The Wild Horse Warriors Journey is a program based on experiential horse activities that are designed to nurture emotional growth and healing from trauma and is offered to first responders, active duty and veterans with PTSD, TBI, MST, Anxiety, Depression and Suicidal Ideation at no cost. A Stunning Dressage Performance by Blu Hors Matine Click on the Picture Can You Pass This Horse Quiz? Click the Picture. |
Have you seen this face? This is my former stallion, now a gelding, Golden Ecstasy aka "Gideon."
For those seeing this for the first time, I recently found out my former Arabian stallion was likely sold to a kill buyer in the WI/MN area on or around August 2015 - he may have been shipped south to Texas, Oklahoma or Louisiana. I am hoping and praying that someone saved him and that he is out there somewhere. I need to find him, please help me! Gideon is currently a 17 year old Arabian gelding (I believe he was gelded in 2015??), liver chestnut with four socks, a blaze that goes over his left nostril, with a large freckle in between his nostrils. PLEASE SHARE/CROSS POST - thank you!! https://netposse.com/view_report.asp?reportid=5161 |
The trailer for the 2017 documentary, Harry and Snowman. Showman, a broken down Amish plow horse was rescued off a slaughter truck bound for the glue factory by Harry DeLeyer who paid $80 for the horse and named him Snowman. In less than two years, Harry & Snowman went on to win the triple crown of show jumping, beating the nation's top pedigree horses. This is their Cinderella love story as told by Harry, Click the picture. |
June 28, 2016 - Lauren Hillenbrand, author of Seabiscuit: An American Legend.
A year ago today, I was sitting in my office in Washington, DC, scrolling down a page on the internet, when I saw an ad on Craigslist for a horse in Wyoming. It looked like any other ad, but then I saw the horse's name: Genuine Reward. So long ago, I had known that name. |
When I was twelve years old, I saw my first Kentucky Derby. It was won by an incandescently lovely powerhouse of a filly named Genuine Risk, only the second filly in history to win the race. Her sensational performance thrilled me to my bones. Two weeks later, my sister Susan and I got up long before dawn, drove to Pimlico Racecourse in Baltimore and spent close to twelve hours standing at the finish line so we could see Genuine Risk finish a gallant second in the wildly run and extremely controversial Preakness, the second leg of the Triple Crown. Three weeks later, she was second again, in the Belmont, coming so close to sweeping racing's fabled series. She was unquestionably one of the greatest racehorses, male or female, in history.
Genuine Risk galloped into retirement with the highest of hopes, and was bred to the greatest of them all, Secretariat. Sadly, the foal she gave birth to was stillborn, a chestnut colt with three white legs, just like her father. It was only the beginning of her fertility troubles. Time after time she was bred, and time after time the pregnancies ended in heartbreak. Finally, on my birthday in 1993, she delivered a little golden jewel of a foal, alive and healthy. He looked just like his mother. With her breeding troubles in mind, they named him Genuine Reward. The story was national news, and the beautiful little foal was a media darling. Genuine Risk would only give birth to one more live foal. She lived a long and happy life and died peacefully in her paddock in Virginia at age 31.
Genuine Reward had minor soundness issues, and never made it to the races. After being born into instant celebrity, he faded from public view. Until that morning one year ago, I had heard nothing about him in close to twenty years.
When I saw the ad, I was at first delighted to see him, looking radiantly healthy. But then I saw the asking price: $500. This was far below the price a slaughterhouse would pay for him, and it was very likely that such a low price would draw a "killer buyer," a person who prowls auctions and for-sale ads, sometimes under false pretenses, purchasing low-priced horses and sending them to be killed for meat.
Literally seconds after I saw the ad, I grabbed my phone and called Michael Blowen at Old Friends Equine Retirement, a paradise for former racehorses. I told him I'd pay for the horse and anything else necessary to get him from Wyoming to Kentucky, if Old Friends would take him. Genuine Risk had given me so much joy, and had brought me into a lifetime of loving thoroughbred racing; to help her son find a safe and happy home was the least I could do for her. Michael said yes, and not long after, Genuine Reward arrived at Old Friends. He had been lavishly loved by his former owners, and looked so beautiful, much younger than his 22 years. He was also, Michael told me, a complete sweetheart, and uncannily intelligent.
Last fall, I traveled across the country by road as I moved to my new home in the west. We took our RV to Old Friends, and there I finally met Genuine Reward. He was as affectionate as Michael had told me, hurrying to his stall door and bending his head and neck around my body in a big, sloppy hug. I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him back, fighting back happy tears.
