Bridge Called Hope (13 page)

Now that locations were determined and waiting to receive us, as a group we needed to start loading horses as quickly and safely as possible. Being unsure for so long as to even
if
we would be able to move the horses on this day, little had been organized in that direction.

Again, no equine rescue equaling this level of danger or volume had ever been attempted before. In the volunteers’ efforts
to help expedite the method of how to accomplish this monumental task, attitudes rose with tempers as the day wore on and no horses were yet loaded into the growing serpentine of waiting trailers. Everyone wanted what was best for the horses, which was ultimately to move them out of this living hell. In an effort to make this happen, the lieutenant and officers were being verbally pulled into pieces by strong personalities that fought to be heard.

Shortly after the announcement had been made, one volunteer took it upon himself to try and load a stallion with hooves so horrifically overgrown that they curled upward and backward toward his knees like grotesque “slippers.” Although frightened, the stallion was readily trying to step up into the trailer. Yet every time the horse lifted his leg, his hoof would catch and bang on the underside of the trailer bumper. Many watched in rising hopelessness as the weakening stallion tried over and over to accomplish such a seemingly simple task. As the stallion’s strength ebbed, his sense of discouragement flowed, until in utter exhaustion he gave up completely. Everything about the body language of this fatigued horse indicated that he sadly believed that what was being asked of him was impossible.

Unfortunately, perhaps acknowledging that daylight was fleeting by, the volunteer lost his temper and began to lash the spent horse until the horse collapsed in absolute exhaustion under the trailer. Among those who came to give aid, this incident incited a verbal riot. Everyone was so anxious to help, yet no one seemed to know how or where to start.

Several women literally ran up to Troy and begged him to do
something
. Before he could answer, their composure disintegrated like an earthen dam besieged by a flood. Their frustration, anger, and anxiety gushed out in a wash of tearful words pleading for a “kinder” solution.

Understandably, the emotional intensity of the day was exacting a toll on everyone. There were so many more people with far greater horse experience there than Troy and I; who were we to go to the front and lead others with vastly superior skills? It was already after one o’clock, and our window of daylight would soon be closing.

Very quietly, Troy asked the lieutenant if he could please try to move a few of the stallions off the little hillside up by the garbage pile. While talking on one cell phone and waiting for a reply on another, the overwhelmed lieutenant simply nodded and waved Troy in the direction of the trash heap. That was good enough for us.

In our earlier evaluation, we had noticed that many of the stallions that were being kept in the pens had, in fact, been handled before. We were able to approach several who allowed us to scratch them a bit. These would be the first few that we would try to convince that a better life lay waiting for them on the other end of this trailer ride.

I went to our truck and retrieved all of the rope halters that we had brought with us. Troy expertly backed our three-horse trailer through a maze of downed fences, tiny pens, and trash. When he was as close to the corral of amiable stallions as he could safely maneuver, he shut off the ignition and met me behind the trailer. There, in the fading light of the afternoon, we held hands and prayed. Both of us asked for wisdom, for ourselves and everyone else present … wisdom to do something we had never done or seen before … load 130 wild horses.

The first pen held two adult stallions that had obviously been living together for quite some time. Both allowed us to quietly approach and catch them with ease. With gentle reassurance, Troy let the first stallion know that he meant him no
harm and that all would be well. The first stud stepped right up into the trailer without hesitation.

The second stallion was a monstrous paint that stood easily more than sixteen hands. Had he been inclined to do so, he could have seriously hurt anyone who got close enough. Instead, he was a perfect gentleman and, like the first stallion, peacefully stepped up into the trailer.

The third stallion was living alone in a tangled wire pen that shared a common line with the pen of the two horses already in the trailer. He was a very small, very beautiful black and white colt. By the time Troy and I had convinced him to come and just “look” at the trailer … a small crowd had started to form.

This stallion was clearly the youngest, and perhaps had never been in a trailer before. As Troy led him up to the open door, he balked and snorted in fear. Although most who had gathered were there in hopeful support, some of the “strong personalities” voiced jeers that rose like fiery arrows flying toward our backs. “You can’t load stallions side by side, they’ll kill each other!” and “He’s never been in a trailer … whatta ya think you’re gonna do? Just walk him right in?” and “That big paint horse is gonna kick the fire outta that little black and white guy!”

Troy stood with a very “soft” posture and just stroked the youngster’s neck. I could tell that he was praying. More onlookers were arriving by the minute. Everyone was there to help … but truly no one knew how to start. In my heart, I joined Troy in praying that this frightened young horse would trust him enough to “step up” with him.

Very gently, Troy began to ask the young horse to move forward toward the waiting box. To everyone’s great surprise, the colt lifted his left front foot … but not quite high enough. His effort
was rewarded with nothing more than banging his hoof against the rubber bumper of the trailer. Several times the youngster repeated this process with the same result. He was lifting his foot up … just not high enough to reach the trailer floor.

