The Journey from Hope to Healing: A Story of Prevailing over PTSD

By M. C. Combs

This is a story of the human spirit overcoming the ravages of a brain altered by horrible, traumatic experiences. With the help of his equine therapy horse, Johnny has learned to live again. Now, he seeks to find a way to help other veterans learn how to live happy and productive lives after being left helpless by their experiences in war. The outcome is a story of how a man driven to help others creates a place where veterans, severely mentally disturbed with PTSD, can recover. Here they can find their way back from horrible circumstances to living their lives again. Each veteran’s war story is different as is the manifestation of their post-traumatic mind. Every veteran in the story requires a different approach but all in a supportive and therapeutic environment that Johnny creates. Hopefully, this story provides a blueprint for caring for our veterans who return with invisible wounds that too often destroy their lives. It is a story of the drama and pain endured by these victims of PTSD and one of hope as they learn to live positive lives again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647509149

M. C. Combs

M. C. Combs is a retired business executive who's been writing for various business publications for much of her career. She has published poetry and one military-based novel about her husband's profession as an aircraft accident investigator for the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps. Darby, M. C. Combs' first work for young people was inspired by the life of a friend, a heroic military doctor who returned home with PTSD. She then saw the wonderful work that trained therapy horses are doing with our veterans with PTSD. The horses are changing lives, as are the people who create these therapy programs.

Book preview

Story

About the Author

As a business executive, M. C. Combs owned her own company for fifteen years and then led several other companies in her career. Shortly after retiring, and with a friend’s son, a military physician, suffering severely with PTSD, she began trying to help him after all the usual therapies had failed. She discovered an equine therapy facility with an excellent track record with PTSD victims. Before he could try this very effective program, the depression overcame him, and he took his life. After that event she initiated extensive research into that awful condition and the available resources to help those who suffer with it. She became determined to be a positive force in helping people to understand and find solutions for our service men and woman who suffer with PTSD. A story of ‘what might have been’ had her friend lived became the first book, Darby, the Horse from HOPE. Now, she is actively working on proactive solutions. This second book, which is a sequel but also a standalone story, presents one type of solution and hopefully greater understanding of the needs of our veterans who suffer with PTSD.

Dedication

To Navy Commander John D. Harrah, Jr., M.D.

Copyright Information ©

M. C. Combs (2021)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Combs, M. C.

The Journey from Hope to Healing

ISBN 9781647502898 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781647509132 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781647509149 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021905193

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

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Acknowledgment

Thomas Capello, Director of the Malcolm Randall Veteran’s Administration Hospital, retired. He guided this author through the Veterans’ Administration’s structure and procedures.

Berenice Kleiman, writer, editor and public relations consultant who spent many hours working with your author to give this book the dignity and humanity every veteran deserves.

Connie Boley-Lilly, a celebrated West Virginia amateur photographer, for the perfect cover photograph for this book.

Prologue

This book is a story of pain and recovery, of fear and devotion, and of defeat and victory. It is the story of men and women who gave much of their lives serving our nation. While the story itself is fictitious, the place and the circumstances of the characters are very real.

In the earlier book, Darby, The Horse From HOPE, Johnny, the main character, a military physician who served in Forward Aid Stations in Iraq, caring for our wounded soldiers and then went on to serve as a Navy Seal team physician was a real person. Unfortunately, he returned home a very different person who, unfortunately, succumbed to the horrors that haunted him. He had wanted to try equine therapy and plans had been made for him to do so, but his demons wouldn’t wait. The first book is a story of ‘what might have been,’ had Johnny lived. It is likely that he’d have found a way to move forward in his life. These two books are the literary extension of the life he so richly deserved.

In his make-believe life, Johnny worked with his therapy horse who continually challenged him to leave the pain behind. Johnny learned he would not be the man he had been before his mind turned against him, but that he could be an even better self. Darby, the therapy horse, saved Johnny’s life through carefully led experiences of love and acceptance and never judgment. He loved Johnny for who he was, not who he had been before he went to war.

