The Hoofbeats of My Heart

By Laverne McPhail Harris

Horses are often more than a hobby. For many people, especially girls, they are a passion. The horses at Friendly Horse Acres walk, trot, and canter across the pages of The Hoofbeats of My Heart. Their stories, and the stories of their family, will bring smiles and perhaps a few tears. Hopefully they will temporarily quench the need for one more horse story.

Many of the stories about the horses at Friendly Horse Acres have been published as individual articles. This is the first time they appear as a unit.

All profits for The Hoofbeats of My Heart go to Friendly Horse Acres, a nonprofit organization that puts children, especially at risk children, together with "friendly" horses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 23, 2008
• ISBN: 9781466956797

Laverne McPhail Harris

Although I don’t remember it, my mother told me my first word was “horse.” I am the director of a nonprofit organization, Friendly Horse Acres. Yes, horses have always been in my life. My passion for equines is only slightly more than my love of books and writing. I have published a nonfiction book, The Hoofbeats of My Heart. My son did not inherit my passion for equines, but he did develop a love and skill for racing motorcycles. For years, until he got a home of his own, our horse pasture was either a grazing area for animals or a motorcycle track. Neigh, neigh. Vroom, vroom.

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© Copyright 2008 Laverne I. Harris.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

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Illustrated by: Angelic Blanchard

Cover Design / Artwork by: Angelic Blanchard

Note for Librarians: A cataloguing record for this book is available from Library

and Archives Canada at www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN: 978-1-4251-5636-7

ISBN: 978-1-4669-5679-7 (ebk)

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

SECTION I

My Family, My Support

Horse-crazy family

(My first published column)

How to Fight the Blues

Bonny Blue

Granny

Pairs

No More Rings

Stitches

Steve’s Knee

Mum

SECTION II

Horses Who Have Carried Me,

Children Who Have Inspired Me

Maisie

Dusky Babe

Gift

Angel

Driving Splash

Students’ Show

Panic Attack

Show Sheen

Jodee’s Music

Finding a Buddy

Skeeter the Pony

Rites of Passage

SECTION III

Dogs and Cats Living Together

Susie and William

Superdog

Good Dog, Leia

Scally

Barn Guardians

Neffy and Toot and Sweetee, too

A Pheasant for Breakfast

SECTION IV

Introduction to PeeChee

The Mother’s Day Gift

Psychic

Flirt

SECTION V

My World in Miniature

Evening Jog

Stallion Donny

Donny and Shadow

Showing

Dressage Letters

Hannah

Melissa

A Nurturing Soul

To Be Continued

For Mum and Pop.

Who always understood me.

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INTRODUCTION

The library never had enough books about horses when I haunted the stacks as a child. I had been born wanting to breathe the same air as horses and if I couldn’t be around them, I wanted to read about them.

I had never considered that, as an adult, I might be the person to write about my beloved equines. Instead, I scribbled works of fantasy (ignoring all punctuation) as soon as I could write. I had approached middle age when a serendipitous parade glued my horse-crazy life to my desire to read and write about horses

The blisters on my heels popped, and they bled down my socks into my soft moccasins. When I chose my footwear in the morning, I had been sure my feet would stay comfortable throughout our march that hot September day in 1989. The local Buckley newspaper had advertised Clarence Hamilton Day as a parade for horsemen and women. I had not thought to calculate the distance involved, nor the fact that everyone else would be riding a horse, when I talked Steve, my husband, and Mark, our 12-year-old son, into taking part. I suggested, Let’s dress up in costume and lead a couple of the Miniature Horses. Five miles (give or take) leading two little horses behind saddled mounts proved to be an endurance test. I had the advantage of my blue, cotton, pioneer bonnet and Steve had a cowboy hat, but Mark had reason to grumble about the heat, the pace, and our feet. None of us had the shoes for the trek. Even the minis lagged.

As we started up the Collins Road hill a fresh-faced young woman dashed in front of us from the side of the street. She crouched and flashed a camera. "This is wonderful! Who are you? Can I get in touch with you? I’m Shannon Hopkins from The News Review".

I recognized Shannon. We subscribed to the paper. She wrote a page of horse news and stories called Manes and Reins and she also had a weekly column, with her picture beside it, called Hoof Beats.

My blisters stopped hurting so much.

In October of 1989, Shannon featured our farm, Friendly Horse Acres, in Manes and Reins. We also were the subject of Hoof Beats.

A few weeks later, Shannon wrote in her column that she was leaving the paper to return to her home in Ireland. Would anyone be willing to submit sample columns to her? The paper wished to continue Hoof Beats.

I would and I did.

In December of 1989 I became published, writing HoofBeats.

On my own, without the opportunity from Shannon and The News Review, I would not have dared to sit down and write about horses; yet, when I combined the great passion of my life (horses) along with my delight in writing, the union made sense. I can’t draw, I can’t take a focused photograph, but I can write stories. Most of us who have a passionate love of something want to share that love.

One day, scientists will discover that a love of horses is part of DNA in some of us, rather like a musical ability. The gift tends to run in families. Sometimes it skips a generation. But then, inexplicably, a compulsion to be involved with equines can appear in a child for no apparent reason. The genetic material surfaces and the son or daughter of two non-horsy parents is born horse-crazy.

Most girls around the age of 11 or 12 develop an interest in horses. The youngsters beg for riding lessons, and if they are lucky the lessons happen. Sometimes this develops into a lifelong passion for riding. Most girls discover the opposite sex and never come back to horses-although many do return when they reach a financial position to support the equine habit.

