October 2008

In late October of 2008, I was wandering aimlessly through Tucson's craigslist - particularly the farm and garden section, as it is my favorite. I'd been clicking on ads about horses for sale ever since I first discovered that people sell horses in the farm and garden section, it's just one of those natural curiosities and jealousies I secretly harbored.

My attention was drawn to an advertisement for a rescued 6 year old Thoroughbred mare. Against my better judgement, I was compelled to call the woman selling her and ask about her, as the ad specifically stated that she would have to have an experienced rider. Why does she need an experienced rider? Is she Satan incarnate or is she just a lot of horse? Does she try to kill you or is she just overexcitable? The woman selling her (Linda, for future reference) was very straightforward and told me the mare's story and explained that she was definitely no killer, just inexperienced and powerfully fast.

Well. Powerfully fast, eh? This intrigued me. I enjoy powerfully fast horses. Perhaps I should go visit the mare, just to see. Sure, it can't hurt.

Linda and her husband own a parcel of land southeast of Tucson, in Mescal. It took me about 50 minutes to get out there. Linda met me in the driveway, apologizing that she hadn't had a chance to get the mare and clean her up for me. No problem, I'd rather not see a horse for the first time when it's already caught and prepared for a buyer to view. The bay Thoroughbred mare was turned out with two little Paint cross fillies and a couple of geldings, but she turned to face me and Linda as we approached and allowed herself to be haltered and lead away without a fuss at all.

Linda explained to me that she had been a racehorse and that she was registered with the Jockey's Club, and that she had even been moderately successful on the track. She was purchased by a guy wanting to breed her and sell the babies but once he had her, he realized that the horse market had crashed and that it would not be financially beneficial to breed her so he just left her on the property in a turnout fenced with barbed wire. As horses are prone to doing, she got herself in trouble. Her legs were badly tangled in a loose piece of barbed wire and were cut and injured and required medical attention. The man wasn't interested in paying for a vet to stitch her up and pay for her medications to recover so he planned on sending her to slaughter, where he would earn at least a couple hundred dollars for her.

Linda heard about her situation and intercepted her before anything too horrible happened. She gave the man more money than the slaughterhouse would have and brought the mare home to rehab. The vet was called immediately to dress and suture her wounds, and she lived on Linda's property with other rescue horses for almost a year, recovering from her injuries and learning how to be a horse again.

Linda also admitted to me that she had only ridden her a handful of times and that she was large and strong and intimidatingly fast. She then proceeded to ask if I wanted to ride the mare. With an introduction like that, how could I resist?! Linda rides only English, but offered me the one Western saddle she owned to test drive the horse. I saddled her and accustomed her to the saddle, which she had never worked in before.

I found the mare to be high energy, excitable, and hot-blooded. But she also was kind and willing and tried very hard to do what I was asking of her. I smelled raw potential. Add that to her sweet and affectionate nature, her speed, and her very low rescue price and I was sold.

I wrote Linda a check that very same afternoon, with plans made to have Linda deliver her to me that following weekend. Linda gave me her papers, with her name at the top: Welcome Queen. It was only then that I remembered to ask what her barn name was.

"Well, the guy before us had been calling her Queenie but she's just too sweet for that. We've been calling her Rose." Linda replies.

And sure enough, the only white marking on her whole body is a rose-shaped star and stripe on her pretty face.

Rose arrived at the stables the following Saturday and was nervous. Understandably so, she hadn't had the best experiences with being traded around. She came out of the trailer and I put her into her new stall to figure things out. She paced a bit and looked around and debated on whether or not to make friends with her new neighbors. Overall, she settled in very nicely. Linda was sad to leave, as Rose had won over a lot of hearts in the year she stayed with them but I told her she could visit anytime and that we would stay in touch.


Little did I know how "in touch" we were destined to become.

Over the next ten months, Rose and I learned about each other. I rode frequently, and Rose learned how to have a job again. I got to know the ins and outs of her personality, and she about mine.

Unfortunately, May brought with it a tempest of happenings. Teri and I were in the middle of attempting to buy a house as well as pack and get ready to move. The roller derby championships were quickly approaching, as was my breast reduction surgery. Our house closed and we moved just before the big game. We scheduled a housewarming party for the Friday to follow my surgery. We had to take into account that some of our good friends were celebrating their wedding on Mount Lemmon a week or two after our housewarming and that we had made additional camping plans for July. Not to mention of course that Teri's birthday as well as three of our other friends all were in June or July.

Needless to say, Rose and Rocky did not see much attention during those four weeks. I thought of them every day and kept telling myself that I just didn't have the time, or the energy, or I had other things to do or that I couldn't go yet because I hadn't healed enough. Excuses, essentially. I felt terribly about neglecting them.

My parents had spent a lot of time with me the week following my surgery. Finally on Thursday I asked if they wanted to go visit the horses, as my dad hadn't met Rose yet. We drove out there late afternoon and walked up to Rose's stall.

"Hi big girl!" I greeted her... and mused to myself that I should ask the caretaker to cut down her hay rations, as she had developed quite the hay belly over the last month.

"She looks kinda fat, Ash." my mom remarked.

"I know, she's not a very typical Thoroughbred when it comes to food. She loves to eat! Most Thoroughbreds are hard to keep weight on because their metabolisms are so high." I attempted to explain it away.

I haltered her and lead her to the hitching post, where I groomed her and picked out her feet. I took her into the small round pen to let her run around. She was nosing the ground and meandering slowly. I had been bragging to my parents about how awesome she was and how fast and how much potential she had and blah blah blah, and here she was all fat and slow! Embarrassing. I clucked at her and asked her to trot out, which she did.

"They really should have given Rose the pregnancy test at the hospital instead of you!" laughed my mom. I bust out laughing and agreed, but didn't think anything of it.

Rose was reluctant to pick up a lope and she kept dropping out of her trot to walk. I was a little frustrated and definitely embarrassed and most highly of all, ashamed of myself.

I stopped Rose and clipped her lead back on and we took her back to her stall. We got back into my parents' Volvo SUV and drove back home without another mention of her large and unsightly abdomen.