grooms for that matter, the great ones, are a priceless bunch. They are also the lowest paid workers of any circuit. Their love for horses keeps them working, often to their own detriment. Loyal grooms, seeing employer abuse, can feel honor bound not to report it. Paychecks are more important than conscience.

Jack Toronto had moved to the west coast after GoLightly vanished. He was "JT" to everyone in the hunter/jumper world. JT could get any horse to do anything, it was said. He was truly a gifted horse handler. JT had never worked for Gen, but he had freelanced at most of the shows her barn went to. Short, with a boyish, jockey charm, he'd befriended GoLightly and his groom Michelle, at several shows. JT was paid extra for these duties, from his employers. He did it so surreptitiously, and yet so smoothly, it was never noticed.

JT could sometimes feel a dark pang in his heart, before he slept at night. His only choice had always been, take the money. JT still heard Simon's pained yelp, at the hands of Dr. Rick, when he was stone sober.
JT missed the east coast terribly, and when his old employers called, offering him more money to return, he agreed. Horses can be lied to, honest beasts that they are. JT was one of the best at horse lying. JT could feel remorse, but no actual guilt. Business takes precedence over ethics.

Dr. Rick's concerns about Gen and Samson slowly subsided as time passed. After a few months, with his syndicate's approval, he called JT back home. Dr. Rick missed the guy, JT always seemed to assist Dr. Rick's focus. JT could sharpen anyone's senses. Dr. Rick appreciated his medical and pharmaceutical expertise, in horses and humans.
Gen's phone call later that same week didn't even raise Rick's blood pressure. She often would try to buy a horse as soon as she heard it was headed to his barn.

Dr. Rick would always gladly sell horses. He smiled, thinking maybe the beautiful Gen would finally succumb to his considerable charm. Dr. Rick and JT both resented Gen her ability to resist them.

Part 10
The boss was furious. She'd just been kicked, for the dozenth time in her life. Horses are not evil, which had kept her alive for a very long time. Horses were only allowed to kick her once. GoLightly was on borrowed time, as the summer was ending. Tim was worried, for as his Softy's sedation level lowered, so his temperament increased. Tim kept the horse as far away from her as possible, and so far his luck held. A tall, Thoroughbred solid red chestnut mare had nailed the boss again.

Some highly intelligent horses understand revenge.
The mare conveniently kicked her the day before the auction, so off they went to dispose of her. Plenty more horse to be had, anytime. More you have, the less you feed. It was simple. Then, once the numbers were crunching..

In the fall, auctions were busy with the cast-off pets, camp and trail and school horses, all hoping they would live to see dinner. Boss's trailer was repaired, and Tim & boss drove the mare to her fate. The Auction Yard was big, loud and very secure. No pictures were allowed on site, and the rule strictly enforced. For such good reason, of course.

Sights seen at Auctions will break a kind heart. No-one noticed Tim, quietly rubbing the tall red mare's neck & withers goodbye, helpless to direct his own fate, let alone hers. Boss was in her favorite place, where mindless brutality was ignored. She picked out a tiny, terrified weanling (barely), as she hadn't had fun like that for awhile. Christmas was coming.
They drove the trailer & weanling back, without waiting for the result of the mare. Boss didn't care.

A small miracle occurred at the Auction that day. The mare didn't ship west. She ended up not 10 miles away, NW, from Gentian's Touchwood barn. Gen's neighbours just couldn't let the mare go, with such a kind, intelligent eye and her terrible lack of weight. They rarely visited Auctions, but they knew Gen was away touring. They were still looking for Golly too. Instead, they found a red TB mare, already loaded on the "kill-buyer" truck. Arriving home, they unloaded her, and her first response was a surprising strong whinny. AllaFlame answered, but no-one else heard. I am here, thank you, I am here..
The first twist of GoLightly's fate was begun.

Samson had been acting strangely all morning. The cold fall winds were howling. Gen and Billy were busy putting up stores for the winter, and didn't really remark on his odd behavior, until he'd disappeared. As Gen was placing her second phone call, call waiting beeped, with her NW neighbors saying Sam was there. Gen was in such a rush to go get him, she didn't hear Sam's story until they'd repeated it for her, upon arrival.

