Author: joell

The New Year has us waxing nostalgic.  I’m famous for being a “non-holiday person” but I admit to using the short days and the long nights of December as a time to think and reflect and plan.What became clear as I thought about the amazing 2013 Square Peg had and the challenge and excitement 2014 will bring is that I, as Executive Director of Square Peg, need to answer the essential question  “What do I believe?”

A cup of tea at hand and a sleeping kitten on my feet, I pitched the reins at my heart and this is what appeared on the page.

 

 

 I believe that laughter gives us strength.

Thank you to all who are joining us in our Revolution of Kindness. Happy 2014.

One late night my tear stained cheeks and trembling body fled to the barn and poured my soul out to my favorite old thoroughbred. He quietly ate the saltine crackers I had brought him, and at that moment was when I realized that without him, I probably wouldn’t be here today.

Many places make me happy; beaches, my best friend’s house, and of course my favorite tea shop. But when someone asks where I am content, everyone knows my answer. It’s a place where I teach but also learn. I spend six days a week there, but it’s never enough. I don’t get paid, yet I spend over one hundred dollars a month to just be there. Square Peg Foundation is my home, and is the one true place where my heart aches to be. Square Peg is a barn that rescues horses from the race track and retrains them to use in a program which helps and teaches kids with special needs how to ride and care for an animal five times their size.

The reason it means so much to me was because four years ago I was a complete beginner, and over these past four years I have worked extremely hard to get to where I am today, and I am proud of that. Now, I am teaching lessons and retraining the horses, both of which I plan on doing full-time after college. The great thing about our barn is that no matter how much I teach the kids about riding or horse care, they manage to teach me more. These kids have so much depth to them and I often remind myself how lucky I am to be the one working beside these mini intellectuals. They really make me open my eyes, live in the present, and just enjoy this beautiful life I have created for myself. I love that now I am able to open doors for kids who were in my shoes four years ago, and hopefully help them find their passion in horses too. Although being 17 and knowing that this is exactly what I want to be doing for the rest of my life is a bit scary, I am grateful that I have found my passion so early on in life.

High school has been a roller-coaster, but the barn has kept me sane by providing a haven and an opportunity, and letting me be the one to choose my part in it. Being a part of this organization has taught me an abundance of lessons, through both riding and volunteering, and has made me who I am today. If there is ever a day that I am stressed, exhausted, or just not myself, spending a few hours with the kids will brighten up my entire upcoming week. The barn has opened opportunities for me, such as training jobs and grooming for a professional 3Day-Eventer, and has connected me with people who have now become mentors to me, and their passion for horses and kids has luckily been shared with me. It’s crazy to think that one place, just 15 minutes from my house, could change my entire life, but it’s true.

Without the kids, or the horses, or my close-knit barn family, I would not be the driven, accomplished, passionate, and sometimes completely silly 17 year-old I am today. So in all, this is the place I am content. A small barn nestled upon a hill, with amazing horses and amazing kids; a place that provides space for someone to find themselves and to save these unwanted but incredible wise animals. This place, Square Peg Foundation, is a place that I need in my life.

Please donate to Square Peg to support this work.

December snuck up on us with beautiful weather and short days.  It’s been an amazing year.

In March, we moved to our dream location. Tucked into a coastal canyon with ocean views, forests, a private pond, and beautiful facilities it’s perfect for the families we serve and for our animals.

In May, we built an eight-acre pasture for our retired horses.  They can live out their days as a herd on natural terrain.  While we can’t turn back the clock for our older horses, we see significant improvements in the movement and arthritis management.

In June, we conducted our biggest surfing and riding special needs family day ever!  Over 25 families joined us at the beach for a day of riding and surfing.  The local surfing community and the Boys & Girls Club – including the Junior Lifeguards – helped the kids in the ocean.

In July, we piloted a program to give first job experience to high school juniors and seniors. We hired interns from the local Mid-Peninsula High School to help us run the barn.  Each intern not only learned basic job skills, but by the end, showed real leadership.

By August, we had built our own onsite campground next to the pond.  In the late summer, we hosted three campouts for 13 families and for a very special group of at risk girls. The experience was transformative.  Families enjoyed riding, hiking, kayaking on the pond, fireside music, and first class food.  Children had breakthroughs in sleep patterns, cognitive and social behavior and – most importantly – family fun in nature.   All of the camps were provided free of charge. Words cannot express how important  this is for families.

2013 was a pivotal year for Square Peg.  We exceeded everyone’s expectations.  We have shown national leadership in the areas of recreation for autism families, in horse rescue and in developing meaningful job experiences for young adults with developmental and learning disabilities.  Our new facility gives us the opportunity to grow and continue our simple but important mission to turn “I wish” into “I can” for kids and young adults who know what it’s like  to be a Square Peg.

