Looking through old photos the other day, I happened upon some interesting
“before and after” shots of my horse, Shawnee.
It is amazing to me how the sight of him brings back the smell of hay, the feel of a hot, bright summer afternoon under the tall, pungent Carolina pines and the feel of his sun drenched coat under my hands as I brushed him down.
Shawnee was a paint horse by breed – bay in color with a scruffy black mane and tail, white socks on all legs but one that tapered from brown to black gently down to hoof, a few random white patches and a crooked white blaze down his face. But the startling thing that made my friends jump back a step when they saw Shawnee, was his clear, piercing, sky blue eyes.
Shawnee was a handful. He had passed through several owners in the seven years that it took for him to come to a sixteen-year-old me and there was no doubt that he had developed his own ideas about how some things should be done. Unlike many animals, Shawnee exhibited all of the signs of being a “thinker”.
The stables where I boarded Shawnee quickly learned that it was not wise to give him a stall that provided access for his head to hang over its door in any kind of proximity to the handle or lock. Shawnee could pick locks with his teeth. No really. And not being a loner by nature, Shawnee would let himself out and then proceed through the stable letting other random horses catch a bid for freedom.
Once when he decided he didn’t like our lonely excursion without my best friend, Donda, and Beau, her white appaloosa, with us, he faked a decidedly believable limp until I turned him back to the stable and found he then provided us with a neat, unhampered little trot for the return journey.
When Daddy bought Shawnee for me, it was under the agreement that I would work a part-time job after school and pay for all boarding, food and necessary tack. Shawnee was my ticket to bypass much of the inevitable angst of teenaged years and gave me a multitude of delicious hours with the creak of leather beneath me, the wind in my face and a world away from the perils of high school and its rocky social reefs.
Shawnee hadn’t been fed well or closely cared for when I acquired him and you could slide your hand along his side and feel each rib. When I could no longer support Shawnee during college, and was forced to sell him, he was sleek, fast and bought by a girl who planned to show as a jumper in competitions. My dear friend and horse-lover, C-line, took Shawnee to a show at the SC state fair grounds the year before I had to sell him and won an English equitation class in which he was awarded reserve champion for hunter under saddle - so I knew he was going to someone who would be as pleased with him as I was.
My horse wasn’t fancy or purebred, but he was always fun, spirited and full of his own wild mystery. This cold Tennessee weather has brought to mind the time that Donda and I decided to take a mid-winter trek on Shawnee and Beau. We rode far down a dusty, rock-strewn road and found the little hidden path that crossed a creek and led to light, windswept and open paths across some nearby grassy meadows. The tricky part of this was that the frosty creek was swollen with a recently melted snow and had a steep entry. You had to carefully guide your horse down into the water, turn left and maneuver downstream for 12-15 feet and then scamper back up another steep, slippery bank. I took Shawnee in first as he was the pair’s unspoken leader and poised myself on the saddle with rough out boots held high on each of Shawnee’s sides above the icy water. Shawnee picked his way cautiously around the multitude of underwater rocks with the frigid current reaching the bottom of his belly. Midway through the trip… he stopped. I clicked my tongue and bounced the reins with a little “Come on boy!” Nothing. He reached out his velvety muzzle and sipped some cold, fresh water, but made no move at forward progress. “Come on! Move!” I encouraged a bit more loudly… hearing Donda snickering behind me. As it turned out NO amount of encouragement would coax Shawnee into moving UNTIL I put my legs down into the frigid water and touched his sides with my heels. “I get wet – you get wet!” could almost be heard in his thoughts….
Those “horse years” were special ones for me. When I look back through the filter of time I see – as I do in so many areas – that this remarkable animal was a gift and provision from the Lord. A kindness. A sweet blessing. My earthly father may have bought Shawnee for me, but my Heavenly One brought that horse into my life. There had been a significant loss in my life at that time and the Lord gave me something to love, discipline, care for and nourish… all of the things that He was lovingly working within me at the same time.
Pamela bought me my first saddle, and I think that she was almost as proud of Shawnee as I was too! Even in his skinny, pitiful state – I thought he was the best and most majestic horse in the world!!! And let’s face it – he was!
