Scroll down for the short story.
In many ways I am your typical middle-aged horse lover. I grew up LOVING horses. Anything horses. In 6th grade, I was a jockey for Halloween. We knew Thoroughbred trainers so I got to wear actual silks! Never mind that by the age of 12 I was already 5’8″ and would tower over (and outweigh even at 125 lbs) most real jockeys.
I rode on my grandparents’ property, no lessons, rarely a saddle. “My” horse’s name was Brandy. She colicked when I was in middle school and had to be put down. That was my first experience of colic. I wasn’t there when it happened. My mom told me after school. Like many horse owners, the word “colic” strikes fear in my heart to this day. Non-horse people stay tuned for an educational post about colic.
After college, life got real and I had to do grown up things like get married and have kids. I married a Marine, so moving every couple of years meant no horses. At age 40, I had the chance to reconnect. I started volunteering at a large horse rescue. Then they hired me and then I went on to help start a new rescue and that’s a whole story in itself.