What's in a name?

What's in a Name? by Kris Garrett

Everyone runs into hard times now and then. As anyone with horses knows, our equine friends can easily eat us out of house and home in no time. When you are boarding a horse with someone else, you can fall behind very fast.

I did not know the woman who owned the little black Arab stallion, named "Midnight." A friend of mine called and asked if I could find it in my heart to rescue the little fellow from a boarding facility where he had been abandoned. The owner was in financial trouble, and willing to give up ownership rights to this horse in exchange for $200, if he was moved THAT DAY.

"A stallion?" my husband choked, eyes wide. "What are we going to do with a stallion?"

"Um, geld him, I suppose," I stammered. "Please? He really needs a home..."

My dear, sweet husband never has been able to say no to me. It wasn't long before we were in the car heading first to the bank for some cash, and then to the boarding facility to meet "Midnight," and his soon to be former owner.

Sometimes you can feel anger coming off a person, like it is palpable heat. That was my first impression of Midnight's owner. She was radiating anger like a furnace. I held out my hand in a friendly gesture, but she ignored it. "Did you bring the money?" she asked, without returning my hello. I opened my purse and pulled out the bank envelope with the two, crisp, new, one hundred dollar bills. I handed it to her. She glanced inside and thumbed through the bills. Satisfied, she said, "Okay... let's go see him."

The facility was a mix of new and old, with a bright, new indoor arena and an old shed row barn that looked like it had not been painted in several decades. When we came around the corner to the open side, I spotted what looked like a gangly, underdeveloped yearling colt standing in the dark shade of the three sided shed. "How old is he?" I asked, confused.

"Five years old," the woman grumbled. "He's been here for three years, ever since my divorce."

The manure in the shed was literally knee deep, and I quickly calculated that it was probably about three years worth. There was a mound of grass hay on top off the poop, and a rusty water tank buried nearly to the top in old manure. I looked for a gate, but could not find one. That's when I noticed the woman untwisting a strand of baling wire that held the metal panel to the front of the shed. Obviously no one had gone in the stall in a very long time.

"Don't let him get in the sun," she instructed, as she tried to corner him in the back of the stall. "It will make him fade. He is a true black, which is very rare in Arabians, and you don't want the hair damaged by the sun. I've never let him outside, not since the day he was born," she stated with pride.

He was cautious, but not panicked, as she grabbed for the ratty blue halter that he had obviously been wearing for a very long time. Quick as a cat, she latched on to the nylon cheek strap and held on tight as he threw himself back, lifting her a full two feet of the ground. She didn't let go. He realized he was caught and immediately submitted, dropping his head. She snapped a leadrope on the halter ring and handed it to me. "I'm not giving you the papers," she stated firmly, with no room for argument. "Not for only $200. He's worth thousands, and I'm being totally ripped off. But I have to have him out of here NOW. If you want the papers, I want another three thousand."

I looked at the small, scrawny creature standing before me and wanted to cry. He looked so pathetic. He was skinny, though not abusively so, filthy dirty, with extremely long hooves and sad, gooey eyes. He wouldn't have brought $50 at an auction. "I don't care about papers," I replied, feeling anger well up inside me. I needed to get away from the woman before I said something I would regret later.

We had not brought the horse trailer, thinking we were just going to take a look at him first and come back if we decided to take him. But the thought of leaving him in that dark hole for one more minute was more than I could stand. "I'm going to walk him home," I whispered to my husband. It was only about three miles away, all quiet back roads, and I was not going to wait. My husband scowled, but didn't argue.

I thanked the woman and started down the long gravel driveway. The little black stallion whinnied as we passed other horses in their pens. He was obviously worried and was not sure he wanted to leave. When we reached the road he stopped and planted his feet. He'd decided he'd gone far enough.

"Midnight, we need to go," I cooed. "I promise there will be other horses where we are going. You'll be safe. You've just got to trust me right now, please?" I swung the leadrope toward his tail and got his feet moving. Slowly he started forward, one step at a time. My husband was following in the car, not sure what to do to help.