This book is the story of what comes next in the life of Johnny and Darby. It is a story of ‘what can be’ as Johnny returns to HOPE, where he met and worked with Darby, his therapy horse. He has purchased Darby and has plans for both man and horse to extend more comprehensive treatments for veterans who, like Johnny, returned from their military service to little more than despair.

It is the beginning of what this writer believes can be a part of a comprehensive solution for those who come out of the military having lost themselves and with little view of a possible future. There is much work ahead to create an environment where any veteran who needs help for unseen wounds will know how to access effective assistance. I pray this book will be the beginning of gathering a new army designed to assist in this effort. We owe them no less.

Chapter 1

Out of the Darkness

He was sitting alone in his hotel room. There was a knock on the door which should be the dinner he’d ordered from room service. Eating alone again, he thought. He couldn’t stand to go and sit in a restaurant where there were tables of couples enjoying being together, and then there would be tables of friends, talking and laughing as they shared their time together. At least, with the room service, he didn’t have to pretend to be enjoying himself.

He opened the door, and the waiter rolled in the table and showed him everything on the table to make sure he had all he’d ordered. He signed the check, adding a tip, and said, Goodnight, to the waiter. The door closed, and he was alone again.

John Harris, who’d adopted the elongated version of the nickname Johnny, had been an emergency physician, but he would never practice medicine again. He pulled a chair up to the table and then turned on the television, hoping for a distraction while he ate. First, he tried the news but found it depressing. Then, as he turned channels, all he seemed to find were shows with guns and explosions. That was even worse, so he quickly turned the set off and went back to his food.

If I could only turn my mind off that easily, he thought as the television screen went black. Tomorrow, if I can just get to tomorrow, I won’t be alone anymore. I’ll have new things to think about and someone to talk with, if I can get through this night.

After forcing himself to eat his meal, he rolled the table out to the hallway where the waiter had told him to put it so it could be picked up later. Locking the door and then changing into his bedclothes, he set the alarm on the bedside table for 5:30 in the morning. With nothing else to do but try and get some sleep, Johnny turned off the light and laid on his bed. He tried to think about the new life he’d begin tomorrow, but as his eyes closed, it all came back.

There were lines of corpsmen carrying patients on stretchers. The lines seemed to go forever as everything else around him was dark and blurred. He heard himself barking orders as he looked down and saw a small child who had no legs. He wasn’t shocked, as he’d seen this too many times before. All he could do was stop the bleeding and move to the next patient, a soldier whose face and neck were bleeding profusely. Once again, he did what he had to do to save that life, and this went on and on until he finally screamed, No more, waking himself to the reality of his hotel room.

Unaware of where he was for what seemed many minutes, but in reality it was only a few seconds, Johnny felt sweat running down his face and back. Once he was completely awake, he looked at the alarm clock. It was three o’clock in the morning, but he didn’t dare to go back to sleep. The dreams always returned.

Johnny had always been a loner, or that’s what people said of him. No one understood that alone wasn’t what he’d ever wanted to be. While making friends seemed so easy for his younger brother, it never failed that what he chose to do was somehow solitary. He hunted and fished on his father’s farm, always alone. When he was in college and then medical school, being a top student was so important to him that all his time was used for studying, alone.

He loved his residency as he worked with teams of physicians and nurses. The number of hours were unimportant as he enjoyed the idea of helping people as a team. He’d been engaged once to a girl who liked the same things he did. They’d go hunting and fishing, but he soon realized that he’d never felt anything special for her, so the engagement ended and he was alone again.

With the country at war after 9/11, John knew that physicians with his specialty would be needed. His parents encouraged him. His father had been a flight surgeon, loving his military service. He didn’t serve in wartime, but Johnny had in a new kind of war where fewer were killed but far more lived with disabling injuries because of the medical advances for saving lives that exist today. Too many days and nights he’d find himself back in the Forward Aid Stations in Iraq, seeing an average of 67 patients a day.

