It was late October, a moody day, windy and overcast. Over breakfast, my husband Michael casually mentioned, “There’s a horse auction today. Want to go?” I replied, “I haven’t been to the auction in 20 years. Why not, we might find you a saddle.” We had recently acquired two semi-retired, 20-something draft-cross trail horses named Monty and Argo. At the time horses were a new venture for my new husband, but they had been a big part of my life on and off since childhood.
This would be Michael’s first livestock auction, so I gave him the same advice that my father had given me: “Sit on your hands!” Gear and tack had been auctioned before the horses entered the ring, and we did manage to score a decent western saddle. I had spent my time mulling over the tack, not browsing the horses, and couldn’t help but notice a lively chestnut that kicked out in the aisle. It was about the fifth horse in the ring, with a slight female passenger aboard. I whispered to Michael, “That’s a young one.” The auctioneer proceeded to fill us in: “This 16.2 hand, three-year-old Trakehner mare has champion bloodlines. Unfortunately, as a filly she sustained a fetlock injury, so she is being offered today as a sound trail horse. This mare has excellent bloodlines, is up-to-date on vaccines, and she has a sweet temperament.”
I was impressed by how this horse exhibited no signs of stress or fear in this animated setting. She appeared very regal, stopping in front of us, completely fixated on my husband. The bidding crawled up to $400; she put the brakes on again in front of Michael, who elbowed me. I said, “Two old people, two old horses. Three’s a crowd.” He replied, “Honey, four hundred bucks is pretty cheap.”
I said, “Honey, four hundred bucks is going to a meat guy.” And I pointed to a man on the left, and another on the right, that all the seasoned horse folks knew to be stock dealers. Michael was horrified as the chestnut exited the ring.
We hung around until the last whack of the anvil, paid for our saddle, and were on our way out when Michael paused to talk to the owner of this young Trakehner, who was visibly upset. He said, “I am sorry your horse didn’t bring more money, she’s very pretty.” The woman swiped a tear and said, “I can’t let her go for meat, but I can’t take her home. My barn is full.”
Michael asked, “What happened to her?” The owner said, “She was a high scoring premium foal, full of potential, that got tangled up in an electric fence at seven months old. We poured thousands into the breeding, and that leg.”
“How much did you want for her?” Michael asked.
“A thousand dollars and a good home.”
I injected, “Doesn’t anyone see a broodmare if nothing else? Personally, I wouldn’t breed her until she’s at least five though. Let her finish growing first.”
The owner said, “I like you already.”
Michael said, “I will give you twelve hundred if you deliver her.”
The deal was done and sealed with a handshake.
In the privacy of our car I said, “Michael, you know you can’t save them all.”
“We can save this one. That horse needs us.”
A few days later the lanky chestnut arrived at our hobby farm. Hazeldeen is ATA registered and we called her Hazel, and everything that had been said about her was true ‒ with the exception of a sweet temperament.
When I attempted to brush her she flinched, kicked, and nipped. The mare’s left rear hoof was a weapon, her front left leg having sustained the injury. I knew I had my work cut out for me.
Her eyes had so much expression, and she really flowed nicely, offering a natural extended trot on the lunge line, but she couldn’t be trusted. Over the course of those first two years Hazel constantly challenged me. She charged at me, cornered me, bit me, bit Michael, and kicked me twice. I told her, “Three strikes and you’re out!”
I had two choices: give up, or set some boundaries. So I dug in, watched YouTube videos, read Monty Roberts’ “The Man Who Listens to Horses” and Ariana Strozzi’s “Horse Sense for the Leader Within.” When this author suggested, “Your horse is a reflection of you” it resonated, and I thought, “I got hit by a car, and had nearly drowned as a child. I’d lost my father suddenly to an accident, been betrayed and through two divorces. I can identify with trauma.”
My barefoot farrier came faithfully every six weeks. With his balanced corrective trims there was a noticeable improvement in Hazel. It took a while, but at last she let me saddle her up. When I got on her back she planted her front feet and bucked about a dozen times.
