Postcards from the Rogue Valley

Today, I became a sponsor for a draft horse named Gandalf, a rescue horse who lives at the Equamore Sanctuary three miles from our house. He’s black with a white spot between his eyes, stands almost 16 hands (5.3 feet), weighs 1,700 lbs., and believes in second chances.

As a girl, I never went horse crazy like my nextdoor neighbor, Eliza, who kept an imaginary pony. When I was seven, my family spent a week on a dude ranch in Colorado—out of character for my family but allegedly the rage then—and my first horse ride didn’t go well. Pretty Boy reared, I slid off his back, and I chose My Friend Flicka over the real deal.

 It wasn’t that I didn’t like horses, it just seemed that they didn’t like me.

I fell for Gandalf on a recent visit to Equamore, my second after curiosity led me there last November. Founded in 1991, Equamore is home to 54 horses—hungry, neglected, abused, surrendered—who live out the rest of their lives in the sanctuary’s embrace.

Last fall, it was the Four Amigos, a group of independent-minded gelded stallions, who greeted me when I arrived. As I entered the barn, Chance, who came to Equamore along with a frail mare and protected her until her death, stood with his back to me. He had a new frail mare he was supporting.  Leo, the sign on his stall warned, looks cute but bites; he arrived at the sanctuary having grown up in isolation and other horses are teaching him better behavior. Equamore’s  youngest occupant, three-year-old Tucker, nickered from the shadowed end of the barn.

On this visit, I’d come to interview Equamore volunteers, some of whom work five days a week, turning out and bringing in horses, preparing special feeds and supplements for horses with challenging  health, grooming and bonding, and more. Seventeen-year-old Ruby remembered helping rescue two large stallions and a mare, struggling to get them into the sanctuary’s trailers, and being unable to rescue a fourth. Gandalf was one of these stallions.

“It’s not one of those experiences you forget,” she said.

Before talking to the volunteers, though, I’d caught sight of Gandalf walking the large riding ring that takes up half the barn, encouraged by Equamore’s executive director, Linda Davis. I watched his huge, muscular silhouette move against the filtered afternoon sun, dust swirling from his heavy hooves. As he walked past me, he stopped to smell my face and stare, then resumed his solo stroll. 

“Hoh.” “Walk.” Linda guided Gandalf gently. She grabbed what’s called a lunge line, attached it to Gandalf’s halter, and set him trotting in a circle with her at the center. 

“With lunge training, the horse is learning to obey voice commands,” Linda explained to me later. “You’re also teaching the horse how to bend, to stretch, to relax, to halt. You are his personal trainer.” 

Finally, Linda took Gandalf up to the mounting block, climbed onto his back, and rode him carefully and slowly around the ring.

Every horse at Equamore needs sponsors and I decided to join Gandalf’s team.

Named for the legendary wizard in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Gandalf began life on a hilltop in northern California, one of a small herd of Percheron stallions whose owner imagined a fairy tale in which these “gentle giants of the horse world”—along with a group of mares—roamed free. There is nothing romantic about mixing stallions and mares, however. In the battles over the mares, Gandalf and his storybook mate, Flint, tore each other apart. By the time Gandalf arrived at Equamore, pain encased the sweet temperament for which his breed is known. 

The majority of neglected and unwanted horses, of course, don’t get a second chance. An estimated 135,000 – 150,000 a year go to kill lots on the Mexican and Canadian borders; an estimated 13,500 are rescued. 

“The situation with unwanted horses will never get any better until people make a lifetime commitment to their horses,” said Linda. Until that happens, the horses are simply disposable.

Each of the 54 horses at Equamore arrives with her or his own story, although neglect is a common thread. These personal stories, along with a photo, adorn their stalls and become fodder for fundraising.

What I did not know—no doubt a sign of how little I know about horses—is how the horses quickly sort themselves into groups and pairs (herds and sub-herds), sometimes with a nudge from their humans. Belonging, not individualism, is what makes their world go around.

The Four Amigos—cantankerous but sweet, even Woody who is arguably dangerous—share an agreement: “I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me. “

The Couples, five mare-gelding pairs, sleep in side-by-side stalls at night and, during the day, graze together on what is called the Couple’s Field. 

Pairing seems to be in their nature. “They come and go together. They are loyal until their mate dies, then they find another,” explained Abbey, who has worked or volunteered at Equamore for thirty years. 

The Ponies also have their own field—two ponies, one “pony-cross,” two miniature horses, and an older gelding who cannot see but watches over his small comrades. Born blind and separated from his mother at two weeks, General UC Davis depended on the kindness of an older horse to keep him company. Perhaps he is passing on the favor.

Three other horses at Equamore are blind and they, too, have their own quarters and pasture. When you put blind and sighted horses together, it turns out, the sighted horses grow frustrated when the blind horses don’t respond to body language—and sometimes go on the attack. 

Some horses arrive downright terrified of humans and turn to another horse for comfort. Thor, whose owner took a chainsaw to his hooves, follows the un-aggressive Arabian gelding Finn wherever he goes. 

Some share the same personalities. Mischievousness seems to bind Josey and Morey. When it’s time to return to the stable, both run to the top of the field and are the last to come down.

Periodically, Equamore staff and volunteers take stock of who is rooming with whom, who may not be getting along, who needs special accommodations.

“We try to place every horse in the stalls where they want to be,” said Shaylee, a sophomore at the nearby Southern Oregon University who hopes to become a vet. “We watch their moods. We just did horse-jingo and moved everyone around.”

I asked Linda Davis how I might let Gandalf know that I am on his side. This is unchartered territory for me.

“You can groom him,” she said. This was more than I hoped for.

When I asked Ruby what made her love horses so much, her answer was simple: “They are magical.”

I really don’t know what drew me to Equamore, in the first place, and Gandalf, second. 

Five years ago, shortly before Tony and I decided to sell our house of 20 years in Rhode Island and move to Brooklyn, I dreamt about a small horse materializing by my side and offering support. It was a tumultuous time as we rushed to ready our house for sale, give away most of our belongings, and pack what was left. I needed a good omen and this seemed like one.

Here in the Rogue Valley, horses and cows and sheep are neighbors. (Pigs, too, if you read an earlier post.) I had never heard of rescue horses before and curiosity led me to Equamore. If nothing else, I hoped to stroke a few horses and vanquish my childhood fears—though the girth of Equamore’s residents, most of whom for different reasons cannot be ridden, made me catch my breath. 

I wasn’t prepared, however, for the stories of pain and resilience that define these horses. You see it in their large liquid eyes—horses have the largest eyes of any mammal—and when Chance or Tucker or the one-eyed Gabe met my gaze, their vulnerability beckoned. 

We hear about the loyalty horses extend to their owners (when the owners are kind), but little about the loyalties that bind horses to one another. At Equamore, these are on full display. 

There’s a popular saying, that the true measure of a society can be found in how it treats its most compromised members. At Equamore, horses whose power is easily ignited from years of abuse look out for the frailest. And the humans watch out for them all.

The chance to groom Gandalf, more than twelve times my size and strength, will be a lesson in humility.

To learn more about the Equamore Sanctuary, visit www.equamore.org