Rather than trying to go back to sleep and allow himself to be caught up in his past, Johnny got up, showered, packed his things, and headed out for his day. He’d left his new truck and horse trailer in two parking places in the rear of the hotel. After finding a sleeping desk clerk, he checked out and headed to his vehicles. He had backed the horse trailer into a parking place behind some hedges. The truck was across the parking area, ready to back up and attach the trailer.

When he reached the parking lot, the area was illuminated by tall streetlights. He walked first to his trailer to check the hitch before he backed his truck to connect the two vehicles. As he approached the trailer, he thought he heard sounds coming from inside. It sounded like someone was snoring. He walked quietly back to his truck, opening it and extracting the small 38-caliber pistol he kept concealed in the pocket on the driver’s side door. He tucked the pistol into his jacket pocket.

Walking back across the parking lot and creeping alongside the trailer, he saw that the tailgate had been lowered and left in the down position. It was clear that someone, who was still snoring, was sleeping inside the trailer. Johnny stopped, thinking about the best course of action. Then, he stepped behind the trailer, positioning himself in the center, and with one movement, he lifted the tailgate into the closed and then locked position.

There were two men sleeping inside the trailer. They both awoke at the sound of the locking of the tailgate. Johnny heard them yelling, Hey, let us out. We were just sleeping here. Let us out. They both ran to the back of the trailer to see a man, gun in hand, standing behind the trailer.

Hey, guy, please don’t hurt us. We didn’t mean any harm, said one of the men. It was hard for Johnny to tell how old these two were as their hair was long and stringy, falling over the part of their faces that were visible in the dim parking-lot lights. The other man was obscured by the trailer door. They stood inside the trailer, begging to not be hurt.

Calm down, men, said Johnny. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know who you are and why you were sleeping in my trailer.

’Cause it looked nice and was empty and would keep us safe, said the man who had appeared first. Well, we thought it would, but we found out that we couldn’t get the tailgate closed from inside, so we just decided we’d leave it down. That hedge behind you kind of shelters the back from anyone’s view.

Okay, guys, I’ll open the tailgate, but you have to promise not to run, said Johnny, knowing full well that their promise probably didn’t mean anything. They both agreed, and Johnny lowered the tailgate, having moved the pistol to his pocket only until the tailgate was down. The pistol was returned to his hand the moment the tailgate was down. Both men inside were gathering their meager belongings. Johnny waited for them to come out of the trailer.

Once they emerged from the trailer, Johnny asked them to walk across the parking lot to his truck, as the lights were brighter in that area. They did as he asked, and Johnny lowered the tailgate of the truck, gesturing for them to put their belongings in the truck bed.

Okay, said Johnny. Now, I want to know who you are and why you were sleeping in my trailer. At that, one man sat on the back of the truck. After positioning his belongings in the truck, the other, who came out of the trailer first, turned back to Johnny.

Man, we’re sorry we were in your horse trailer. We’ll get on our way. Just let us go, said the taller of the two men.

Wait a minute, I need to know some things before that, Johnny responded. Now, tell me your names and about yourselves. How did you get in this condition? he asked. Johnny guessed that these two were homeless vets. He’d heard that there were hundreds of them in Central Florida. He knew his hotel was not that far from the V.A. Hospital and that homeless vets tried to stay close to the hospital so they could get there for their doctors’ appointments and to get their meds.

The taller man, who looked a little cleaner than the other man, appeared to have only one arm. Both men were terribly thin and what clothes they had on were filthy and hung on their bodies. It was hard to tell much more about them in the dark with only streetlights, but the shorter one began to speak, Mister, we’re vets who have to find places to sleep near the V.A., and your trailer looked like it would be safe and comfortable. Imagine how excited we were to find it was new. We didn’t mean to hurt anything.