There was Samson, sitting in front of a very skinny chestnut mare's stall, quietly barking every few moments. Gen stared at the mare for a long time, and finally asked "Ok, when & where did you get her, and may I have her, please?"
Gen and Samson headed to the Auction Barn the next morning. Sam alerted again at a trash bin. The sales catalogue was still tacked to the bulletin board. Pages and pages of non-descripted horses, and the chestnut mare's owner listed as "M.B." None of the staff admitted to remembering either the mare or the seller. They were paid to forget things quickly. An "M.B." was also listed as the buyer of a weanling. Gen found the seller, but he again declined to say much. Auctions are for soon to be forgotten horses.

Gen was sure of her dog, but unsure what he'd found. Gen knew, somehow, the man Sam had rushed at the Feed Mill was connected. But how?
Gentian hated Auctions and always tried to avoid them. She couldn't save them all, and relied on her local Humane Society to alert her. It was often easier that way. People were just as happy to sell horses out of a field.

Sam continued to alert to the chestnut mare, until she was bathed. GoLightly's scent had to be rinsed away, for the mare's sake. Gen named the skinny mare "Mystery". Her tattoo was almost obliterated, naming her breed, but not clearly defining who she was, or where she had been. Mystery easily gained weight, as horses do when fed. She blossomed into a sweet, mostly sound, honourable red mare. Mystery had been in hell. Mystery knew she'd found heaven.

Gen, in desperation, after many tries from local eyes, sent a picture of the mare's tattoo to the Jockey Club. The JC could not be hurried though, and she tried not to check the mail every day, for several weeks. Anything was worth a shot at this point! Gen and Billy plastered the Auction BB with GoLightly's poster. At the next Auction, which Gen & Samson attended, Samson remained silent.

Gen had to bid, feeling her flash of recognition on two horses. Gen bought a 16.3 hand plain bay Thoroughbred gelding with a terrible hoof injury. The gelding, with a year's rehab, would be an excellent hunter. Billy was thrilled at the prospect, although of course he didn't show it. Billy loved to fix a good horse.

At 30 years Gen's senior, he never admitted to any age. Gentian often caught herself thinking "What will happen when Billy's not here?" He was her friend, mentor and horseman, a rare, quiet, capable man.

Part 11
Gentian finally found an excuse for the long drive to Dr. Rick's. Billy couldn't go, as he hadn't the first time, and Gen wanted no suspicion as to her motives from Rick. Samson waited silently in the trailer as she tried out Dr. Rick's horse. The plan had been carefully trained. Gen concentrated on her breathing as they chatted about the horse.

As usual, the Vet's eye for functionally correct conformation was spot on. The horse, a gelding, was a massive TB/Friesian cross, and had a perfect 10, rolling, rocking canter. He left the floor almost as lightly as Golly. His soft eye and willing, calm attitude allowed Gentian to honestly write a cheque for the horse. Craig went back to the barn to ready the horse for transport. Gen's recent sales of DragonFly and the other amateur horses had bolstered her bank account.

Gen breathed slowly and carefully as she lowered the ramp, quietly. Samson, equally stealthy, crept unseen into Rick's barn, just as Craig and the carefully wrapped horse came out. The horse loaded easily, and Gen held her breath, counting the seconds Samson was trained to search for. When Gen heard Sam bark, she nearly fainted. Dr. Rick scowled, and quickly Gen headed to the barn, mock-scolding Samson.

Samson had Jack Toronto cornered in the tack room. Gen apologetically "caught" Sam and put him in the truck. Gentian laughed about it, saying Samson had now fooled her twice. Samson loved to steal a few rides in the trailer, she lied. Gentian hid her disappointment well. Samson hadn't scented GoLightly. Gen was informed of JT's character, by her Samson. Sam had been trained to use several voices, for different tasks. Sam's voice was not telling Gen what she needed to hear. At least Gen was pretty sure Dr. Rick, Craig and JT were somehow part or privy to the crime against her horse. Where was GoLightly?