Question: “If I donate to Square Peg, where does the money go? Answer – here

 

We speak about tribe a lot.  As homo sapiens, we live best in community groups of 12 to 30 people.

When a new family arrives at the ranch, we usually see a family isolated, lonely, and frustrated.  Barraged with advice and declarations of how to “fix” their special needs child, they get advice from everywhere. The grocery store (“if you were just more strict with him”) and from well meaning relatives (“have you thought about military school?”). Even therapists, specialists, and teachers chime in with opinions.

What kind of a world would we occupy if these families could just be?  What if there was a place to celebrate being family, to feel encouraged, and to offer support? A meal eaten with other families while children played nearby.  Sound Utopian?

Most definitely not.

When we gather our magical family camps atop the ridge at Square Peg, we create tribe.  We eat together, play together, and tell stories together.  We sit at the water’s edge, let our guards down, and rely on each other.  Every single time, these tribal gatherings create something amazing.

Several weeks ago, another tribe invited me to screen a film entitled “Horse Boy” and to lecture on the Horse Boy Method, Rupert Isaacson’s technique for working with autism.  You should know that I will talk to anyone who offers me a microphone or a soapbox (or both).  So what did I do?  I packed up the film and some brochures and headed out knowing only that I would speak to a group of Chinese parents at a church in Saratoga.

When we arrived, several young adults with special needs were milling about.  It took them a minute (maybe less) to look me in the eye and call me “auntie.”  I felt at home.  I provided a brief introduction, dimmed the lights, rolled the film, and took a seat in the back while parents trickled in.  All too soon, the time was up and parents rushed out the back door to take their children out of class. Our host approached us with an honorarium, a plaque, and an invitation to join the group for dinner.

We accepted all three.

In the cafeteria across the courtyard from the church sanctuary, all of the families gathered together for a community cooked meal.  The food was simple and delicious and was served on brown McDonald’s trays.  Kids ran, played, and ate while banging on instruments and dancing.  Announcements were made, birthdays acknowledged, dish-washing assignments made, and plans formalized for the next meeting.

We learned that the group started in Fremont in the 90’s and now boasts several hundred families.  This Saratoga group is the original group’s first satellite and is growing quickly. As dinner wound down and the tables put away, groups formed—groups for mothers, for older kids, for fathers, and more.

I was astounded to the soles of my dusty boots.

Some of us perceive Chinese culture to be punishing toward special needs families.  Shame often isolates these families even more so than in the US.  How did this group engage the best of Chinese culture to form a community of caring, celebration, and tribe?  A tribe that clearly responds to the needs of each member.  Here’s my real question—why aren’t we all doing this?  Why is this special?  Celebrating family with food and music, song and dance, art and support, is surely the best of who we can be. It happens every other Saturday in a cozy little church in Saratoga.

I’m honored to be part of this community.

Let’s start more tribes.  Let’s honor the family and create communities to break the spell of isolation. Help Square Peg be that blessed space for families to celebrate tribe.  Parent groups come and go.  Groups where moms can “get away” are terrific but I’ve seen power struggles and overworked organizers cause most to crumble.  What about groups that include the whole family—siblings and fathers—and offer something for everyone as well as celebrate community all while not trying to fix something?

I’ve lived it, I’ve seen it, and I’m here to tell you it’s very, very good.

 Our latest training project is a lazy horse. She’s very intelligent and she makes me think. But I’m not used to lazy.  I like Thoroughbreds.  They are sensitive and they love to please.  Like me, they are in constant movement and they like to be around happy others.  They get over things quickly.  This young mare is a mystery to me.  I have to constantly  re-think how I might change her perception of what I want and what is expected of her.  It’s her nature to be quiet and wait for her next meal and she’s willing to turn her butt to you and kick you out of her stall if you mess with that expectation.  She’s not mean, she just isn’t motivated to please you and engage in a lively and prolonged discussion about he wonders of a two stride in-and-out jump combination or the thrill of a three hour hilly trail ride.

All horsemen know, whether instinctively or expressly that training boils down to a simple equation: stress motivates and release teaches.  Repetition will reinforce, but the training is simple.  Not easy, but simple.  Make it easy for the horse to do the right thing and he will do it every time. But the real struggle I have with this mare is how do I change her notion that going out under saddle isn’t drudgery it’s partnership?  Somehow I need to affect her personal outlook on life.

Last night, I attended a lecture at the Menlo Park bookstore Kepler’s.  The lecture was given by one of my personal heroes and I’m lucky enough in life to also call her a friend.  She’s a pioneer in global issues of women’s health.  She’s traveled the world to meet with women in war-torn countries, natural disaster recovery and places of untold poverty and disease to help change the way women see themselves so that they become educated and empowered to the benefit of their entire community.  Yeah, she’s bad-ass, no way around it. Here’s the link to her latest book: From Outrage to Courage.  