I’m a vet too, said Johnny. Can I trust you to do what I ask and hopefully we can get you a place to stay?

Yeah, man, said the taller man, but we gotta be able to get to the V.A. I’ve got some appointments comin’ up.

I understand, said Johnny. I want to know who you are and why you are looking for places to sleep. During the next few minutes, each man told his story which, unfortunately, was not unlike many of the stories Johnny had heard while he was staying at Honor House.¹ Both men had enlisted right after high school and found themselves in Afghanistan a few months later.

The taller one, who said his name was Randy, had lost his arm after an explosion from a suicide bomber. Unfortunately, it was his right arm, and being right-handed, it left him trying to learn to use his left until they fit him with a new arm and hand prosthesis. Lots of therapy in a military hospital had followed until, one day, he was released, his case transferred to the V.A. He’d had no place to go as both of his parents had died while he was away, and he had no siblings. There was an empty house in a little town in Georgia that he’d inherited, but it was too far from the V.A., so he found a real estate person to try to sell it. He knew his disability payments weren’t enough to allow him to go there and live in it. He didn’t really think a one-armed man could find a job in that small town either. Randy ended his story with a, Maybe someday.

Johnny then looked at the other man who quickly told him that his name was Tom. When he started to talk, it only took Johnny a few moments to recognize that this man had serious mental issues. He was angry and blaming everyone for him being homeless and not able to find any place to live. Johnny guessed that he was a PTSD patient because of the lifeless look in this man’s eyes. Johnny realized he’d need to ask more questions if he expected to learn about Tom. So, he did, and the answers only confirmed his suspicion of severe mental trauma.

Once the stories were finished, Johnny said, Now leave your stuff inside the truck and follow me.

Johnny got his bag and walked the men into the hotel. He found the desk clerk again and asked for his room key back. Before the clerk began to object, Johnny reminded him that it was only 3:45 a.m. He’d rented the room for the night and needed to get back into his room. The desk clerk looked at the two men behind Johnny and, with reluctance, gave Johnny back his room key.

While Randy and Tom showered, Johnny called a friend at Honor House. The friend answered like someone who was wakened from a sound sleep. Dave, it’s Johnny Harris. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I’ve a big favor to ask. Dave answered like a man still asleep. Johnny went on explaining about the two men and asking his friend if he could bring them to Honor House, the place where Johnny had lived as a homeless veteran. The people at Honor House were also the ones who took him to HOPE where the equine therapy had been. This was the place he credited with saving his life.

Johnny, said David as he was beginning to shake off the sleep. You know this is not how we do intake.

I know, I know, but I think these two are savable, and they need help, Johnny spoke in almost a begging voice.

I hear you, but here’s what you need to do. All intake here is only after a thorough evaluation at the hospital, so take them there. They’ll be given a place to stay as they wait to be evaluated tomorrow, said Dave. I can’t believe this, but we had two guys leave today as an apartment came open for them and, since they are both in school, it seemed like it would work. So, there are two beds. I’ll probably lose my job for this, but I’ll try and see that, if their evaluation shows they meet our criteria, the beds will be for them. Johnny, I’ll follow up with the hospital in the morning if you take them there now.

By a little after 4:30 that same morning, the three men appeared back at the front desk of the hotel. One was clearly the same man who had been a guest at the hotel. The two other men, both in poorly fitting but clean clothes, looked like they had fresh haircuts.

Johnny thanked the desk clerk and assured him that he wouldn’t be back. The three men left the lobby of the hotel and got into Johnny’s truck. He left the trailer in the hotel-parking lot and drove to the V.A. Hospital, following Dave’s instructions to see that they be evaluated and then, hopefully, could go to Honor House and have a chance to get better and be off the streets. He pulled into the entrance that Dave had suggested, only to see him standing there.

I was awake so I thought I might be able to guide your guys through this process, unofficially, Dave said. You can leave them with me, and I’ll get them to the right place to ensure they are set up for an evaluation.

