Meet Molly

Lil and I both love this pony's story. We hope you'll enjoy it, too.

                                               Meet Molly

She's a grey speckled pony who
was abandoned by her owners when  Hurricane
Katrina hit southern Louisiana .  She spent weeks
on her  own before finally being rescued and taken
to a farm where abandoned  animals were stockpiled.
While there, she was attacked by a dog and almost died.
Her gnawed right front leg  became
infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but
LSU was  overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare 
case.  You know how that  goes.
But after surgeon  Rustin Moore met Molly, he  changed his mind. 
He  saw how the pony was careful to lie down on different  sides  
so she didn't seem to get sores, 
and how she allowed  people to handle her. 
She protected her  injured leg. 
She constantly  shifted her weight 
and didn't overload  her good leg.. 
She was a smart pony  with a serious
survival ethic.

Moore agreed to remove her leg below  the knee,
and a temporary artificial limb was built.  
Molly walked  out of the clinic and 
her story really begins there.

'This was the  right horse and the right owner,' Moore insists.
Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient. 
She's tough as nails, but sweet, and she was willing to cope with pain.
She made it obvious she understood that she was
in trouble.  The other important factor,  according
to Moore , is having a truly committed and compliant
owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care
required  over the lifetime of the horse.

Molly's story turns into a parable for  life in Post-Katrina Louisiana ........ 
The little pony  gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb. 
A human prosthesis designer built  her a leg.

The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life,
Allison  Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.

And she asks for it.  She  will put her little limb out,
and come to you and let you know that she  wants
you to put it on.  Sometimes she wants you to take
it off  too.  And sometimes, Molly gets away from Barca.

'It can be  pretty bad when you can't catch a three-legged horse,' she laughs.

Most  important of all, Molly has a job now.  Kay,
the rescue farm owner,  started taking Molly to
shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, and  rehabilitation
centers.  Anywhere she thought that people needed
hope.  Wherever Molly went, she showed people
her pluck.  She inspired people, and she had a
good time doing it.

'It's  obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to
play in life, Moore said.  She  survived the hurricane,
she survived a horrible injury, and now she is  giving
hope to others.' Barca concluded, 'She's not back to  normal, 
but she's going to be better.  To me, she could be a
symbol for New Orleans  itself.' 

This is Molly's most  recent prosthesis.  The middle
photo shows the ground surface that she  stands on,
which has a smiley face embossed in it.  Wherever
Molly  goes, she leaves a smiley hoof print behind.

A few thoughts on Natural Horsemanship

Henk writes:

I share my paddock with 4 other horses: two are Friesians (Wilby and Charlee), one is a Welsh pony (Bella), and the fourth is a Standardbred (Sunny). When it’s time to go inside for the night (and, of course, dinner!) Wilby gets to go first if he wants to. He’s the boss. Sometimes he chooses not to exercise this right, and lets me, Charlee, and on occasion even the pony, go ahead of him. Sometimes he hangs back like we’re allowed to go ahead of him, and then crowds up from behind which makes me, personally, extremely nervous. Especially if the human in charge of the lead shank takes a bit too long to attach it to my halter or to open the gate for me to go through. By the time we’re ready to go I’m usually dancing and twitchy, thinking I’d made bad decision. So why will I do it again the next time I get the chance? Probably the same reason humans watch horror movies. It’s deliciously scary.

But one horse who never comes in anything but last is Sunny. He’s just naturally a bottom-of-the-totem-poler. I can chase him away from the last bit of the yummiest hay just by flicking an ear. We don’t pick on him, though, and Bella, Charlee and I take turns hanging out and grazing with the little nipper. He’s a cute little guy, and I guess we all feel a little sorry for him. His nerves are weak, his lungs are suspect and his tendons need to be treated like fragile glass – booted for riding and wrapped when he’s inside. He’s afraid of men particularly, to the point that Lil’s two grown sons don’t even bother trying to catch him when they’re bringing us all in, but leave him for her to get. The one exception is Lil’s husband, Robert. He can always catch Sunny, even if it sometimes takes a while. It can take ANYONE a while some days. Robert laughs and says he “horse-whispers” Sunny into letting himself be caught.

Robert’s version of horse-whispering is usually to wait Sunny out. He’ll just chill out on the water trough with the lead rope, and wait for Sunny to decide he’s played hard-to-get long enough and that he is, after all, hungry. Then he’ll wander over toward Robert and stop 10 to 15 meters away, his nose pointing very slightly toward the gate. This means “ok you can come get me now and I won’t run away when you reach for the halter.” This process can take a while, though, and I’ve seen even Lil get spitting mad and threaten to leave Sunny out for the coyotes.

Other people’s idea of horse-whispering can be a lot more complicated, though. They usually show up with lots of special equipment like rope halters and magic wands or whatever they call them, fancy low-impact bridles and custom-made or pillowy treeless saddles. Their horses are barefoot (so am I, so there’s nothing wrong with that!) and their consciences are clear. They practice what they call “natural horsemanship,” which is all about being your horse’s friend and leader.