Dr. Rick watched Gen's rig through narrowed eyes as she drove away. He asked JT what he'd done to provoke the dog, to which Jack honestly replied "Nothing." The cheque in Dr. Rick's pocket helped him to decide it was a non-event. Gen's acting was flawless. As his latest meds kicked in, Dr. Rick decided to forget about it. Dr. Rick disliked dogs, always had. Samson had turned and growled at him, before he jumped in Gen's truck. Dr. Rick hated dogs, he decided.
Jessie, smelling lightly of Golly, visited with her father at Rick's barn the next day. Golightly's luck was an hour-glass, sand draining, silently.

Gentian blew a long sigh, as she drove home, trying to enjoy the thought of hacking out her new horse. But, she simply handed the shank to Billy and went to visit Mystery for a while. Billy happily loved on the new horse, and named him "Rough Cut" for his feathered, kevlar-hard legs. Sam softly sighed, as he went to sleep in front of Golly's empty stall.

Gen had a kinder power than many so-called humane people, who prolong an animal's suffering for the funds it can raise, or the false feeling of hope for the human. Gen had several pieces of her old horses, a fringe benefit of five attempts at admission to veterinary school. All the pathologists were huge fans of hers. Gen had several teaching "instruments" that demonstrated correct and incorrect leg structure at the ligament/skeletal level. She had learned to warn the squeamish, before presenting "Foreleg of Dolly" at her conformation and soundness clinics. Gen honored all her horses.

Mystery drank and ate, and fluttered her soft red nose in Gen's coppery red hair. Mystery then snorted, firmly, at Gen's sorrow.
Billy laughed with glee at the good day he was having. His Hoof Horse was healing well, the new horse stupendous and his Rider/Boss's hair was full of nice clear horse snot. He carried the news from the Jockey Club, as well. Mystery was solved. Her previous owner was Dr. Rick Thomlinson, DVM. Wherever GoLightly was, it wasn't at Dr. Rick's barn. Gen decided to spend a little extra on GoLightly's search party.

GoLightly whinnied softly in his stall, slowly reviving from his stupor. His company always answered, as bravely and as quietly as they could. Horses endure, without question. It is the horse's inherent nobility, to accept direction with honor.

Tim's boss's behaviour worsened, but her visits to the barn became less frequent. She drank and ate heavily, and her weight ballooned. When she was sufficiently hammered, she would stagger out to the barn, and harass the closest animals, the unfortunate dogs, usually. Tim cleverly stalled GoLightly as far away from the house as possible. Tim had learned to handle the "customers" very well, and did his best to make the horse's lives less uncomfortable. It was a terrible testament to boss's choice of clientele that none of them, regulars included, ever recognized GoLightly. None of her customers had any real interest in the animals.

Jessie, never having met him, knew him right away.

The dogs were routinely beaten and starved, before the boss would stagger back to the house. Then, one night, the boss sacrificed the weanling, for her own twisted amusement, to the dogs.
Tim's heart burst that terrible night. He also, finally recognized what he had to do. Job be damned. Tim got a brain tune-up, as he buried his head in the pillow, to drown out the dogs rage and the weanling's dying shrieks of pain. The horses all cried that night. It was such a chorus of sorrow Tim had never heard before. He never wanted to hear it again.

The boss did not leave the house for three days. She left Ian a note for errands to run, cash & the truck keys nailed to her door. Ian made an anonymous phone call from a booth in town, as he waited for his order to be loaded. The local Humane Society was on holiday schedule, as it was Christmas Eve.
Tim completed his errands, and went back to the horses. They'd, after all, given him back his spine.

Part 12
Gen hired a private investigator with the last of the profit from her sales horses. DragonFly had fetched a very nice price, and his new owner had practically begged Gen to sell. The DragonFly went to a very nice barn, almost as big as his ego. Gen wanted a little more information on the comings and goings at Dr.Rick's. She paid for two months worth of surveillance.