Johnny had parked the truck right in front of the hospital, as there were few other vehicles coming and going at that hour. He turned to the two men seated with him in the front seat and said, One misstep, guys, and you’ll be back on the streets. Johnny took a long look at them. Don’t mess this chance up. It may be your one chance to live a normal life again.

Johnny got out of the truck, motioned for the two men to follow him, and walked to the door of hospital where Dave was waiting. He shook Dave’s hand and thanked him profusely. He motioned to the two men and introduced them to the man who had come out in the middle of the night to help. Then, Johnny headed back to the truck, only to hear Dave speak to the two men Johnny had deposited with him, That man is one of our success stories. When he came to us, I never dreamed he’d make it. Come on in. Let’s get you registered, and I’ll tell you his story.

When Johnny left the hospital, it was after 5 a.m. He was heading back to the hotel-parking lot to get the trailer. He saw an open McDonald’s and pulled in to pick up an Egg McMuffin and coffee. Then back at the hotel. Once he’d attached the horse trailer to his truck, he headed west to a special place called HOPE.

The fears of the night before were gone, and for the first time in days, Johnny felt good about himself. Doing something for someone else seemed to be the antidote to his loneliness.

---

¹ Honor House is a transitional home for America’s wounded warriors.↩︎

Chapter 2

Fresh Air, Fresh Visions

He was driving a country road covered with a green canopy of branches from the huge, old, live oak trees that lined the road. Spanish moss hung from many of the branches, a clear sign that he was driving in the ‘deep south.’ He thought back, remembering the first time he came to this place called HOPE. It was a time when all he wanted was ‘a way out,’ and by ‘out,’ he meant of his ‘life.’ He’d often sit in his room at the Honor House with his rifle on his lap. Guns weren’t allowed there, but he’d disassembled his rifle and carefully packed it in the one bag of the old and tattered clothes he still had left. No one was aware that he had it with him, and he hadn’t ever summoned the courage to pull the trigger.

Thinking back, he remembered that all he’d thought about for months was how to end all the pain and stop the night terrors. He’d tried everything that the military doctors, the V.A., and the psychiatrists had thrown at him, but nothing made the nightmares, or the anger, go away. Nothing could make him want to go on living. Now, here he was, not completely well but, at least, with a desire to go on living and a new purpose. This morning, through a strange encounter long before dawn, he’d felt that old feeling of satisfaction when he helped those two, homeless vets.

As he drove with his left elbow on the open window, Johnny thought of how he had changed since he first came to HOPE. When I lived at the V.A.’s Honor House, I was horribly thin, mostly from just not eating. I remember that day at Honor House when I accidently saw myself in a mirror, Johnny thought. I was a gaunt, pale, and a sickly looking person. There was no color in my face, almost gray. I hadn’t noticed before that I’d lost so much weight and looked like skin over bones. I was showing signs of gray around my temples. That may have been the beginning, when I realized I no longer knew that person in the mirror. Johnny continued to think back as he drove east into a rural area of Florida.

That was just over a year ago. Now, here he was, a very different-looking man. He had color in his face again, including a summer tan. He had gained back just enough weight that, with some regular workouts, he was appearing muscular and healthy. He was coming back to HOPE, not completely well but, at least, with a desire to go on living. It had been an extraordinary year, and, now, his life, the one he had wanted to end, seemed very precious. The night before in his hotel room had been put out of his mind. This morning, he felt good, strong, and ready to begin his new life.

Johnny was driving a brand-new red, four-door truck and pulling a shiny new horse trailer. He was heading to HOPE to pick up his best friend, the horse that helped him to want to go on living and had given him a new purpose for his life. He was an equine therapy horse named Darby, and, now, Darby would help him make that new purpose a reality. That is what PTSD victims needed most, a reason to go on, he thought. After their service is over, left with a damaged mind, they need a reason to learn to cope with the remnants of war and to go on living.

