Boise's Story
In Fall of 2004, on a cool afternoon I watched a horse pace frantically in the arena across the stable grounds. His movement was beautiful - his neck and tail both held high and arched as a telltale sign of his Arabian lineage. As I drew closer it became apparent that the abuse he had survived was significant. At approximately 50% of his ideal weight, he also had deep wounds on his belly from a cinch worn much too long. The closer I came the more profound were his ribs, his hips, the bones in his skull. Although arched and beautiful as he ran, his neck was skinnier than any neck I had ever seen on a horse. Watching him reminded me of an episode of Animal Cops Houston. He ran back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. His mahogany coat shined with sweat and his black mane and tail caught the wind as he ran. He had a glint in his eye that I could not quite read - fear, excitement, anxiety?
I approached the fence and climbed up to rest my arms on the top rail. He ran, and ran, and ran. Then he stopped in front of me, turned to face me, snorted in my face and ran once more. He ran, and ran, and ran and again, stopped in front of me, stood face to face and snorted. This pattern happened over and over again until I had to leave. I left the stables that day knowing that he was in a safe place away from his abusers and looked forward to watching him recover. I had no idea where he came from or who owned him.
I took my daughter, then 9, to the stables nearly everyday. We had leased her a horse and the more time with him the better. Being quite proficient and not wanting or needing much help from me, I made a place under a tree to study - I was at the end of my masters in counseling program and never found enough time to read. Coincidentally that tree was beside that abused horse’s stall. He visited me every time I sat to read - and only snorted at me periodically. I would chat briefly, pat his nose, rub his ears and get to my homework. He always stayed close. Then one day, a woman approached me and said “I think this is your horse.” My reply “No, he is a rescue and belongs to a lady named Sarah.” She laughed and said “I’m Sarah, and this is YOUR horse.” She told me his name was Boise, that she picked him up at a rescue in Scottsdale and no-one could really do much with him. His anxiety was sky high and yet he seemed to like me. She asked if I would take him on. I was raised with horses. I know horses. But I was in grad school and did not have any business having a horse until I graduated and was gainfully employed. She nodded and asked that I continue to sit and talk to him when I could. A few weeks passed. Sarah once again approached me and told me his board was paid through June of 2005 and asked if I could afford $50 a month for food… I went home to tell my husband that we now owned a horse. He shook his head as if not surprised and jumped on board.
And so our journey began. A beaten, starved, neglected, horse that if he were human I would diagnose with complex PTSD. He feared EVERYTHING, did not want to be touched, tried to walk on top of me when I walked with him, and appeared to dissociate on a regular basis. I’m not talking about a skittish horse, I am talking about a horse living in a place of heightened awareness as if he were constantly walking through a pride of hungry lions. He came with shoes on - why I do not know - his hooves are perfect and hard as rocks - but they were there. It would be 4 months before I could pick up his hooves with any regularity and 5 months before we could pull those darn shoes off. He has remained barefoot.
The vet visited the stable for fall shots. She looked at him and shared that in the state he was in the shots might kill him. “Call me in a month if he is still alive.” Yes, he was that bad. The cinch sores on his belly were deep wounds that remained open because there was nothing to stitch together. It was just an open gaping wound. I reminded her of that conversation last fall - 16 years later - she did not realize the horse she was looking at was that same horse.
His anxiety and reactivity scared others at the stables. Skeptics said he would never be okay. My heart and his eyes said otherwise. Meanwhile, I just kept talking to him and walking with him - for the first 2 months with my elbow in his neck to keep him from walking over me. I had no expectations and just wanted to give him a good end to his life if that is where we were headed. But to be completely honest, I never believed that. The first day we met I saw an undaunted life-force within him. Even in his battered and emaciated state I never doubted that he would survive. What I never expected was how many lives he would touch.
He gained weight and with it confidence and the anxiety began to lessen. He made friends with the horses on either side of him - an Andalusian on right and another Arab on the left. He allowed our daughter to work with him. He allowed other boarders to visit and he could be turned out to play with a few specific horses. He was learning to be a horse.
We knew nothing about him. We knew he had worn a saddle because of the cinch wounds but knew nothing else…
After a few months it dawned on me that I was becoming much more in tune with my clients at my internship site - a shelter for homeless families. Hmmm… could working with this abused, neglected, deprived horse somehow be helping me with my often abused, neglected, and deprived clients? The answer was a rousing “YES”.
I checked out every organization that was doing this important work and landed in an Equine Assisted Growth and Learning Association (EAGALA) training in January of 2006. Boise’s world had changed and that week my world changed. The arena became my office. Since that time Boise, his fellow rescues and a small team of therapists and equine specialists have helped to change the lives of thousands and thousands of people day in and day out.
For over a decade I have wanted to establish a non-profit organization. As Boise’s jowls and mane show signs of gray I am reminded that our time together is indeed finite. However, his legacy can live on in this organization. Thus, Boise’s Gift was born.
We thank you for taking the time to learn our story and we look forward to the good we can do together.
& Shawn
