I was whining to my mother about not having a horse to train. She had been looking at a nice little reining type quarter horse with a friend, why didn’t I get him she asked. I don’t want a quarter horse I whined. You have Princess Onna, my daughters mare, why don’t you train on her? My mom is so patient and apparently I whine a lot because she just wasn’t what I wanted either she’s old and broke good enough. I wanted a nice young, unstarted, western bred Morgan. Not that I’m picky or anything.
“Fine” she said “I wasn’t going to mention this but Forever Morgans has a three year old on their Facebook page that’s in the kill pen and needs a home. Today.” I went and looked. He was everything I wanted, royally western bred, right age and, as far as anyone knew, untouched. This was on Halloween, there was no time for paper work, we had two small children who needed to get ready to trick or treat. They keep me from riding regularly and the two horses that we have already are perfect and the perfect number for us besides he was in far western Oregon. It would never work. So of course I volunteered to foster him. I didn’t even try to get the paperwork in until the next Monday. Many others had offered homes too, for foster and to adopt, so imagine my surprise when they told me he would be coming to our house.
I know I called it Rescuing Rusty but I in no way mean to imply that I rescued him. The people at forever Morgans found him got the word out, gathered funds, found places to keep him and arranged transport. People across the country donated money to buy him, quarantine him and pay board until he got here. Helping any of these horses is a group effort without all the people willing to help many more would wind up at slaughter.
Come to think of it I’m really contributing nothing here. My patient father-in-law is the one feeding the horse. All I do is play with him and have the fun of writing about it.