Love to my Pamela’s Girls,
Auntie J.
Shawnee was a paint horse by breed – bay in color with a scruffy black mane and tail, white socks on all legs but one that tapered from brown to black gently down to hoof, a few random white patches and a crooked white blaze down his face. But the startling thing that made my friends jump back a step when they saw Shawnee, was his clear, piercing, sky blue eyes.
Shawnee was a handful. He had passed through several owners in the seven years that it took for him to come to a sixteen-year-old me and there was no doubt that he had developed his own ideas about how some things should be done. Unlike many animals, Shawnee exhibited all of the signs of being a “thinker”.
The stables where I boarded Shawnee quickly learned that it was not wise to give him a stall that provided access for his head to hang over its door in any kind of proximity to the handle or lock. Shawnee could pick locks with his teeth. No really. And not being a loner by nature, Shawnee would let himself out and then proceed through the stable letting other random horses catch a bid for freedom.
Once when he decided he didn’t like our lonely excursion without my best friend, Donda, and Beau, her white appaloosa, with us, he faked a decidedly believable limp until I turned him back to the stable and found he then provided us with a neat, unhampered little trot for the return journey.
When Daddy bought Shawnee for me, it was under the agreement that I would work a part-time job after school and pay for all boarding, food and necessary tack. Shawnee was my ticket to bypass much of the inevitable angst of teenaged years and gave me a multitude of delicious hours with the creak of leather beneath me, the wind in my face and a world away from the perils of high school and its rocky social reefs.
Shawnee hadn’t been fed well or closely cared for when I acquired him and you could slide your hand along his side and feel each rib. When I could no longer support Shawnee during college, and was forced to sell him, he was sleek, fast and bought by a girl who planned to show as a jumper in competitions. My dear friend and horse-lover, C-line, took Shawnee to a show at the SC state fair grounds the year before I had to sell him and won an English equitation class in which he was awarded reserve champion for hunter under saddle - so I knew he was going to someone who would be as pleased with him as I was.
My horse wasn’t fancy or purebred, but he was always fun, spirited and full of his own wild mystery. This cold Tennessee weather has brought to mind the time that Donda and I decided to take a mid-winter trek on Shawnee and Beau. We rode far down a dusty, rock-strewn road and found the little hidden path that crossed a creek and led to light, windswept and open paths across some nearby grassy meadows. The tricky part of this was that the frosty creek was swollen with a recently melted snow and had a steep entry. You had to carefully guide your horse down into the water, turn left and maneuver downstream for 12-15 feet and then scamper back up another steep, slippery bank. I took Shawnee in first as he was the pair’s unspoken leader and poised myself on the saddle with rough out boots held high on each of Shawnee’s sides above the icy water. Shawnee picked his way cautiously around the multitude of underwater rocks with the frigid current reaching the bottom of his belly. Midway through the trip… he stopped. I clicked my tongue and bounced the reins with a little “Come on boy!” Nothing. He reached out his velvety muzzle and sipped some cold, fresh water, but made no move at forward progress. “Come on! Move!” I encouraged a bit more loudly… hearing Donda snickering behind me. As it turned out NO amount of encouragement would coax Shawnee into moving UNTIL I put my legs down into the frigid water and touched his sides with my heels. “I get wet – you get wet!” could almost be heard in his thoughts….
Those “horse years” were special ones for me. When I look back through the filter of time I see – as I do in so many areas – that this remarkable animal was a gift and provision from the Lord. A kindness. A sweet blessing. My earthly father may have bought Shawnee for me, but my Heavenly One brought that horse into my life. There had been a significant loss in my life at that time and the Lord gave me something to love, discipline, care for and nourish… all of the things that He was lovingly working within me at the same time.
Pamela bought me my first saddle, and I think that she was almost as proud of Shawnee as I was too! Even in his skinny, pitiful state – I thought he was the best and most majestic horse in the world!!! And let’s face it – he was!
Love to my Pamela’s Girls,
Auntie J.
