A Girl and her Horse
My daughter just turned 17. She's a raven-haired beauty with saucer eyes the color of heartbreak. As a child she was so shy and withdrawn she could barely speak to anyone outside of her family; today she is a vibrant A-B student with many friends, she's committed to community service and she has a heart big enough to save the world from itself. I credit horses. Not that we needed another one. But as things happen, she found herself on the back of a 10 year old thoroughbred mare who would soon be auctioned off to an unknown fate. I saw an emaciated animal who could barely stay standing she was so weak from malnutrition; Jillian saw form and function (she's an accomplished dressage rider). I saw mange and tail rot; Jillian saw the sleekness of a Native Dancer granddaughter (which she is). I saw a nervous horse who was so uncomfortable and unhappy, she had developed a habit that is debilitating to a horse -- cribbing (the grab onto something with their front teeth, usually wood, and suck in air, which releases endorphins and gives them a high - sort of like opium), which I knew would never be cured. Jillian saw the chance to bring this mare around to her full potential with love and patience and commitment and a promise to never give up on her. She begged me to go to the auction; I refused, saying we could not afford to take on a horse in such a state. She said she couldn't afford not to. She said there was something very special about this horse and she needed to give her a chance. A chance. A chance to change; to get what you needed in life to become better than you ever thought possible. So we went. I told her I would not spend a penny more than $500 on the mare (horses typically start at around $5,000). They brought her into the pen, number 17; she was so nervous and worked up the froth at her mouth dropped like rain at her stomping feet. Her eyes rolled every which way, searching the faces in the crowd, for what, for my girl? Or was this scenario so familiar to the horse that she'd rather be dead then in that place at that moment? The bidding started at $1,000; then dropped to $500; then to $100. My daughter locked eyes with the damn thing and did what she always does to sooth a breaking heart. It's a sound that she produces by rattling her tongue against the roof of her mouth and it sounds like a dove cooing. Lovely. And dammit if the mare didn't calm right down. I could almost feel the rate of her heartbeat slowing. Up went my card, number 153. But someone else wanted her - or was planted in the audience to bring her price up, which this auctioneer is known for. I bid $500, my cap. "Do I hear $600?" Seconds that seemed like hours ticked by and I thought I needed to go home and clean out a stall; "I have $600!" he screamed and that was the end of that. Until I saw my daughter's shoulders convulsing. She was crying. Her back was to me, she did not want me to see this, but there she was in a sea of horsepeople and crying with the pain of a woman who has lost her first love. Up it went. "I have $700!" Up shot the other's arm. "$800!" I was angry then. This man did not disclose the problems with this horse. I stood up and at the top of my theatre-trained voice, shouted, "Does this horse have any vices?" The crowd got very still and so quiet you could hear the heaving breath of that mare....or was it my daughter? Or was it me? We were all intermeshed at that point that there was no undoing us. The auctioneer stared at me with the power of a man who was not used to being challenged. Then he dropped his head pretending to read something. "It says here that she cribbs." His voice was so low the words were barely audible. With the strength of an army, my own voice boomed back, "DID YOU SAY THIS MARE CRIBBS?" "Yes, ma'am, she does," he answered. I sat down then, utterly exhausted. If Jillian had lost her mare, at least the people who bought her would know what they were getting into. The auctioneer looked at me and with a sick smile, said, "I have $800. Do I have $900? $900?" I could feel the energy of that crowd enveloping my daughter like a hug that evaporates before it begins. What was I thinking? "ONE THOUSAND," I said and crossed my arms over my chest, and my left leg over my right one, at the same time in uttter defiance. And because I could...He went after the other bidder with all that he had left, goading, pleading, begging him to bid again. It lasted a full 2 minutes, "I have $1,000, do I hear $1,100?" The crowd got restless, some started to boo. Finally, he brought that hammer down with the force of an empty threat. "SOLD for $1,000 to number 153. Jillian, still sobbing, leapt into my arms. Right out of Hollywood, the crowd went wild, stood on their feet and errupted into thundering applause. And I have to go now because I have to clean out a stall for a bag-of-bones horse who is in need of a good therapist. She'll be here in an hour. The strange thing is, there's something about this horse that reminds me of me. I'll keep you posted. Reenie
That's a great idea! In fact, dear one, that's really why she's home with us now -- she needed this chance, just like we did. Why don't you post it to the board for a vote, I don't want to offend anyone! Her registered name is Pappa's Kate, but Jillian has renamed her. She is now
Kiss Me Kate
Reenie
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