Horse Tales for the Soul

FREE Sample Stories from

All Seven Horse Tales for the Soul Books

We are so sure you are going to fall in love with the Horse Tales for the Soul books that we are giving away one story from each of the books.

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A Horseman’s Prayer

Tonight as I lie on my bedroll,

And stare at the stars in the sky,

I can’t help but think of my partners,

The critters I’ve had to watch die.

Sometimes was a bullet that claimed them,

Or a needle in a kind horse doc’s hand.

But whatever was used,

They were never abused,

Just sent on ahead to God’s land.

Andy, my son’s Palomino,

Lies buried on a hillside so green.

And faithful old Dan,

Who grew too weak to stand,

Is interred in a place most serene.

Buck and the Arab called Randy

Lie near Dan beneath the sod.

My friend and his wife,

Who loved them in life,

Are committed now, too, to our God.

Gypsy is buried in Texas.

I sold her and her foal to a friend.

How could I know

That she’d come to woe,

And colic so bad in the end?

There’s even a Collie named Laddie,

And a dog that we called Smokey Bear.

We loved them for years,

They left with our tears,

And we trusted them, too, to God’s care.

There’s Spider, and Bear Dog, my wife loved,

And Big Jake, the best of them all.

The longer the list,

The more they are missed,

I wish they could come when I call.

My old Appaloosa named Steamy,

Most recently left us behind.

Cancer beset him,

We’ll never forget him,

Or the young vet whose treatment was kind.

Lord, I know that You’re up there in heaven.

And I pray that my pals are there, too.

They served me so well,

My life would have been hell,

If I’d lived it without them and You.

When I come to the end of my journey,

And my time on this planet is done,

Your pastures so real,

And your waters so still,

Will be-waiting when my race is run.

If my partners are waiting to greet me,

I’ll know I’m in heaven for sure.

Lord, it’s Your creatures below,

That loved their master so,

Who taught me of love that is pure.

So Master of mine, up in heaven,

Look down on this rider tonight.

Forgive all his sins,

And bless all his friends,

And keep him safe till your morning light.

Biography: Ted W. Land. A Presbyterian minister since 1971, Ted Land has been pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Arcadia, Florida since 1985. Arcadia is a "cow town". Gooseneck trailers with saddled horses resting in them are common sights on the parking lots of restaurants in Arcadia. Ted Land has served as a director of the All Florida Championship Rodeo and President of the All Florida Saddle Club. Born in 1946 in Knoxville, Tennessee, Ted Land learned to ride Tennessee Walkers. He has written extensively about Walking Horses, but his favorite mount remains an Appaloosa.

Here in New Zealand, where the weather is temperate year round, my husband and I often enjoy watching the sunset from our drive­way that overlooks one of our paddocks filled with Andalusian mares and babies.

A week ago, my husband and I were standing on that driveway when our black Andalusian filly started rubbing on the gate and threatened to break it with her weight. So hubby picked up a little stone and threw it at her. It hit her harmlessly on the body and bounced onto the ground, but startled her enough to make her to jump away from the gate. The next moment, we watched her come back over, put her head down, pick something up and flick it. Moments later, a stone landed at my husband’s feet. The filly had picked the stone up in her mouth and thrown it back at him! We both laughed until it hurt. They really are such characters; who would have ever thought a horse would have a sense of humor.

Biography: Susan Grindell. "Bluespur Andalusians is the largest and most successful breeding farm of pure Spanish Andalusians in New Zealand. Our horses combine some of the most prestigious bloodlines from Spain and we have produced countless National Champions, as well as successful competitors in open competition. We have focused our breeding to enhance the breed’s natural beauty and outstanding temperament and have combined this with athleticism and movement for competition. The success of the breeding program is reflected in a high demand for our horses, stretching from New Zealand to the United States."

Six-thirty a.m., June 13th, finds me backing my Chevy through my friend Margaret’s paddock gates. As we work together to quickly line up truck and trailer, I glance at my watch and see that we are right on schedule. I breathe a sigh of relief. I hate rushing.

Christmas came early this year, December 15th, a day forever etched in my memory.

I was walking up the hill to the barn when I heard the sound, not quite distinguishable, yet somehow I knew it was equine in nature. I caught sight of my gelding, Louie, in the upper corner of his pasture, his attention focused across the fenceline on the neighboring horses who were standing together about forty feet away.

Yards of pink plastic!! My mind could not make sense of what I saw from where I stood, so I moved closer, and as I approached I sensed the spiritual nature of what I was about to share. The herd quietly encircled a mare as she helped her newborn foal from the birthing sack (the "pink plastic" from which this perfect little creature was emerging), the mare licking and gently nudging, as if examining for fingers and toes! The horses seemed to watch with a deep sense of respect; I watched with a deep sense of wonder.