Johnny didn’t like to think of it this way, but he had ‘bought’ Darby. How can you buy a friend? he’d said to Terry when they’d made the agreement. With Darby gone, Johnny knew that HOPE would need the money to buy a therapy horse to replace the big dapple gray. He’d donated enough to allow HOPE to purchase at least two new horses and see that they were trained and certified.

Just a few months before, Johnny’s father had passed away. He’d left John, as his dad called him, the farm in mountains of West Virginia and enough money to run the farm and live comfortably. Sadly, thought Johnny as he drove, Dad didn’t live long enough for me to tell him what I have planned. Somehow, I know Dad would approve, he thought. Johnny’s dad loved the farm as much as he did and loved serving as a physician in the military before he returned to spend a life as a cardiothoracic surgeon.

Johnny turned his truck and trailer onto the road in Central Florida, a road that dead-ended at HOPE. He remembered the first day the Honor House brought him here to start the equine therapy. He thought back, I only agreed to go in order to stay at the Honor House. I remember how angry I was when they told me that to stay there; I was required that I take the prescribed classes and participate in some type of therapy. And then there were all the rules and required stuff, but I remembered being afraid of being put out on the street. I’d always loved horses, so, I wondered how tough this equine therapy could be. That day, that first day, he thought, changed my life forever. And, today, he said out loud. Today’s the beginning of that new life.

It had been nearly a year after Johnny first arrived at HOPE. On this day, the sun was just coming up, creating a golden glow over the eastern pastures of the farm called ‘Horses Helping People.’² Johnny had always felt that HOPE, the abbreviation for Horses Helping People, was a more-than-appropriate name. He had been one of those people who had learned to ‘hope’ again during his hours here. He’d often thought, What would have happened had I not been brought to HOPE? Would the pain have gotten so bad that I’d not have known what I was doing when I pulled the trigger on that old rifle? He had remembered times when he’d lost the conscious awareness of where he was or what he was doing, when all he saw and felt was a heavy darkness. But not today, he said out loud to no one in particular as he turned the truck and trailer into the parking lot.

The golden entrance to this morning seemed perfect for his new beginning. He parked the truck and trailer and walked toward the stable, saying a quiet prayer of ‘thanks’ for this place and the extraordinary animal he’d met here.

Julie, one of the volunteers at HOPE, had agreed to meet him here at this outrageously early hour. Julie was a petite brunette with bright blue eyes that seemed to sparkle when she was riding or caring for her beloved therapy horses. She was just 22 years old and had a degree in Psychology from the University of Florida. She was fortunate that her parents understood how much her work at HOPE meant to her and provided her with the means to be a volunteer. Johnny had been one of her favorite patients because she had been privileged, and that’s how she thought of it, to see this man go from emotionally dead to alive and well, loving everything about HOPE, especially Darby.

Beside the lush green pastures at HOPE, there was a big, old, board barn that had become gray with age. The barn had a center aisle and five stalls for the equine therapy horses. Two stalls were on the right of the aisle just past the tack room. The remaining stalls were on the left side of the aisle. While the barn was not ideal, it was the best the Board Of Hope, a nonprofit organization, could afford. The horses spent many of their leisure hours happily grazing, going under the big trees in the center of the pastures for shade when the temperature got uncomfortably hot, as it often did in this area of Florida.

Julie waited for Johnny in the aisle of the stable where she had been brushing Darby. The big, dapple, gray was standing in the aisle and was not quite sure why all the early morning activity. Much to Darby’s surprise, Johnny walked into the barn and came over to him with a big hug and then pulled an apple out of his pocket and gave it to his favorite friend. This reunion between man and horse was delicious, thought Julie. Johnny had been gone for two weeks and Darby had moped the entire time. Oh, he did his job with several children and a new veteran, but he hadn’t been himself. Horses grieve too, thought Julie. I often wonder if most people really understand how much horses are like people. They have all the emotions people do. They just can’t express them in speech. But if anyone could watch this reunion, they’d understand.