It was all Gen could dare to afford, with hay prices going through the roof. Gen hired the guy in the middle of October. She knew what her next step would have to be, if nothing came of the private investigation. The last link to GoLightly was a twelve year old girl. Gen was loathe to involve one so young in something so sordid. Gen "knew" Golly's time was either up, or coming to a cold end, but she couldn't play act with children, even for GoLightly. Children are born honest. Gen hoped Jessie hadn't learned too much from her Dad. She hoped the private eye could find the trail of Golly. Jessie was the last card Gen wanted to play.

The P.I. discovered some interesting things, but none of the information he gleaned helped with finding Golly's location. Gen learned who Dr.Rick's best customers were, the people who kept his considerable bills paid. Gen felt in her heart, that this rather elite group of people had masterminded the plan. Gen and Golly had consistently kept these people from the top prizes they usually enjoyed. But where was GoLightly? The P.I. funds slowly ran out. In the middle of December, Gentian bit her lip, and called Craig with a plausible lie to bring Jessie to Touchwood for a photo shoot for Gen's next CD cover. Jessie's Mom agreed, and Gen booked the visit for New Year's Day.
GoLightly's countdown began. His luck, a house of cards, was poised, needing to fall just the right way. Sometimes good luck just needs the delicate brush of a butterfly's wing or a kitten's purr.

The boss's discussion with Dr. Rick went very badly. He called her later, on that cold sunny Christmas Day, and tried to charm her with season's greetings, hoping she'd consumed enough alcohol to blunt her caustic tongue. Dr. Rick tried several different tactics, and as each was met with further dismissal, he finally, brusquely said "I just called to remind you not to use that big bay horse." A long, foul stream of expletives followed.

The boss muttered that she'd sent in the farm insurance cheque, the month before. She mentioned that she was planning a "renewal" of her current facilities. Dr. Rick replied, "Oh. Okay, fine." The horse prison boss snarled something else, and hung up. Dr. Rick didn't quite hear her. He didn't want to, of course. The phone tap on Dr. Rick's line had been turned off, two weeks before. The boss said "Everything burns, doesn't it."
No-one was listening. The horses shifted & shivered uneasily in their cold stalls.

Jessie had started volunteering at her local animal shelter when she was 10. Jessie was quite tall for her age and had a curiously adult face, shaped by her lonely years. The shelter staff believed her to be 14, when she started. The Shelter started paying her after six months, to the relief of Jessie's Mom. Jessie was a prodigious worker and an avid learner. The Shelter Staff were touched that Jessie always insisted on taking only half of the money, choosing to donate the rest back to the Shelter. Jessie was thrilled by her work, and grateful for the respite from her home life. Getting paid for doing work she loved was the icing on the cake. Gen was well known at the Shelter, and had posted several "GoLightly Stolen" flyers there. Jessie had first learned about her heroine, Gen MacFarland, through these flyers.

Christmas Day was always a low key affair at Jessie's house. Jessie's Mom and her current boyfriend would drink until incoherent, and after a TV dinner, Jessie headed off to work. She happily cleaned, fed and nursed her animals, and after completing these important duties, Jessie treated herself to a kitten and puppy snuggle. Jessie usually skipped cuddling the littlest ones, reserving her extra time for the older, lonelier, less adoptable animals. Jessie never received Christmas presents. Kitten & Puppy Snuggle was her gift to herself. The older animals remained silent, knowing their turn with her would come. It was 8:30 pm, on Christmas Day.

The boss was roaring drunk by Christmas afternoon. After Dr. Rick's call, she became a raging drunk. The dogs began to whine, and the horses started doing what they could to prepare. Many lay down, their fear overwhelming them, in their emaciated physical state. Some stood, poised, shivering. Some snorted, the long low snort of power and bravery & brilliance, reserved for respect and disdain, in the face of death. Tim's big bay Softy started to make sounds that made his blood run cold. Emily pricked her long ears, many, many miles away.

Tim remained in the barn, bringing each horse the only comfort he could. Water, a mouthful of hay, a wither rub. Tim's backbone stiffened, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Tim was in Softy's stall when he saw the boss come out, carrying a gas can. If Tim had owned a watch, he might have marked the time, for legal purposes.
It was 10 pm, on Christmas night.
For some highly evolved, powerful, lucky animals it was a lovely evening. For many other animals, it is the reason they are eaten. For animals at the prison farm, every day was the same. Only worse.