In the Q&A portion of the evening, people asked questions about where hope is to be found and where change is most needed and where it’s really getting traction.  We talked about sub-Saharan Africa, about inner city India,  rural South America and more.  Despite some awful statistics, Anne was hopeful and excited by the ideas and actions of young people using technology and energy to make important and lasting change.  I raised my hand and told my story about the outreach we do for  a group serving women right here in San Francisco.  These women were still children and they had been involved in the sex trade.  They had already served time in correctional facilities.  I told the story of how these children committed savage acts of violence on each other in the 60 hours we spent together.  I wanted to know how we focus on the culture issues we face in our own backyards of women (children) who believe that violence is a normal part of daily life?

My friend the wise teacher sighed.  She looked me in the eye and acknowledged that what I said was indeed true.  Her daughter chimed in and told of her mentoring experiences where she was floored by the amount of violence that was part of the daily makeup of the lives of local poor girls.

After the lecture, we gathered with a gaggle of people to have a glass of wine and enjoy a warm fall evening outside the cafe next to the bookstore.  We talked about teenagers, we talked about food and books.  When I went to leave, my friend grabbed my by the elbow and said “your story left me speechless Joell.  I don’t know what to say.  But you know, you don’t have to take this on.”  We promised to meet up for a cup of tea next month and discuss things further. I hugged her and thanked her and headed out for my hour long drive home.  My whole body ached.  It ached because somehow, I do have to take this on.  I know that we can’t right all the wrongs in the world.   I know we are just one tiny underfunded organization and that my culture is so vastly different from the girls around that campfire and that they see me as foreign and “outside.”  We just need a plan, a vision of how start to make change in how these girls see themselves of what is possible and what is so desperately destructive.  We need to help them feel or be safer so that they don’t react as if they had rabies and subscribe to a “kill or be killed” mentality.

As I worked with my young horse this morning, I reminded myself “stress motivates, release teaches.”

       Release. When the stressor is removed or resolved, or when it just stops.  That’s when change happens.  So maybe, just maybe my crazy notion to take these girls into the beautiful coastal hills with good food and fresh air and silly dogs and go playing on the beach and riding horses to see ocean views isn’t that crazy afterall.  When we took these girls to the beach surfing, the girls from the local surf club served them, and then we were joined by the girls from the junior life guards and then word got out to the local women’s surfers and I looked into the water and there were 30 girls and women serving these four girls from the city.  That night around the campfire, our teenage volunteers took the girls on a night hike to visit the horses. For a short while, they were all just girls on an adventure. There was magic. Everyone was celebrating life and there was laughter and movement and fun.  My heart was filled with hope and pride in my community and in the power of women to make change.

Maybe that release, that kindness, that space to breathe and think and be safe – maybe that’s all there is and maybe what we’ve got to offer is

actually enough.

 

“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.” Terry Tempest Williams

Here I am again, one week into school and desperately pining for those much-missed long days at the barn. We all say summer is short, (ask any kid,) but this summer was especially short, which is why I’m having a difficult time finding a proper way to wrap it up.

This summer marks my fourth consecutive year riding and working with Square Peg, and there are no words to describe how much it has saved me. My first summer at Square Peg was in fact the shadow to my looming freshman year of HS, and to be honest, I had no clue who I was. I found myself these past four years; with all of the kids, the family our core barn group has become, and of course, with the horses. Using Sigourney’s expertise, I was able to help along some of the green horses this summer, and learned how to ride and teach an inexperienced horse. I am also very proud to say that with her training and support, we were able to teach one of our older OTTB’s (Off Track Thoroughbred) how to jump. So of my four summers here, this one was definitely the best; not because of the things we did for ourselves (although I am very proud of what I accomplished!) but because this summer was all about learning and teaching others, and I do believe that is why this summer was so successful.

Our new facility opened up opportunities that would have been impossible otherwise and I know how lucky I am to be involved in an organization that makes these types of experiences possible. This summer we hosted two separate camps on our city-upon-a-hill.

The first camp was for a group of inner-city girls, who usually come for just an afternoon of riding, so this time was considerably different. Camping with them turned out to be one of the most knowledge-invoking and risk-taking experiences I’ve ever had. For girls who barely leave the SF boundaries, boy did they teach us some stuff about surviving in the woods and trying new things. Seeing their view on life was incredible, considering we are all teenage girls, just with different backgrounds. I am happy to say that we are already planning our next beach day with them!

