Friends With Troubles

Story Last updated May 1999

Eager anticipation rose in my groggy body one early Saturday morning as the car rode through the gate along the bumpy, dirt road, and came to a halt. Dust drifted upwards to greet me as my boot hit the ground. The car doors banging shut mixed with the sounds of horses neighing, whinnying, and snorting dust through their nostrils. A familiar aroma of the combination of sweet hay and manure diffused the surrounding air, and I knew I was in the company of horses. The cool, soothing breezes danced gently across my face, a deliverance from the hot, humid Texas air. The heat was somehow more bearable when surrounded by the natural beauty and wonderment that resided in Brighter Days Horse Refuge, a safe-haven for horses that have been abused, abandoned, or neglected. I passed through the wooden gate, searching for the owners, Bill and Jeannie, and greeting all the horses walking towards me, expecting the carrots I usually had for them. It was all part of my regular Saturday morning routine.

I never would have guessed that this particular morning would be different; it would lead to the making of a very special bond with someone who I will always treasure in my heart. His influence has been powerful in my life, and even if I never see him again, our paths having crossed will always be something influential that touches me deeply, and something for which I will be forever grateful. This person is not a human, but a horse. His name is “Troubles”.

Troubles was aptly named. That sunny morning was the day he first arrived at the refuge. I stood by Jeannie, barely hearing her words which told his story as I observed in awe his body, deprived of all nourishment, lying solemnly in the shade of a stall. His neck, sunken in from lack of food, made his already dark chestnut-brown coat even darker by creating a shadowy cavern from his neck to his shoulder. He hadn’t been fed in a long time. Some words from Jeannie entered my astonished mind, as the impact of what I was seeing was slowly setting in. “...moved away.. No one to feed him.. They just left,” were some of the words I began to hear. “How can this happen so often?” I wondered, thinking of the many other horses at the ranch whose stories paralleled this one. Jeannie’s soothing sing-song voice explained that Poncho, the honorary mascot of Brighter Days, had looked twice as bad when he first arrived. I felt disgust in the pit of my stomach for those who could do such a thing to such magnificent creatures and simultaneous bewilderment for Troubles’ hardships.

What would a person do if left to die by others he had grown to love and trust? Would he run, hide himself from the world, or make sure he never loved or trusted again for fear of getting hurt all over? Maybe he would just never take another chance on anyone.

Troubles didn’t reflect this. He didn’t hate any of us or try to stay away. He still trusted, even though a human under similar circumstances may have forgotten long ago how to trust. He was so grateful to be in the shade, lying down. He was happy, trusting, willing to be near us, to take food from our hands. Some animals don’t seem to represent the same feelings humans would probably harbor after a traumatic experience: mistrust, bitterness, discontent. Even in my own life, when I felt betrayed or hurt, I could look in the mirror and see my reflection, my dark brown eyes looking back at me, unforgiving and smoldering with anger. Troubles’ eyes seemed an extension of my own, because they were the same dark brown shade that matched mine, yet there was something deeper behind his expression. He seemed wise, as though he understood so much more of this world than I did, and did not harbor any pain or worry. The look in his eyes was soft, but not of weakness or defeat. His eyes showed strength, a look of one who knows he has a second chance and is grateful for it. His demeanor seemed to reveal the knowledge of his strength and his will to survive. Troubles didn’t give up on life. He didn’t know how. Although his body was nearly broken, his heart never was, nor his soul, nor his spirit.

I looked into those powerful, bold eyes. They contrasted his dull, dusty coat, which told of the roughness of the experiences he had just endured. “How could anyone do this to a fellow living creature?” I thought to myself as I stood in the archway of the stall, admiring the starving horse, fighting back tears, and thinking he was probably the most beautiful horse I’d ever seen.

Every week, I saw dear Troubles and fed him treats, such as his beloved Gourmet Baby Carrots, and every week he looked a little better, a little stronger. He often lay down peacefully because of the hoof disease, Founder, which plagued his feet. I smiled for every centimeter his beautiful coat puffed out away from his neck and shoulder, like bread rising in an oven. I had a great respect for that horse whose spirit would not be broken by the neglectful people who had left him to starve. I admired him for fighting to live. He inspired strength in me.