Gen enjoyed her Christmas as best she could. She didn't like to admit to playing favorites with her animals, and currently didn't like herself much, for "losing interest" in her other horses. Gentian fretted over such things, as she mucked, and swept and groomed and rode. AllaFlame and Mystery noticed her mood, while the older horses continued eating. Christmas Day was always a good day for Gen's horses.
Horses are capable of counting good days versus bad. Once the sum of recent good days exceeds the most recent sum of bad, they can become confident in their future. Horses are an "every day" animal. Mystery had had so many good days, she'd lost count, and had happily forgotten her previous hellish days.

Billy worked with Ruff (Rough Cut) himself, as Gen had ignored the gorgeous gelding since he'd arrived. Ruff was Gen's reason for feeling guilty. One horse ignored, and she felt she'd lost interest. Billy chatted with Gen the best he could, and bored her with the Ruff's rapid progress. Ruff fancied himself a Houdini, and enjoyed appearing suddenly, in other paddocks, looking innocent. Gen smiled a little, and Billy went back to work.

As neighbors, friends, family and band members dropped in and out, the day wore on. AllaFlame's first owner, Karen, and her mother Barb, came by after dinner, to much joyous nickering from 'Flame. Mystery joined in on the demands for attention. Mystery was almost identical physically to 'Flame, although a hand smaller. The two red mares had "hit it off" instantly, and were always together out in the field. It was getting late, but Gen turned the two mares out in the nearest paddock for a moment. Karen got her camera out, but of course the batteries had died.

AllaFlame was now off for the season, and loved gossiping with the older mare. Both Gen & Billy had remarked on their afternoon "bitch & squeal" tea parties. They'd graze, and chat, sip water, and repeat. The two mares seemed to have a lot to say to each other. Billy swore that AllaFlame came in one afternoon, absolutely aghast at something Mystery had "said". Billy had needed to spend some extra time with her, to soothe away the expression with carrots and neck scratches.

Solid Red Chestnut Thoroughbred Mares. Clever and opinionated, willing to listen, fiery and reasonable. Gen and her friends loved watching her red mares as they gently discussed the places they'd been. Mystery found it hard to believe 'Flame's stories, and the feeling was mutual. Each would gasp in awe, or aghast, in turn.
The Touchwood Farm/Rescue phone rang. It was 9:30 pm. The mares were instantly still.


Part 13
Jessie had been looking forward to New Year's Day, and blissfully imagined being in Gen's barn patting AllaFlame as she carefully dialed the voice-mail number she'd been given. Jessie was very proud of her new responsibility. Jessie listened to the message, the color draining from her face. She was shaking from tip to toe as she hung up. Her mouth contorted as she suppressed the urge to vomit. Jessie called the emergency pager number for the Shelter Supervisor, on call that evening.

Jessie knew how far away the Supervisor was, as she'd said to Jessie "Make sure you call me quick, it's about an hour and a half away, where I'll be. I'm sure nothing will happen, Christmas is our slowest day of the year." Jessie left her a shaky-voiced message, and then listened to the voice-message again, carefully noting the address. Jessie didn't recognize the location, a twelve year old still learning about her world's compass. She was very sure it was a very bad place, wherever it was.

Not long after her first meeting with her father and her first "pony" ride ever, Craig had taken Jessie to Dr. Rick's barn. The difference between the only two actual horse places she'd ever visited bewildered Jessie. Craig had flustered when she'd asked him about it, and she received the usual "You don't know horses, not yet!" response. Jessie was confused by her father's quick dismissal of her questions. How could what looked good and what looked bad equal no distinction?