After a time, the colt began to try out his incredibly long legs. Nature provided him with the wonderful ability to use those legs soon after birth; however, it had not provided for his birth on level ground. His repeated attempts to stand were thwarted by the rugged terrain upon which he had come into the world. His mother was as encouraging as she could be, but time and time again he positioned his legs in front, pushed up in back, nearly made it…then tumbled down, rolling each time until he finally ended up at the fence line.

Up until now he had been on his own, and with mom, dad and extended family pacing protectively, it would have been risky for me to invade their domain. Now, at the fence, I had an opportunity to give a helping hand. The colt had tired with his efforts to negotiate his first steps on the hillside, and as he rested for another try, my fingers gently traced his wet, curly coat, willing him strength and yearning to hug him against me and stop his shivering. Very soon, he was up again. I tried to steady his shaky stance through the fence and get him started up the hill toward his mother.

Then another fall, and this time he came crashing into the fence, rolled underneath and lay at my feet, separated from his anxious mother. Now I was holding him in my arms, sharing my warmth and wishing I could keep him there forever. The mare did not seem happy to be sharing the intimacy of this event with me, yet she was reluctantly accepting, somehow knowing I was there to help. I wondered if she could understand that had her colt been born a bit further down the fenceline, it is unlikely anyone would have noticed, and his struggles would have ended in certain grief.

With his little mouth sucking my fingers, his wet, curly red hair, the blood on my hands, his tiny hooves so clean and so soft, his fuzzy ears, the pure white star on his face…it was a very special gift.

It was many wobbly steps and more falls through the fence, many little rest periods where I treasured this precious miracle in my arms, quiet cheers as I willed him success, and frustration and tears each time he failed, before those wobbly legs finally seemed to work together as a team…and I knew this time he would make it.

His mother, wanting this moment to be hers alone, would not allow him nourishment, but kept moving further up the slope, urging him to follow. The stallion stepped in behind. Forever I will see them in my mind … mare, colt and stallion in a slow but determined procession, until they disappeared over the ridge.

The next week was cold and rainy. I thought of them often and even rode out in the rain to look for them, but alas, it was so large an area. I worried about him coming into the world in such bitter weather, yet nature has a wonderful way of taking care of its creatures. I felt they would be all right.

On December 25th at 7 a.m., I went out to feed our horses and the herd was back by our fenceline, the colt showing off ten day’s growth and good health with a few moments of scampering and bucking, even a whinny just to let me know everything was in fine working order. As he settled down to "breakfast," his mother looked at me and seemed to be saying "Merry Christmas."

I named him Comet.

Working with horses for many years, I have witnessed behavior that confirms what all horse lovers already know; these are wondrous, thoughtful creatures. Bonnie Marlewski-Probert

Ivan the Great

You could say that horses have been with me since the beginning of my life. Mom was mucking out stalls when she went into labor with me, and by the time she arrived at the hospital, was in a full-blown attack of poison ivy from straw she had carried into the stall. I was born unscathed and unfortunately, after I was born we moved to an area where we couldn’t afford our own horses. I grew up borrowing everyone else’s and writing every movie star who had ever given a little girl a horse, in hopes that one would see favor in me and give me my very own. Yup, even Wayne Newton received a letter from me.

I grew up, married and started my own family. Horses entered my life again while my husband was stationed in England. I had only been in the country for a couple of weeks and my husband decided to take me for an early morning drive to see the countryside. It was a foggy morning (no kidding) and I was completely enthralled by this beautiful country. We passed by several parked horse boxes and soon the horses and their riders came into view. The top hats confused me, and I couldn’t understand the short fence in the arena—but oh my, the way the horses were moving.

We pulled in to the show grounds and I just stood there with my mouth hanging open. I grew up in a Western riding household, and now I was watching the most entrancing thing I had ever seen in my life. I was hooked on dressage. I went to every show I could find and tried to glean anything and everything I could from watching the dance between horse and rider. I’m not a graceful person and all I could think about was "I have to do this. I have to feel this light and connected with my horse."

I obsessed for several years, and yet remained horseless until nine years ago when a horse named Ivan entered my life. He was eleven years old and I had known him since he was two. His owner had ridden him strictly Western and only for trail rides, so his training was "put the saddle on and go fast!" His knowledge of gaits was the type you open to move from pasture to pasture, and straight meant "straight to the feed bucket".  His favorite pastimes included dumping his owner or rubbing her off on the closest pine tree. But he was a beautiful boy, and he and I fell in love. His owner knew that I was desperate for my own horse and that I wanted to ride dressage. One day, almost a year to the day before 9/11, she gave me Ivan. Since that day, he has been my teacher, best friend, and my snot rag.

