It has been a pleasure to welcome Breanna (a long-ago student of mine), her husband Dekker, and their two horses, Helo and Scooter, to Freedom Farm. I asked Breanna to share Scooter's story with us. He and Dekker are regulars in our Friday morning Ground Work class. - MG
“Are you sure you still want him…???” Barry pleaded with me, his desperate eyes frantically scanning my face. He barely held back the rearing, bucking, flaring miniature stallion. The 10-month old miniature horse looked like a tiny woolly mammoth, painted with a smattering of chestnut red and summer sky white clouds. A tiny woolly mammoth whose name would be Scooter, fighting to flee his chicken coop stable.
In the stillness of panic, I recall the sound—the sound of furious snorting, as the baby horse struggled to escape. The harsh exhale and grunt of a 78-year-old chicken farmer wrestling this tiny beast. Lastly, the air was cut by the sound of a fight for freedom, hooves thrashing and banging on the wood door and sides of a 6-foot x 6-foot chicken coop prison that had been Scooter’s home for the last 7 months of his life.
Time stopped. My mind raced, filling with a dark cloud of dread as I thought to myself, “What did I just get myself into?!?! …My husband is going to kill me!! …Wait a minute, this horse might kill me!”
In shell shock, Barry stood there, trying to wrangle the horse. I quickly grabbed the lead rope, dispelling all the critical warnings and alarms going off in my head. The little horse fixed me with his heterochromic gaze—one eye pale blue and the other leaf brown—begging for help.
And. That. Was. It.
Quickly, because he was too short to reach the door of my vehicle, I grabbed a rotted out piece of plywood and went to make a ramp. Without poke or prod, the miniature horse vaulted in the van. As if he knew. As if he knew this heist was about to work. ‘Let’s rob this bank and get out of here!!!’
With a heart full of love and sympathy…and a little mischief, I handed Barry a wad of cash for his trouble, and raced out of the chicken farm.
From that chicken farm in Idaho, I made the trip back to my home, a small ranch along the northwest edge of Las Vegas, NV.
The ten-hour drive that followed was not all that bad. I had brought my mom with me on this adventure to rescue Scooter and we enjoyed a great mother-daughter trip. However, both of us were a little worried, when we crossed the Nevada state line, about this wild creature in the back of my van. My husband, Dekker, was still very much in the infant phase of his own horsemanship and quite busy setting up his new practice in Nevada. How was this going to be?!?!
Well, my concerns were erased when I watched Dekker lay eyes on Scooter. Love at first sight, and I had to peel them apart each day! When Scooter was on Dek’s lap one day, I realized my plan had worked.
|Scooter, Breanna and mom Debbie at Freedom Farm.|
Fast forward 6 months, and we are now in Washington. We are back at Freedom Farm with my former trainer, Mary Gallagher. We are together with family and friends. We are where our hearts and horses always wanted to be.
My husband has some words that he has attached below, to follow this short biography. I hope you will enjoy them. For me, they certainly helped answer an old farmer’s question:
Are you sure you still want him?
Yes. Yes, I do.
Scooter and I
A mini-horse and me
Off to the farm to learn how to be
|Scooter and Dekker in class.|
And He stands at three
Two friends, trotting by the sea
The combination is odd
Or it is just right
We sometimes get along, we sometimes fight
My size sixteen boot pounds
His teacup hooves prance
A man and a mini horse, learning to dance
It is not easy being too big
shirts never fit, jeans stop at your ankle
and off the bed, feet always dangle
It is not easy being small
Where you cannot reach the hay
And every other horse is way too big to play
Two souls that don’t have it so easy
Can make life a little better, together and free
Scooter and I. A mini-horse and me
|Taking a break after class at Freedom Farm.|