Jessie sat by the phone, drumming her fingers, racking her brain for anything useful she could do. Jessie was ready to go see this place, right now. Restless, she wandered down the long hallway and stopped before the lost and found board. Her famous Gen's "GoLightly - STOLEN" poster still hung there, a picture of the pair jumping a huge oxer. It was 9:30 pm, and she really should go home now. Jessie clenched her strong jaw and called her mother, lying to her for the first time ever. Then Jessie called Gen's number, and told her everything, including the pony-ride part. When she'd hung up, she had no idea why she'd blurted that out, except it seemed important. Jessie had believed her father and his dismissal of her theory, until that moment.

Tim smelled the gas, before he saw his boss, ranting and raving as she soaked the floors and walls and meager wisps of dirty straw. The thickest cobwebs had been eaten long ago, as it was a now a horse barn trying to eat itself to stay alive. The dogs howled miserably, some already coughing and gagging on the fumes. The horses that could snorted and flung themselves to the back of the stalls. Boss was blind drunk. She didn't seem to see anything. She kept staggering forward down the long aisle, roaring at each horse as she spewed liquid & verbal & painful death.

The big skinny bay started rearing, and struck out at Tim, for the first time since he'd met him. Tim knew Softy could feel his death rampaging towards them. "Hey, big Softy fella, let's take us a walk" he said with his best lilt. "Let's blow this popsicle stand, let's vamoose, take a powder". As he spoke, he walked and the big bay willingly followed his soft, safe voice.

The boss caught sight of Tim & GoLightly, just as she'd run out of gas, and gone back to the north barn opening to get more. She was enraged, as the barn was only about one third soaked. She screamed at Tim to stop.

Then she dropped the match. The horses started thrashing in their stalls as Tim, desperately calm, lead the big bay out to the farthest gravelled ring. It was heavily gated. The first horse died just as Tim was closing the gate. He told Softy to stay put, turned and faced a swaying boss pointing a gun unsteadily at his head. With purest instinctive reflex, Tim struck her in the head with the chain of his lead shank, and she dropped like a stone. He tied her to the fence, well away from the gate and gun. Tim ran back to the barn, his lungs already gasping for air. He grabbed several lead shanks and tried to close his mind to the dying sounds of horses he couldn't save. 50 miles away, horses were answering with shock and horror. We are dying. We are dying. Help Us Please. Where are You?

The blaze was reaching its' zenith as he tore open stall doors and grabbed heads, and went back to his steady calm lilting chant. C'mon, I'll help you, come with me, it's safe, please come with me. Some of the horses had died before he could reach them, from shock & fear and emaciation. The dogs had been sacrificed first, closest to the deadly match. Tim saved as many as he could, and when he was collapsed, sobbing & coughing miserably beside the huge gate, a beautiful voice asked
"Are you the hero, here?"

Part 14 & PostScript
The prison boss had planned her Christmas atrocity very carefully, as psychopaths do. She had purchased a fire permit the week before. The first fire calls from a concerned public were therefore ignored. It took several calls for the fire and police to finally respond. That had been part of the plan. The $200.00 permit was used as evidence in her attempted murder, arson and harboring GoLightly, the stolen property, trials. Tim testified for the prosecution. At her subsequent trial on the charge of cruelty to animals, Tim was the star witness again. Jesse was allowed to carefully and quietly tell her story and Craig had no choice but to agree with his daughter.

Dr. Rick & his customers had avoided most of the charges, but they were all charged and convicted of theft over $500,000.00. The prison boss had kept very good records, it turned out. Jack Toronto had left town after the growl by Samson. He straightened up, by coming back and testifying against Dr. Rick. Jack Toronto "flew right" for the rest of his career. He did change his name to Just ForSam.
The ex-boss was never to own animals again. The public outcry fueled her notoriety, and when her jail time was finally up, it was said she fled to Mexico.

PostScript
Almost a year passed. Gentian's ride today is her first since he's come home. His skin had been terribly damaged, but because of Tim's furtive treatment protocols, Golly has healed very well. GoLightly has just taken her for such a ride, she was speechless for several minutes. GoLightly gave her his gratitude, his love and his courage on that first ride at home.

She'd dropped her reins, and as they flew the fields bareback, of course, first ride and all, Golly showed her what do to with him next. Run, with the courage of the wind. Jump, with the fluidity of water. Fly.
GoLightly showed Gen she could now do anything, anything she wanted, with just a thought. GoLightly gave her his life, in her heart. Now, today.