One day truly marked the beginning of a bond between Troubles and me. Troubles stood behind the white gate of one of the corrals one afternoon. The scorching sun was at my back. I meandered over to the magnificent creature and held two sun-orange baby carrots lying flat on my palm. His soft, velvety lips gladly pulled them away and I walked closer to his contented face as his teeth ground together. My face was close to his, and the gentle sound of his chewing was like that of ice crunching beneath winter boots. I touched his coat, releasing the burning sun’s rays into my hand that had been absorbed into him, and he pulled away from me, not wanting to be trapped. Horses are creatures easily startled, and Troubles was no exception. They can easily feel confined, so it was no surprise that he had felt spooked.

Slowly, unexpectedly, he moved his face nearer to mine so that his muzzle was only inches from my face. Then he sighed heavily into my face, a hot and moist breath, covering my eyes, nose, cheeks, and mouth. The heat was mixed with the smell of hay, carrots, feed, and the dust which permeated the ranch. Smiling, not knowing what this gentle creature meant in breathing the heat from the core of him onto myself, I gently blew a breath of my own into his nostrils. Seemingly surprised, he pushed his face even closer to mine and again, breathed the stinging hot sigh onto me. His breath was heavily scented, but it was pleasant. So again, I lightly blew against his nostrils, like the cool morning breezes. His gargantuan hooves stepped towards me and his face moved closer and past my own. He pressed the side of his face against my cheek. In the blazing sun, the fiery warmth of his face was overwhelming, yet delicately wonderful. I did not pull away. I touched his searing coat once more. He did not pull away. His satiny, dusty fur felt magical to me, coarse yet smooth, like a haystack for a pillow. We held that way for a moment. It felt as though his heat seeped into me and mine into him as we exchanged something -- something powerful and sacred. He gently pulled away from me, like the release of an embrace with a close friend.

Jeannie told me later when I excitedly relayed these events to her that that is how horses communicate and identify one another. Now, to him, I was a “horse,” a special friend. Jeannie spoke slowly, thoughtfully, and smiled as she responded to my tale. I appreciated the uniqueness of my experience; it moved me.

Every time I saw Troubles from then on, I felt closer to him. One day he was calmly lying in meditation in the shade of a stall. It was like the first time I laid eyes on him, but now he was stronger, more robust. The glint of a strong survivor still shone in his eye. I moved closer to him, trying not to startle him. Horses are almost always scared by things near them or creatures standing while they lie down. It was inevitable that he would try to stand, but I didn’t want him to hurt his feet. I slowly approached, our eyes exchanging sidelong glances, yet he did not flinch. I stood next to him in the archway of the stall, feeling his calmness. He was not only entirely fearless of my standing above him, but he also leaned against me, laying his heavy head upon my thigh. The weight was strong, but I felt trusted and accepted, as though experiencing a deep connection with this horse.

Weeks passed, Troubles thrived, and I felt more at peace than ever. The ranch with its acres of stories and survivors all affected me deeply every time I visited. One day, all of that was put on hold as a crisis arose. One horse, Misty, who was in her thirties or forties, was suffering from a sudden bout of colic, an intestinal disease which causes intense spasms. This can be deadly for horses. She was in grave pain, and secluded in a smaller corral, alone except for the vet. He gave her medicines, and the tension in the air was like breathing through quicksand. The air dripped with sadness as the normally cool, peaceful breezes blew only hopelessness into our hearts. Jeannie went back and forth between Misty and the house, a hundred yards away or less, checking, giving updates. We stood and stared. What more could we do? We wanted Misty to get better, yet we knew she could die very soon. My family and I didn’t want to leave, as if somehow being there meant we were helping.