I was now in proverbial "horse heaven". Not only did I have my first horse, he was a purebred Arabian and had what I considered dressage potential. On my hundred-buck eBay dressage saddle I started retraining my new horse. Okay, lesson number one: as an amateur, never order a saddle off the Internet. The black on my saddle promptly stained my new riding tights and the scratches underneath the polish were deep. That was the first of many hard lessons I’ve learned over the years.

Dressage is not as easy as it looks and your horse must be willing to learn. We spent many hours together in the arena and bonded closer than I have ever bonded with any animal. He tried; he really did. He tried to dump me at X, M, C and every other letter in between. Did you know that you should not canter your horse until he’s learned how to stop?  But we kept at it and after a year we had conquered the walk, trot and extended trot. We schooled one another and by 2001 he had found his way deep into my heart. No matter how much he disliked what I was asking him for, or how confused I made him, he continued doing his best for me and trying to do what I was asking of him.

I am so glad I had Ivan, because when 9/11 happened, I needed him more than anything. You see, my husband belonged to one of the first Air National Guard units that were reactivated. On the afternoon of 9/11, I was at the barn cleaning Ivan’s stall as my husband and I made plans for what was going to happen next. Our children were in high school at the time and I was facing some of the hardest times of my life. What most people don’t know about the families that suffered through reactivations is that most of the time, they lose close to fifty percent of their incomes, and those left behind have to double-up on jobs and make other sacrifices just to keep the family afloat. Before my husband left for destinations unknown, his instructions to me were, "Whatever happens, you need Ivan. He is one sacrifice you will not make."

The next two and a half years were the longest of my life. My hubby was part of an elite group, and we never knew when he was leaving or when he was coming home. I spent many hours with Ivan when my husband was gone. He heard all my woes and patiently stood as I brushed, and brushed, and brushed his coat. On the occasions when my husband was home, he and I would go to our place of respite—the barn—and spend many quiet hours together catching up on life. He would again assume the position of trainer for me and watch me ride and correct my posture and position the best he could for a non-horsy person.

My daughter and son and I would go out to Ivan at night and that is where the honesty of teenage fears of war and death were discussed. Again, Ivan would have a face or two buried into his neck and he would wrap his head around to whoever needed his ministrations and nuzzle softly.  

Even after I received the dreaded phone call—"Not to worry you, Mrs. Creach, but we need to inform you we have lost contact with your husband,"—I headed straight to the barn, saddled Ivan and went round and round the arena as I built up courage for the worse. Those are the scariest words you could ever hear, and thank God my husband did come home safe. What spare time I could spend on Ivan’s back took my mind off the worries of war and I found peace in a time of strife.

I can honestly attribute my sanity during those times, and many times after that, to Ivan and our desperate attempt to learn dressage. Anyone who has gone through adversity knows where I’m coming from. Ivan will continue to be a healing force in our family. I’m not sure if I will ever grace an arena in front of a judge, but one day I will dance with Ivan—and it will be beautiful.

Biography: Sylvia is the devoted wife of retired MSgt Arland Creach, proud momma of Tifane and Dane and beloved "Gamma" to Jade and Ian. She’s focusing her new adult life on restarting her writing career, spreading awareness of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in military families and finishing her degree in Biology/Zoology so she can afford a "proper" dressage saddle. Along with her many jobs while keeping the family afloat, Sylvia volunteered for the families of the Air National Guard and was awarded the Florida Commendation Medal. In spare time she rides Ivan, Scuba dives and volunteers at local wildlife rehabilitation centers.

While driving in February, 1996, I was broadsided by another vehicle. I refer to this time as "My Opportunity". After many surgeries and over a year of rehabilitation, I was told that I had reached MMI—Maximum Medical Improvement. That meant being propped up in a wheelchair with a neck brace, arm brace, back brace and leg brace after someone had showered me, washed my hair, dressed me and fed me. I have a brain injury with left side paralysis, impaired vision and hearing and a host of other neurological and physical deficits. I had gone from being an independent woman and international able-bodied athlete to a woman needing assistance 24/7.

About eighteen months after "My Opportunity", a friend came over and told me that she had heard about the values of therapeutic riding and gave me a gift of ten lessons at EQUEST Therapeutic Horsemanship in Wylie, Texas. Of course I was excited—one day a week out of the house! Yet, I really could not imagine how a horse could help me feel any better and improve my situation, so again I returned to the pleasing thought of being out of the house one day a week.

My family and friends set up a roster and took time off work to transport me to EQUEST. Having never ridden a horse before, my first visit to EQUEST was both fearful and exciting—an interesting polarity of emotions in my mind and body.

After several months of therapeutic riding on different EQUEST horses, my physical, emotional and mental state had improved dramatically. I had graduated from needing three volunteers with me at all times while on the horse, to being independent in the arena. These changes had also allowed me to become more independent in my everyday living. I was beginning to live life again.