Time for plan B. I’d win her over with kindness by having a carrot or treat in my pocket every time she saw me. I did this for about six weeks, and thought I was winning until that one day I didn’t have a bribe and she lashed out at me again. “Okay” I said, “I am sorry that you got hurt, but I got hurt a time or two myself, and I didn’t hurt you. You don’t trust me, and I can’t trust you. I’m at my wits end and tired of your nonsense.”
I kept reading books, more videos, and being good to her. With some quality hay, high mineral feed, and regular de-worming, she matured to a healthy weight. With time and patience Hazel began to respond. I could trust her to brush ninety percent of the time; she even let me ride her at a walk.
One day I wasn’t paying attention while brushing her. Hazel swung her head around to nip me, but instead she looked me in the eye, and intuitively I felt her communicate, “I am a sentient being!” Instead of enjoying and respecting our time together, I generally had an agenda. Between juggling a job, family, and chores, I had failed to respect and be grateful for our time together.
My heart sunk, and I apologized to her. The next time I came to see her I asked her come to me, and to my surprise she did. She brought her nose to my nose and we drew a few breaths together. Then Hazel began following me in the paddock, and focusing on me if I was outside. She whinnied for me in the morning, or when I arrived home. We were becoming friends ‒ or so I thought.
After almost three months of improved behaviour, out of the blue she lashed out at me again. I was so disheartened. “Michael, I just can’t trust this horse, she’s dangerous,” I told him. He, having a big heart, calmly said, “We’ve invested a lot of time and money into her, what are our options?”
I said, “I do know an animal communicator, Lauren Bode. She is a psychic that can speak to horses.”
When I spoke to my friend, she lsaid, “She is showing me the accident. Everyone is freaking out. This is followed by needles and a series of operations. The people are very disappointed because now she isn’t perfect. She feels worthless, because she can’t jump or do dressage. She can’t show. Awe, the poor thing is so sad, everyone is so sad. She says she chose your husband because she knew he wouldn’t let you give up on her.
“Pauline, you know how when you twist an ankle you tend to lean on the other side? This is what has happened. She has been compensating for the injury with the rest of her body. You get an equine chiropractor in to reline her back, and you will have a new horse.”
Equine chiropractor Kim Adie came out and spent over an hour working on my sassy mare. The following day Hazel came out of the barn and stopped for a good stretch. She extended her back right leg, then her back left leg, farther than I’ve ever witnessed. She yawned as if to show me how soundly she had slept and how good she felt. About ten days later I began lightly riding my now six-year-old mare.
The following spring we purchased a truck and trailer, and I joined the Ganaraska Forest Horse Club. Hazel and I thoroughly enjoyed the stellar trail rides and camaraderie of this casual group.
In 2020, on Michael’s birthday, he won $1,000 on a scratch ticket. The first words out of his mouth were, “This is going towards breeding the horse.” When I was Googling the vet’s phone number, a Horse-Canada.com story popped up entitled “A Series of Unfortunate Events” about the tragedy that almost cost a broodmare named Helga her life. Helga is Hazel’s mother, so naturally I read the story only to realize that the suckling foal described is our Hazeldeen!
This additional information helped me understand my horse better and also to connect the dots. Last summer, when the time was right, Hazel was bred to Galten Farms’ stallion Hope of Heaven. This past June I turned 60, and our beloved Hazel gave me the greatest gift: a healthy filly that we named Heaven’s Hallelujah.
What a treasure to have this experience at this stage of life. Hazel has turned out to be an excellent mother, and we are beyond thrilled with her outstanding filly. My heart is so full today, and I smile upon reflection of the series of events that have brought us to this point in time.
Healing Hazel has in turn helped me immensely. I’ve learned what I’m made of, and a great respect for a horse’s psyche. This horse gave me an education in patience, tolerance, and tenacity. We both have mellowed. These days I do my best to keep an open mind and seek the lessons in life’s journey.