I slowly became aware of the onlookers on the scene. I was standing fairly close to the gate that Misty was behind. Jeannie was also. My mom and brother stood farther back. To my left, behind the gate, several large horses were as close as they could get; other horses stood farther back. Outside the gate and behind my mom and brother, a few more horses stood and stared, as though they, too, had a deep understanding of what was happening. A solid rock lump was stretching the inside of my throat as I fought back tears, feeling alone, helpless, and powerless.

Then I felt I was not alone and realized my friend, Troubles, was approaching, the only creature moving through this still-life. Standing upright, his chin was lined up with the top of my head. However, at this moment, he approached the white gate that enclosed Misty, his head hanging at a slight downward angle, and he stood right next to me, his head by the gate, his neck close to my shoulder. He had a look of concentration and seriousness about him. Side by side, an energy, an unspoken communication and relation flowed between us. He watched the scene, then turned his head to look right at me. The deep pools of dark brown in his eyes were so gorgeous and sad, his eyes questioning me, as I stared back at him with no answers. We both returned our gazes to Misty, the enormous, beautiful horse whose pain-filled body lay entirely on her side on a pile of sun-yellow hay under the large oak tree. I looked back at Troubles when I felt him lean towards me. I saw right in front of me the emotionally pain-wrought face of my dear friend. There was an inner darkness beneath his dark brown face that he was feeling, evident by his eye, and even more evident by the thing I never expected to see... a tear. There was one lone tear traveling down the soft, silky hairs on the face of this horse. He blinked like I’ve often seen silently crying people do and another tear flowed slowly down his face, following the other, like the convergence of two forks of a river flowing from a sea of confusion and sorrow. Fascination, deep empathy and sadness filled me inside. I’d never imagined any animals other than humans being able to cry, yet here was Troubles, tears streaming down his face right before my eyes. These tears seemed to hold the pain of something so deeply felt: tears for another horse’s suffering when there were never any for himself, tears that I wanted to cry but couldn’t, tears that held something so powerful, they could only be understood by pure feeling and emotion, not any kind of objective analysis. I wanted to let loose, to cry along with him, but I didn’t want to draw attention to either of us. I felt we were sharing something deep that I didn’t want interrupted. I turned toward him and wrapped my arms delicately around his full, muscular neck and hugged him, thinking the words, “I know... I know...,” somehow feeling no need to speak, somehow knowing he’d understand, because there was already a part of him in me and a part of me in him. The feeling of us sharing something powerful was so strong inside and outside of me, as the sunset blanketed us both in warm color.

I don’t remember much about leaving that day, other than the warm salty tears I’d watched fall from Troubles and I’d held inside, slowly rolling down my cheeks as I sat in the cushioned upholstery of the car, watching the brown-green trees whir by, wishing I could have stayed with Troubles forever.

That was not the last time I saw Troubles. On one of our subsequent visits we learned that Misty had died the next day and she was buried on the property, as was usually the case when something like this happened. All I could think of was how Troubles must have felt on that day. My heart ached for him.

My last visit to the refuge is not a strong memory in my mind, because although I was in the process of preparing to move to Washington, I didn’t realize it would be my last visit. I do remember seeing Poncho and Troubles side by side and having a hard time telling them apart as they stood twenty feet from me. I smiled at how far he had come from the first time I’d ever seen him.

Troubles symbolizes for me determination and growth. He never gave up and was never hardened by his experiences. He only thrived from a new, safe life. His heart was open to share a personal bonding experience with me, even though he had been hurt by people. He reminded me of myself, and indeed, became a part of myself. He was an example I aimed to follow. Troubles showed me what true strength is by triumphing over adversity. I had always believed animals were very complex, and he corroborated my thoughts when he was able to cry for another horse. My respect for animals grew from knowing him. He was then and always will be so very beautiful in my mind.

My encounter with Troubles was a unique experience in my life, just as he was a phenomenal horse. The time I shared with him and all the feelings of gratitude, pride, and honor he conjured up inside me remain with me and are sacred to me. I am extremely fortunate to have been able to share such deeply moving experiences and kinship with my friend, Troubles.