Lil took me to a clinic with a natural horsemanship guru once when I was 3, and of course the first thing the woman said was that I was looking (“desperately looking,” if I recall correctly), for a leader because I flipped out a little bit while Lil was forced to change my regular halter for one of those rope things in a strange arena full of people with camera flashbulbs going off (I tend to have that effect on people). And then the crazy woman smacked me with her “special rope” ($57 for a 20-foot length) when I crowded her, as I tend to do when freaked out. And while demonstrating the maneuver to Lil (who was stupid enough to ask, and even more stupid in agreeing to role-play the part of, well, moi). She smacked her right in the face. That’s when Lil said she’d had enough and took me back to the barn where I apologized for my three-year-old behaviour and Lil apologized for putting me in the hands of that crazywoman. Lil and I trust each other. We can handle pretty much anything together.

As to being “friends,” well, cool. I’d certainly prefer to have my human be my friend than my enemy, but let’s be serious here people – I’m a horse, and you’re not. I like hanging out with humans. I’m weird that way. But I don’t see myself moving into Lil’s house anytime soon. And while I may push the boundaries a little bit from time to time, I fully expect Lil to let me know before I’ve gone too far. I weigh 1200 pounds. If I were “playing” with an elephant, I’d want him to like me, sure, but I’d also like to know he sees me as his boss, not just his buddy.

Besides, where is there anything “natural” in the relationship you humans have with us horses? There’s nothing natural about carrying you guys around on our backs. It’s one of nature’s little jokes that she made us anatomically suited to the exercise (up to a point, anyway), and for millennia we as a species have decided to let you get away with it. “Natural?” Leave your gates open for a day and see if it’s natural for your horses to stay inside those paddocks – no matter how spacious and well-cared for they may be. And even though it’s smaller, a rope halter is no more natural than one made of leather or nylon or woven fairies’ wings and unicorn hair. I’ve never seen a halter of any description sprout spontaneously on any horse’s face.

We horses love that you humans try to understand us. We really do. It can’t be easy for a self-centered ego-driven tightly wound stressed out predator to try to understand a horse. Some of you “get it” more than others do, and some of those who get it are pretty good at sharing it with those who don’t. Please continue. But give me a break. Don’t think you’re treating me the way another horse would, or that I would expect you to. Leave the “horse whispering” to the one or two in a hundred thousand who have the gift, and don’t kid yourself that anything you do with me is “natural.”

An Outstanding Horse

Henk writes:

OnTRA (the Ontario Therapeutic Riding Association) is asking its member centres to nominate outstanding riders, volunteers, and of course HORSES for special recognition. So naturally I expected Lil to nominate me. You don't get much more outstanding, after all. With my tall, dark and handsome looks, my charming personality, my aristocratic breeding... It should be a no-brainer.

But for some reason she thinks that working only a handful of therapeutic lessons this year (I have some back issues which are not helped by bouncing riders) disqualifies me.

She's nominating Dooley instead.

Dooley. The "Unhappy Appy," as Lil's friend Jo calls him. It's not that he's really unhappy, or has anything to be unhappy about. Like the rest of us, he spends most of his time hanging out in a pasture with his buddies, and only has to do a few lessons every week, which aren't exactly taxing. It's just that he never looks truly enthusiastic. About anything. He'll stand to be groomed. He'll wait to be mounted. He'll follow his volunteer leader around at whatever speed and in whatever direction is asked. He'll stand to be dismounted and untacked. He'll go into his stall and eat his dinner. Like a botoxed human,  his expression never changes. 

I'm so much more fun than that! I stick my head into my volunteers' stomachs, sniff my riders' boots when they mount up, and drool politely at the sight of carrots or dinner.

Dooley won't even bend his legs when someone's trying to clean out his feet. He'll lift his hoof off the ground, but only a few centimeters, and the human has to bend his leg for him if she wants to actually get at the bottom of his foot. He just doesn't go out of his way to cooperate. I think the word for him is sullen.

But there are other words, too. Like patient. Calm. Utterly trustworthy. Lil can turn her more advanced riders loose on Dooley and never worry that he'll spook or run away. His reaction to anything out of the ordinary, like a rider getting off balance, is to stop and wait. That response makes him worth his weight in gold as a therapy horse. But he also challenges his riders to pay attention and use their aids, because he'll wander off into the middle of the arena or over to the door where the parents stand to watch if the rider gets distracted. Put a more challenged rider on him, though, and Dooley becomes Steady Eddy, giving her a quiet, easy ride.

When the first wheelchair athlete came to us, Lil picked Dooley for her to ride. He was guaranteed not to worry about the wheelchair rolling up the ramp beside him or the lift they'd need to mount the rider up. He knows his job, and he just does it.

And it's all the more amazing that he does all this while gradually losing his eyesight to Moon Blindness. He can't see much more than shadows now, but it's not making him jittery and spooky like it does with some horses. If he gets in an unfamiliar spot he'll simply stop and wait for a human or another horse to show him where he can go safely, and then moves on. The only real issue is lungeing. He can't see the whip cues, so he needs to hear them. Not that big a deal.

And did I mention that he's 26? He doesn't look it, though. He's plump and nicely muscled up for an old fellow, without that skinny old-horse look. His riders love him, too. They bring him treats like apples and granola bars and oatmeal cookies, and take his picture to stick on their fridge at home. One rider's Mom reports that while watching the movie Secretariat her daughter explained to everyone in the room that Secretariat had nothing on Dooley, the very special horse she rides every week.

So I guess I can forgive Lil for nominating Dooley instead of me. Respect for one's elders and all that. Go Spotty, go. Win that thing!