Good morning, big guy, said Johnny who always talked to Darby just like he’d talk to any friend. You ready to go home with me? He stepped back and took a long view of his friend, a muscular horse of nearly 17 hands in height. Now, with his age, Darby was almost white but with a medium-gray mane and tail. The most attractive thing about Darby was the intelligence in his eyes. Anyone who knew this animal could read him by just looking in his big and soft brown eyes.

Still chewing his apple, Darby remembered all that Terry, the executive director at HOPE, had explained to him. Johnny is now your owner. You’re going to move to a farm where Johnny lives. No one had told him that today would be the day, thought Darby.

Johnny unhooked Darby from the aisle lead and led him to the front of the barn. From there, Darby could see a bright red truck with a silver horse-trailer attached to it. Darby studied the trailer that looked very large to him under the sun which was high enough now to make it look like the trailer was glowing. The beams of sun seemed to dance all over the top of the shiny, silver trailer. Is that for me? thought Darby. He’d ridden in horse trailers before, but this one looked different.

You like it? asked Johnny. Remember I told you I would be taking you home with me? We’re leaving so early today because we’ve got a long drive ahead.

Standing beside Johnny as he’d shown Darby the trailer, Julie asked, Where’s home, Johnny?

Julie, Darby’s and my new home is in a beautiful mountainous part of West Virginia. I have a farm, and Darby will have a large barn that can be heated in the winter. Johnny was still standing in the entrance to the barn at HOPE, rubbing Darby’s nose and then patting his neck.

Everyone has been talking about Darby leaving, and Terry has found two new horses to replace him, said Julie. Oh, I know no horse could replace Darby, but our patients will still be well-served. Julie had just gone on talking even as she turned and headed for the tack room. I’ll get Darby’s things for you.

Julie, that won’t be necessary. You’ll need them for the new horses, and I’ve already purchased a new saddle, bridle, and really everything Darby will need, said Johnny. In fact, I got him some special high-tech saddle pads that will give him even more protection from his saddle. How about letting him keep his halter so he’ll always remember HOPE?

Julie looked back and said, Sure, and we can use the extra tack. I took him out for some exercise this morning before dawn so he’s ready for a good trailer ride.

Well, thought Darby. I wondered why she’d had me awake and out for a gallop before the sun was up. A long trip, huh? It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a trailer. It was when I came here to HOPE years ago. Boy, has my life changed since then, and it sounds like it’s going to change once again.

Darby knew he’d miss HOPE and everyone here. Julie explained to the big gray horse that his patients would start working with one of the other horses who was finishing his training. So, you needn’t worry about them, she assured Darby. She’d unhooked his lead, and Darby turned around and started walking back through the stable. He heard Julie say, What’s he doing?

I think I know, said Johnny. He’s realized that he’s leaving, and he needs to say ‘goodbye’ to his friends. This is a big step for Darby. I think he loves everyone here and understands he’ll be leaving you all.

Sure enough, Darby walked right down the stable’s aisle and visited every stall, nuzzling all the friends he’d be leaving behind. Julie and Johnny stopped and watched, both fighting back tears as they viewed the tenderness among the animal friends. It was like they all understood that they might never see their friend again. They don’t need to talk, do they? said Johnny, stating the obvious. They seem to understand that Darby is leaving. We forget that animals have friends too. What’s he doing now? Johnny asked as Darby left the stable through the back and walked toward the office.

I think he’s looking for Terry, Julie said. They were pretty close. Unfortunately, Terry hasn’t arrived yet. Terry was the executive director of HOPE and was supposed to have been there before Johnny and Darby left.

Darby heard Julie say that Terry wasn’t there, so he turned and walked back to where Johnny was standing. Julie then led Darby to the big trailer, one that was