We made it about a hundred yards down the road when the nervous horse stopped again. I could feel his fear growing. I wasn't sure if it was because of my husband following us in the car, emergency lights flashing, or if he was getting too far away from his home of three years. He became agitated and was trying to pull away. I was concerned I was going to lose him, and found myself getting intimidated. I've had horses all my life, but I'd never handled a stallion before and I was getting nervous.

My husband pulled over, got out of the car and walked up to us. He stood with us for a bit, petting the frightened horse on his dusty black neck. We talked and cooed, assuring him that he was going to be okay. "I'm not sure this was a good idea," I admitted. My husband shrugged.

I started toward home again, and got nearly a mile when I realized we were picking up speed. The horse had stopped trying to turn around and had his nose touching the small of my back as we trudged along. I imagined that he had his eyes closed and was simply resigning himself to his fate. My husband was trying to stay far enough back not to interfere and was having trouble keeping the car moving slow enough. I waved him up and told him to go on ahead and get a place ready for our new friend. He was hesitant to leave us, but at my insistence he slowly drove past and headed for home.

I was getting a bit winded as we walked up the long steep hill as we got close to our house. I was chattering away to the horse, passing the time by telling him about our other horses and assuring him he would be okay. That's when I heard it.

"Sky." It was one word. I stopped and turned around to see who was there. "Sky. Call me Sky." I heard again. Suddenly I realized that I was not hearing the words with my ears, but rather in my head!

I'd heard of animal communication, but had never had a conscious experience of it before. I felt myself tremble with excitement, wishing I could call my husband back to tell him what had just happened. I stared into "Sky's" dark eyes, and said out loud, "You want to be called Sky? Okay, we can do that. You've had enough of living in the dark, like it's always midnight, haven't you? You're right, Midnight is a horrid name for a fellow who wants to see the sky!"

"Sky! I want to be under the sky! And I want to be called Sky." I heard him say again in a child-like voice in my mind. I was stunned. I fought the impulse to dismiss what I was hearing as my imagination, and decided the experience was just too strong for me to have made it up. So, for the rest of the walk home, I called my new friend, Sky. Over and over I said his name, and told him how wonderful his life was going to be. And I promised to NEVER lock him up in the dark, where he couldn't see the bright sky.

When we got home I saw that John had put our other horses in the barn so Sky could get acclimated to our place without having to deal with them. I opened the gate and led Sky into the pasture. I tried to take off his old halter, but it was so stiff and the buckle was so rusted that I couldn't get it off. So, I unclipped the lead rope and let him go.

Sky stood for a moment, staring at me. "Go on, Sky! You're FREE!" His eyes grew wide, and suddenly he spun on his haunches and launched himself into a full gallop. Around and around the pasture he ran, as fast as his delicate legs could carrying him. I kept hearing "Free! Free!" in my mind. I'd never seen a horse so happy!

The next few weeks were rough for Sky. We had to cut his halter off with a knife, and the dent in his nose never did go away. He got very foot sore from running on the hard ground after so many years of standing in soft manure. We put him in a smaller paddock so he'd stop running so much, but where he could still get outside and into the sun. We got his feet trimmed right away, but it took him a month before his feet toughened enough that they did not cause him pain.

During that time we had a summer solstice party at our house. We set up a ring of hay bales for people to sit on and had a drumming circle to celebrate the first day of summer. It was great fun. After the ceremony, while people were gathered on the porch for a BBQ, I let all the horses out into the pasture where we had been. Sky went to the exact center of our circle and laid down. He stayed there for the rest of the evening. Many of the party goers were moved to tears as they watched the little horse sleep in the circle. No one disturbed him. My belief is that he felt the healing energy created by our circle and was absorbing the positive charge we had left behind.

Sky filled out quickly and proved himself to be a true gentleman with people and other horses. He has never again been locked up in the dark. He was gelded and trained to ride. And while he remained fairly small, he became an excellent trail horse.

I've never again had a conscious "communication" from an animal. I suppose I probably hear more than I think I do, but only Sky has "talked" to me in such a profound way. Even so, Sky opened up a new world of possibilities for me. I will always be grateful for my experience with the little black Arab stallion who loves to look at the sky.

-Kris Garrett