Prior to living in America, I had represented two countries in two different sports as an able-bodied athlete. On hearing about this, my coach from EQUEST, Gail Pace, jumped on the idea of getting me back as a competitive athlete in the discipline of dressage. She lit the fire in my belly and used my prior athletic accomplishments to get me motivated and back in touch with my athletic spirit. When I started learning about riding horses, and especially the art of dressage, I was intrigued and totally amazed by the subtle cues used to get the horse to perform. How could this huge animal be so receptive to a little shift in weight, to the turning of my head, to the tilt of my hips? That question was quickly answered with, "If they can feel a little fly on their back, they can certainly feel you shift your weight or hold your breath!"

At this time in the U.S., dressage was the only major competition available to equestrians with disabilities, and being the competitive person that I am, I was looking forward to the challenge. Gail started me on this wonderful journey of learning dressage and took me to compete in several A-level shows around the country, all on borrowed horses. I was now competing to get qualifying scores to be ranked in the U.S. The top ten riders in the country were then invited to compete in the Paralympic Selection Trials for a spot on the Paralympic Team.

I remember one particular dressage show we attended in California in 2001. Although ParaEquestrians can now compete on their own horses, it was not like that then. All riders were on borrowed horses.

We arrived at the barn and I had been matched up with two possible mounts, both Arabians. Gail rode the horses first to assess their responses to my adaptive equipment. One was a definite "no", and the other horse became a "no" after I rode him for a very short time, as there were some safety issues involved.

I was so disappointed that we had traveled all the way from Texas to compete in this huge qualifying show and I was horseless. The next afternoon, less than a day before we started competition, a trailer pulled up and out walked the largest horse I had ever seen. A stranger had heard about my situation and offered me their horse on which to compete. Major, a 16-plus-hand Belgian draft horse weighing in at over 1,800 pounds, was trained in the equestrian discipline of vaulting, and not dressage. This boy was gigantic and definitely named after his stature. Again, Gail tacked up and mounted Major to see his response to my adaptive equipment. Then it was time for me to get in the saddle. Oh, my wordy! Being only five feet tall and weighing about one hundred and five pounds, I know I looked like a peanut on a mountain. Nevertheless, I felt blessed that I had a horse to ride and this was certainly going to be a competition I would never forget.

I got to practice on Major for less than an hour before returning to our hotel to clean my tack and shine my saddle and boots. Just before going to sleep, I did what I do every night—visualize how the following day would unravel. I visualized my dressage test and suddenly started laughing out loud. I could picture Major and me doing many of the required moves on the test—walk, trot, twenty-metre circles—and yet when it came to visualizing the ten-metre circles with this twelve-metre horse, all I could think about was, where does his head go? I fell asleep with a smile on my face and a knowledge in my heart that we would compete and have fun.

Saturday morning, up early and wearing our dressage bests, we headed for the barn. I rode three different dressage tests that day in a forty-by-twenty-metre arena, and even though I could not do much of an extended trot with this huge horse in such a small space, or conform his neck to look like a dressage horse, his geometry and rhythm were perfect. And the best part, each time I had to do a ten-metre circle, I would start laughing again. Major was one of the greatest horses I had ever ridden, with a heart bigger than himself.

Between the tests, my fellow competitors told me that at least I had not wasted a trip to California; at least I got to compete, even if it was on a draft horse— insinuating that I would never get the required scores to qualify for the Paralympic Selection Trials.

At the end of the day, when all the scores were posted, I got three qualifying scores and received the High Point Award for the day. Oh, what a glorious day that was—and a fabulous reminder to "Never Look a Draft Horse in the Mouth!"

Biography: Deb Lewin, born and raised in Africa, in a country called Zimbabwe (formerly Rhodesia) has lived in several countries before becoming a US Citizen in 1992. Prior to her "Opportunity" she was a videographer and video editor, a paramedic, an NLP master practitioner and ropes challenge course instructor. After her "Opportunity", riding became a huge part of her recovery and even though she continues to compete, still on borrowed horses, she spends most of her time as a motivational speaker and ardent advocate for EQUEST and the miraculous benefits of therapeutic riding. Deb qualified for the Paralympic Trials twice, has competed on Team USA in International Dressage competition, has national equitation championship titles and several annual high point awards from the AQHA. Deb is on the Board of Directors for EQUEST and the NARHA Equestrian Committee. Deb encourages everyone she meets to RideStrong through their journey of life.

Now that you know the quality of the stories in the Horse Tales for the Soul series of books and audio books, we invite you to start shopping for all the horse lovers in your life!  It is Easy to do visit our Tour Partners page, select the center you would like to help by clicking on their name or on the blue secure shopping button next to their name.  This will take you to our secure shopping cart where you can shop to your heart's content and 20% of everything you spend will be donated to that center! It's that easy!

Happy Holidays from the Horse Tales for the Soul Authors!

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