The company of wrecks that were Touchwood Farm's biggest ever rescue, slowly became horses again.

Gen glanced over into the schooling ring, Billy was longing the "hoof" horse, "3DO", sound & comfortable again. His strange dapples glinted in the lowering sun, 16 hands of "plain dark bay". Only in certain lights would his Bend Or spots glow. 3DO circled at a trot calmly, beautifully in balance.

"Jessie, what am I doing right?" asked Billy.
"Everything."
Billy laughed "True. And now?"
"mmm, not sure."
"My hips are ahead of his, see how he stops? If I point my shoulders at his, same thing. Horses are mirrors of our thoughts and movements, Jessie, why?"
Jessie understood this one. "Herd animals, right?"
"And?" Billy waited. Jessie wrinkled her brow, thinking hard. "They watch us all the time. They know how we feel, not how we think." She stopped, looking doubtful.

Billy laughed happily "Jessie, that's the best answer I've ever heard! Now, get along and get your Mystery mare ready for her opening ride with you!"
Jessie's smile lit up the entire acreage. She hurried to the old mare's stall and carefully fussed over brushing every square inch of her coppery red coat.

Mystery had, yes, a mysterious lameness issue. Every time Mystery was ridden, she had looked and felt slightly lame. Mystery was lazy in the field, and only briefly cavorted when she thought no-one was looking. Mystery was very clever. Gen & Billy didn't have the heart to really get after her, and see if she was truly lame in the field or not.

Gen's veterinarians were stumped, and couldn't give any good medical reason for the lameness. Mystery had needed a lot of patience in her re-schooling, learning all over again that saddle and bridle could mean a good thing. Gen had supervised her re-fit & training, and had earned a rarely given compliment from Billy.

Of the seventy horses Tim had worked with, only 19 survived the ordeal, twenty, if Mystery was counted. Jessie had helped in their rehabilitation, and successfully ridden all of them, except Mystery. Gen had finally learned where all of Dr. Rick's broken-down rejects had ended up. That any of them survived was a pure miracle of good conformation & powerful genetics. And of the course, the bravery of one man.

Mystery looked at her new rider with gentle amusement, and shook her pretty head, impatiently rattling the cross-ties. Gen watched Jessie out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to let Jessie know she was watching. Or Mystery, for that matter. Jessie carefully tacked Mystery up, and gently gave her sparkling coat a final rub, stretching the mare's front legs, to guard against girth rubs. Mystery looked straight at Jessie,and then Mystery slowly, deliberately, touched her nose to a spot above her right knee, on her "sore" leg. Jessie gently kissed and polished the spot. The little old mare chuckled a nicker of thanks. Mystery's lameness disappeared that very instant, forever.

If Gen hadn't seen it with her own eyes, Billy wouldn't ever have believed it. No-one but Mystery knew, that the mare had been pointing to the spot where L had kicked her. Once her Jessie fixed it, the spot stopped rankling in the mare's honest mind.

As Gen watched Billy teaching Jessie, she was overjoyed all over again at just how many geniuses had been rescued that terrible night.

Most all novice riders have a universal bad habit of looking down at the horse or the ground. Jessie, instinctively, never did. Jessie knew she was on a animal that could fly. Horses never look down, except to eat. They look forward towards their future.
Gen had been trained by many great horsemen. The tears stood in her eyes, watching Jessie riding the old red mare.

Gen looked over at Tim, working Ruff for Billy. The tired, frightened man she'd first met on his knees, had become Billy's irreplaceable extra right hand, almost overnight. Tim caught her eye, and smiled.

Gen blushed to the backs of her ears. GoLightly flatulated noisily, before turning back to his hay. Golly had a big show coming, he could feel it in his hooves. GoLightly never looked down, except to eat.

Samson destroyed some freshly planted flower beds. He still had lots of work left to do. Rusty & Emily cuddled, awaiting their turn for attention.

AllaFlame & the rest of the herd grazed, content. They were all having another very good day.

The End.
maybe..