Transformations: Savannah the Buckskin Mare

Little girls want horses and dream of naming them things like Magic.  They imagine brushing their manes and braiding their tails.  I know because I have one of those little girls.  From very early on, my daughter wanted a horse, riding lessons, treasured books and movies about horses, and learned to draw them better at five then I ever could.  Little girls want pink and white saddles and cowgirl boots and imagine adorning their magic pony with sparkling reins and riding off into wonderful adventures. 

On a Tuesday, in early 2010, a Buckskin mare named Magic arrived at Rasta’s, but how she received this name is unknown.  A lady who tossed her cow hay over the fence of a small pen for a truck driver, who owned her, though rarely home, brought her to Rasta’s.  The lady admitted knowing it was cheap hay for a horse, but it was what the trucker provided.  And after seeing Magic through most of another winter, malnourished and unattended to, less bare necessity, she talked the trucker into surrendering the horse, then gathered Magic into a trailer, and made the drive to Rasta's.

How long Magic lived solely in a small pen, untouched by human hands, and fed just enough to sustain her is unknown.  “Years,” the lady hinted.  And before that she went from home to home.  Surely once, as a registered horse, she received love, proper care, and nurturing.  The gratitude she shows us reflects having once known such things.  Perhaps once a little girl did dream of having a horse and maybe she did in her innocence name her Magic.   We renamed her Savannah.

Horses remember and tell us their stories.  Savannah immediately told us of once being brushed and loved, being saddled up and adored.  For hours she stood still and graciously while C and Ten brushed dried mud from her coat, mane, and tail.  Her mane tangled, knotted, and clumped with mud necessitated a haircut, which C caringly provided.  She had worn her halter for so long the rope thinned the hair leaving its impression.  Her coat for winter was thin, dry, and caked with balls of dirt.  She looked as if a pack of pre-adolescent boys had taunted her with mud balls for days on end.  Who knows?  Who really knows?  Savannah. 

So it is that when you visit her she whinnies a sweet hello, patiently anticipates a complete meal, and graciously stands close and still for a brushing, and what she once knew a long time ago, and dreamed of as she found herself sent from pen to pen—the touch of human caretakers, a couple of girls, one still small and one all grown up, who take pleasure in providing a good brushing and whispered words of dreams about magic horses that take us on adventures in our hearts.

*Update: January 2011, Savannah, the Buckskin mare, once named Magic has a full and healthy coat and can be found every morning talking with her friends, especially Chloe the blind pinto pony next door.  She patiently awaits our arrival with alfalfa mix and grain, and whinnies a thank you.  


**Update: February 15, 2012: Two Saturdays ago, our sweet Savannah could not stand for the farrier to do her hind feet.  I told her she would have to tell me what she wanted to do.  I didn't know she would make her decision so soon, but truly believe today is how she answered me, letting us know it was time. She appreciated each day here on the ranch, always said hello and thank you.  No, thank you, dear heart, thank you for finding a home with us, loving us, and being with us.  As we said good bye, I told you to run free, I know it's been a long time since your body allowed you that, hope you are doing so right now.  Many blessings our beautiful Buckskin Mare with a magic spirit.   Blessing always, my beautiful Savannah.