However, that particular love of horses is not the same as the child who is born with horses programmed into their genes. These individuals may never be able to ride or own a horse. Yet, something about the animals resonates in their blood. They feel a kinship. If people born with the equine gene cannot own a horse or ride one, they find ways to stand by pastures gazing at the animals. They stare at photographs of horses; their homes are full of paintings and drawings of horses. The top of their nightstand is covered in non-fiction and fiction about horses. At night, after a day full of mundane chores, they dream of horses. DNA will not be denied.

I was extremely lucky. I was able to get riding lessons, and then to acquire my own horse.

Consider, though, the bewilderment of my doting parents, both of whom where born free of the horse gene. My father worked in the New Westminster school system as a teacher, a librarian and a principal, sometimes all three at once. My mother taught piano lessons and kept an immaculate home. I, their only child, dreamed of horses. Mum claimed I lisped horse as my first word.

Riding lessons began when I turned seven. By the time I had turned 14 I had saved up enough money to buy my first horse, Nifty. I quickly learned that being with my horse, grooming her, talking to her, taking leisurely walks with her at my side, loving her, was more important to me than riding.

My twenties were a horseless decade, except in my dreams. I married Steve. Mark, our only son was born in 1977.

In 1984 my husband had a life-threatening operation. The knowledge of our mortality became more than a philosophical concept discussed in a college class.

For years, Steve and I had talked about acquiring horses. Although the animals were not pre-programmed into his genetic makeup he admitted a fascination with the creatures, especially the draft breeds, the gentle giants. Steve also expressed an interest in owning a racehorse. My husband had been raised on a family farm in Renton, Washington. Pigs, sheep, goats and an occasional cow shared his childhood. My husband understood the work involved in keeping a large animal.

As soon as Steve’s health was assured, I began looking for a horse. Splash, my Paint, and Jodee, a Quarter Horse, came home in November.

Friendly Horse Acres had begun.

By 1989 we had collected many more horses and ponies. Although we did get compliments from a veterinarian on how well we managed a dozen animals (many of them Miniatures) on a two-acre lot, we knew we had to move on.

We relocated to five acres, with the chance to lease an adjoining five, in Buckley.

And we met Shannon Hopkins.

And I started writing about horses.

The Enumclaw Courier Herald picked up my weekly Hoofbeats column in 1990 when The News Review folded. Hoofbeats ran for the next eight years.

I still haunt the library and bookstores for stories about horses. I am not alone in my constant search. So, for all those who never find enough books about their passion, I make this offer to share my beloved horses. My horses and ponies have created The Hoofbeats of my Heart’.

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SECTION I

My Family, My Support

I am fortunate. My mother and father adored me and wanted what they believed was in my best interests. Even if my love of horses confused them they did their best to see that I was allowed to follow my passion.

Some people have indicated that because I am an only child, I must have been spoiled. I certainly did not feel spoiled when my parents passed away within five months of each other in 1992. My dad suffered a major stroke in March. Mum followed him, again with a stroke, in August. I would have felt completely alone if I had not had the strong support of my husband and son. I still want to pick up the phone to call my parents when any significant event happens in my life.

If I have been fortunate in my parents, I also have been fortunate in my choice of life-mate. Steve no longer shares my enjoyment of the horses as much as he did when we took riding lessons together. He has relegated himself to the maintenance of the farm. Yet he beams with pride when he sees me acquire new students and he is always delighted when I am called to put on a clinic. Even though he has lost his interest in riding, he is proud of my accomplishments. I have a support system.

Mark, our son, no longer lives at home. His job involves computers and when he talks about his work he could be speaking in a foreign language. He spends his off-hours with his bikes, motorized and pedal. He has been known to disrupt the life of our horses by vroom-vroom-vrooming around in their pastures on his motorcycles. I would say he terrorizes the animals, except the horses have become sanguine about his behavior. They find a corner and observe Mark with disgust. Probably, they are optimistically praying he will soon cease and desist. He usually stops in under a half an hour, loads his bikes and heads to a more professional setting. When I have expressed my concern for his safety, Mark gives me an open look of amazement. But Mom, you still ride horses! He has a point.

My memories of my grandmothers are fresh and strong. Because of my Grandma McPhail, in recent years, I have developed a taste for Scottish music and I attempt to sing. Granny Lavery had a strong nature and I find I have developed some of her mannerisms as I age. I, too, laugh and smack a convenient object when I am pleased. I wish I could remember my grandfathers with clarity but they both passed away when I was young.

I am what my family has made me. And, more importantly, what they have allowed me to become.

Horse-crazy family

(My first published column)

People often tell me how lucky I am to have a husband who is tolerant of my love for horses. In fact, he has been known to encourage me. I believe it is important for married couples to share their interests, but acquiring a herd of horses is not the same as rock collecting.

Steve and I can usually find a horse-related activity to pursue when we happen to have a day off together. The Buckley/Enum-claw area provides a cornucopia of events for the horse-set. We enjoy horse shows and Steve likes horse racing. We have attendedhorse auctions, open houses and we browse in tack shops. Sometimes we visit our horse-owning friends. Of course, there is always the joy of riding or working with our own horses. Together, Steve and I talk about our dreams for our animals.

Sounds good, doesn’t it?

Except for the lack of brakes on this runaway train loaded with horses.

Attending an auction can be extremely heart breaking as we watch decent animals go to the packers. Should we bid? Should we bring that one home?

And visiting friends with horses can be expensive, especially if that friend has a horse for sale.

Occasionally one of us will remind the other that we do not need another horse; we cannot afford another horse. Unfortunately, though, we have often convinced ourselves that just one more horse won’t make that much difference in our feed, farrier, veterinarian and training bills.

Then there are the endless chores connected with owning so many animals. Grooming, watering and mucking are continuous jobs. Even feeding