We stayed at Old Friends for two days, parking our RV right by the barn where Genuine Reward, alongside the likes of Derby winner Silver Charm, slept. We lay awake at night, listening to the horses snort and stir in their bedding. In the day, Genuine Reward was turned loose in a huge, grassy paddock which runs alongside the entrance road to the farm. He had assigned himself the role of Old Friends' goodwill ambassador, rushing up to greet each of the many car- and-busloads of visitors that stream up the road to see the great racehorses who live there. He adores people, and nuzzles each person in turn. I've never seen a horse more joyful, or more smitten with people, than this one.
When we drove out of the farm, Genuine Reward was grazing in his paddock. He'd been merrily rolling on the ground after an overnight rain, and was happily caked in mud. I was very tired and a mess, having not showered in days. But I had to say goodbye. I jumped out of the RV and called to him. He raised his head and ran to the fence, thrust his head over the top rail, and buried his muddy face in my chest. I fed him peppermints and posed for this one photo of my last moments with him. He was, as always, all affection. When we drove off, he stayed by the fence, watching us go.
I am so happy I saw that ad a year ago today.
Genuine Risk galloped into retirement with the highest of hopes, and was bred to the greatest of them all, Secretariat. Sadly, the foal she gave birth to was stillborn, a chestnut colt with three white legs, just like her father. It was only the beginning of her fertility troubles. Time after time she was bred, and time after time the pregnancies ended in heartbreak. Finally, on my birthday in 1993, she delivered a little golden jewel of a foal, alive and healthy. He looked just like his mother. With her breeding troubles in mind, they named him Genuine Reward. The story was national news, and the beautiful little foal was a media darling. Genuine Risk would only give birth to one more live foal. She lived a long and happy life and died peacefully in her paddock in Virginia at age 31.
Genuine Reward had minor soundness issues, and never made it to the races. After being born into instant celebrity, he faded from public view. Until that morning one year ago, I had heard nothing about him in close to twenty years.
When I saw the ad, I was at first delighted to see him, looking radiantly healthy. But then I saw the asking price: $500. This was far below the price a slaughterhouse would pay for him, and it was very likely that such a low price would draw a "killer buyer," a person who prowls auctions and for-sale ads, sometimes under false pretenses, purchasing low-priced horses and sending them to be killed for meat.
Literally seconds after I saw the ad, I grabbed my phone and called Michael Blowen at Old Friends Equine Retirement, a paradise for former racehorses. I told him I'd pay for the horse and anything else necessary to get him from Wyoming to Kentucky, if Old Friends would take him. Genuine Risk had given me so much joy, and had brought me into a lifetime of loving thoroughbred racing; to help her son find a safe and happy home was the least I could do for her. Michael said yes, and not long after, Genuine Reward arrived at Old Friends. He had been lavishly loved by his former owners, and looked so beautiful, much younger than his 22 years. He was also, Michael told me, a complete sweetheart, and uncannily intelligent.
Last fall, I traveled across the country by road as I moved to my new home in the west. We took our RV to Old Friends, and there I finally met Genuine Reward. He was as affectionate as Michael had told me, hurrying to his stall door and bending his head and neck around my body in a big, sloppy hug. I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him back, fighting back happy tears.
We stayed at Old Friends for two days, parking our RV right by the barn where Genuine Reward, alongside the likes of Derby winner Silver Charm, slept. We lay awake at night, listening to the horses snort and stir in their bedding. In the day, Genuine Reward was turned loose in a huge, grassy paddock which runs alongside the entrance road to the farm. He had assigned himself the role of Old Friends' goodwill ambassador, rushing up to greet each of the many car- and-busloads of visitors that stream up the road to see the great racehorses who live there. He adores people, and nuzzles each person in turn. I've never seen a horse more joyful, or more smitten with people, than this one.
When we drove out of the farm, Genuine Reward was grazing in his paddock. He'd been merrily rolling on the ground after an overnight rain, and was happily caked in mud. I was very tired and a mess, having not showered in days. But I had to say goodbye. I jumped out of the RV and called to him. He raised his head and ran to the fence, thrust his head over the top rail, and buried his muddy face in my chest. I fed him peppermints and posed for this one photo of my last moments with him. He was, as always, all affection. When we drove off, he stayed by the fence, watching us go.
I am so happy I saw that ad a year ago today.