I knew what Troy was thinking. If he could just “show” the young horse how high to lift his foot, the colt would probably do the rest himself. In what is certainly a very dangerous maneuver, Troy began to run his hand down the back of the colt’s front leg. As the horse picked his foot up in response to the gentle pressure Troy applied … Troy moved his foot to the trailer floor.

In silence, Troy turned and just looked at me. I knew exactly what he was asking me to do. While gently raising my arms, I took several very measured steps toward the young stallion’s rump. He glanced at my approach and began to slightly cower in the hind end.

Troy hinted for him to come forward. The attentive colt slowly lifted up his other front foot. Now, both his front feet were inside the trailer.

Together, we paused to allow the youngster time to process this new accomplishment. While speaking only to the horse, Troy softly rubbed his neck and shoulder. After several moments, Troy glanced at me again; it was time. Again, I silently raised my arms and stepped toward the horse. Like a little Cub Scout going on his first outing, with ears up he hopped right into the trailer. I quickly closed the door in case he changed his mind. He didn’t. He seemed completely content to be in the space he was in. I let Troy slip out the back and secured the door for travel.

Upon noticing his new “bunkmate,” the giant stallion in the middle of the trailer announced that he would be the boss by bellowing with earsplitting volume. “That’s your cue!” I yelled
to Troy, who was already in the truck cab preparing to leave. By putting the truck in its lowest gear and allowing it to literally inch forward, he shifted the concentration of all three of the stallions to their feet and staying balanced, instead of who would be king. While barely rolling forward, the trio of horses began to trailer like peaceful, four-legged peas in a pod.

The results of this tiny victory garnered an unexpected response. I watched in private awe as visible tension surrendered into visible relief. Many individuals were absently nodding in agreement as the full trailer pulled away. A few women even shared a high five, muffled by gloved hands. This is what we had all come for; this simple action was our uniting cause.

Troy, with a cowboy’s nod and a thumb’s up to me, was the first to leave this nightmarish site with a full trailer of “evacuees.” While waving back at my sweet man, I couldn’t help but feel deeply moved by his silent kindness and leadership. Choosing to stay behind, I would follow the fresh path that he had cleared and help organize the mass relocation that was to quickly follow.

The collective sparks of hope bolstered by this minor success ignited into an unstoppable flame. The door had been opened, now it was time to move forward, shoulder to shoulder. The volunteers began to lay aside their own “agendas” and come together as a team … a team that had a
big job
to do.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but realize that there are times in this life when it is not the most educated or skilled who are ultimately equipped to lead … sometimes it is the one who just simply steps forward. It is not enough to merely know what is right … we must
do
what is right.

Everything changes when we shift our perspective to God’s. His focus is on our mustard seed of faith … not our mountain
of doubt. He realizes all that we are … not all that we are not. He sees all that we have … not all that we lack. God desires only what I have … and He does only what I cannot.

When we view our problems from the same perspective … anything can be possible. Anything
becomes
possible when we choose to lay our fear aside and simply … step up.

John, age 14, when asked which class in
school he enjoyed the most: “Ummmm … 
lunch!
”

Jenna, age 6, when speaking about how much
Lightfoot loves her: “I don’t mind his scars;
I just see how much he loves me.

A
fter what had already been an extreme and emotionally charged day, it was time to go to work. The Sheriff’s Department had been made aware of the miserable plight of 130 horses in need, and with great difficulty was finally able to secure two safe locations where they could be moved.

My gaze lingered on the back of our truck and trailer as Troy slowly pulled away from the rescue sight with the first three rescued horses. With a tiny twinge of sadness, I knew that he would not be returning. We both acknowledged that it would probably be best if he stayed at the Fairgrounds, one of the two locations that had been selected to house the needy horses, where he could help with the “receiving process” as the equine refugees arrived.

I had been quietly requested to stay behind and help organize the ensuing exodus. Since few of the horses had ever been touched by a human being, the task at hand was going to be a very complicated and dangerous one.

Apparently after hearing how Troy had been able to trailer the first three stallions, the incident commander had officially given me the go-ahead to assemble a working crew and begin loading horses.

It was now nearly two o’clock, and with the official “green light” to proceed, we were able to formulate how we were going to move wild horses into trailers with whatever “tools” we could find around the decaying ranch. Together with many friends, we hastily constructed a “catch pen,” chute, and collapsible loading pen out of all of the semi-usable metal panels that we could find on the property.

Because most of these horses had never been handled, attempting to halter them was completely out of the question. We would begin by pushing approximately a dozen horses at a time into the catch pen. Here, each horse needed to first be processed and documented as evidence for the Sheriff’s Department before it could be loaded into one of the dozens of waiting trailers. This was a very tedious process that took great concentration from many of the volunteers. Within the milling herd in the catch pen, every horse had to be photographed, assigned a general description, and identified by breed, gender, age, weight, and condition. (It was agreed that the three horses Troy had already moved would be processed as soon as they reached their new location.)