Driving away from the house that day, I watched in my rearview mirror as he ran the fence line as far as he could go. Standing tall, ears pert, intent on trying to get my attention, hollering for me to come back. If only he could find a voice. I was heart sick as I left him standing there, thinking back on the time that I had just spent with him.

When I looked in his eyes, I saw the faintest glimmer of hope. Hope to be loved. Hope to be someone’s special boy. Hope to be given a better life. He looked back at me through eyes almost void of spirit. Yet, I detected the faintest spark. I gently caressed his soft, velvety muzzle, rubbing his head, giving him attention and the much-needed love he craved. He soaked it up. His life flashed before my eyes. I saw a stoic, proud boy. Tall and toned, well groomed. Working cattle. Playful antics. Hiding the old rancher’s tools. (At least I hoped that was his life before.)

As he stood before me this day, with his sun-faded halter sitting askew on his head. I saw an almost defeated “used to be.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. How could anyone let him get in this condition? Yet, I already knew the answer.

I spoke to him, comforted him, and told him that he was going to be “my baby.” His ears turned to hear every soft word that I whispered. His face gaunt, such kind eyes stared back at me. He looked as if he had a neck all the way down to his hooves. Loose skin and a brown coat hung where chest muscles once sat toned and strong. Knobby knees, hooves in dire need of a trim, his left looked like a clubfoot. He walked with a limp. He was skin and bones; I could count every rib. He had no rump and hipbones protruded from underneath his sun faded coat. My heart was crushed for him.
To me, he was the most beautiful boy in the world. I promised him that day, before I left, that I would come back to get him.

So much has transpired since then.
I’m happy to say I kept my promise, and he is still the most beautiful boy in the world. Today he is living life as a horse, just being. No grueling training schedule. No cattle to round up. No rodeo circuit to travel. He’s spending his retirement living out a life of leisure. His name is Chase.

For every horse who does not have a voice, every horse sent to auction and eventually into the slaughter pipeline, every horse discarded after giving their all, Chase’s Landing will be that soft place to land. We will speak when they cannot. We will love when all hope is gone. We will untangle the mess of emotions to gain their trust again.

This is how and why Chase’s Landing came to be.

Toda this day, I still cry thinking of how he looked that first day. My tears now, however, are happy ones from knowing he is saved.

Chase is one of six horses. All were rescued from certain death, all with their own set of traumatic experiences, all arriving here at Chase’s Landing to heal.

What #RightHorse means to me

It means that he has the same love, admiration, and respect for me as I do for him.