The second camp was for five of our Square Peg families and it turned out incredible. We hiked, boogie boarded, made just about a million s’mores, and even took our first camp adventures into the pond. Three days of camping is a lot of work, time, and patience, but every second was 100% worth it. Things happened during both of those camps that were new territory for not just me, but for my peers as well, and being able to step out of our own comfort zones and experience these newfound ideas and thoughts was just about priceless. As Joell likes to say, camp turns groups into tribes, and this summer was clear proof of that. One night during the first camp, I called my mom to say goodnight, but also to say thank you: thank you for giving me a life that I am extremely proud of, thank you for providing me the resources to be at this magical place whenever I want, and thank you for being the mom that some people are never able to experience.

This summer, I think the barn as a whole has really become the best it has ever been before. The horses were happier, our organization level has skyrocketed, and because of everyone’s dedication and tremendous effort, the lesson program has become the best it ever has, reaching almost 150 people this summer. If that isn’t amazing, I am not sure what is. Although summer break has come to an end, the summertime weather continues to persist, so if you have an extra few hours, schedule a time to come out to the ranch and help; clean some tack, feed some carrots, muck some stalls, and just enjoy the sunshine and the craziness and bliss that is Square Peg Foundation.

In 1877, the most influential anti-cruelty novel ever, Black Beauty, was published. Written by Anna Sewell from a horse’s perspective to promote animal welfare, Black Beauty sold more than 50 million copies and remains one of the best-selling books ever.

All my life, I’ve worked alongside these magnificent, compassionate animals. Horses have emotions. Horses form strong connections and deep bonds with each other and, remarkably, with us. But chances are you already know this.

Did you know that in 2012, 160,000 American horses were sent from the United States to slaughter plants in Mexico and Canada? As many are set to be slaughtered this year and even more next year.

Laws were changed in the United States to disallow the slaughter of horses in the United States. What did this do? It sent determined stock owners to butchers in Canada and Mexico. This statistic is made worse knowing how powerfully emotive horses are. The truck ride alone is horrific.

Many members of Square Peg’s 18-horse herd were on their way to slaughter when we rescued them. My story — Vaya Con Dios — honors the stories of these horses. If this story moves you, please donate to the Square Peg Foundation and help us save equine lives, affect change, and teach the next generation of humans to respect and value life. Let’s make Anna Sewell proud all these years later.

So pour yourself another cup of tea, sit back, and enjoy the tale. It’ll take 10 minutes and it may even move you.

Caveat: This story contains adult issues that may upset children.

 

VAYA CON DIOS           

by Joell Dunlap 

Nuzzling the orange cat can be tricky. Sometimes he’s friendly. Most times he swats me with his razor sharp claws. Tonight he’s friendly, but I’m suspicious that he accepts my affection.

At long last, someone turned off the crackling radio. The hay net is full but I’m not hungry. The pain in my throat is a tickle now. I cough, the cat hisses. I knew he was grumpy. My legs have been massaged and wrapped in cotton pillows and the bottoms of my feet are packed with cooling medicine. My right front knee is sore, but tolerable. I shift weight onto my stronger hip and then doze.

From the Racing Report Daily

Third Race: Team Bleau’s Vaya Con Dios disappointed bettors today as the 2-to-1 favorite failed to fire. He struggled throughout the race and loped across the finish line last. “He just never got in gear,” Jockey Charlie Clahain said.

“It looks like we either find softer competition for ‘Dios or find him a retirement home.” Assistant trainer Ann Garrison said.

The cat scurries away. Someone is coming into my stall. I don’t know him. I snort, curling my nose toward my chest to let him know I need space. The snorting makes me sneeze. I don’t like him. He slips a halter over my nose. It doesn’t smell like my oiled leather halter, it smells stale. He tugs the stinky rope and I follow him out into the dark, still sleepy.

My knees are stiff. The man jerks me toward the rig. Another man is waiting at the back of a little trailer. He’s nervous. WHACK! It’s a rope on my hips from the man in back. I pin my ears and kick out and am punched by the man in front. Tired, sore, and wanting to be alone, I walk into the van and look for food in the feeder — there is nothing. The doors slam shut and the truck wrenches into motion. I stumble. The trailer smells like urine and fear.

We’re stopped at the stable gate where words and papers are exchanged before we head onto a smooth highway. I place my nostril next to the broken window to get a stream of cool air. I rest.

We pull into a hot bumpy yard. I’m unloaded into a pen with three other horses. One is old and scared, another is young and curious, one is angry and wants us to know she’s boss. Thickly built and strong, she bristles, neck arched, nostrils flared, I can smell her estrus waning. I turn my back to her, I’m not interested in a fight. Quick as lightning, BAM! She wheels and lands a vicious kick on my hip.

Fury fires though my body. My legs strike out at her, at the soreness in my knees, at the filth of this place, and at the fact my breakfast and soft clean stall are somewhere else, not here. She submits, licks her lips and lowers her head. She has conceded leadership. The others avert their eyes.

The young horse sidles up beside me, tries to be friendly. I pin my ears back and snap teeth at him. I back up to sulk in the corner. The older horse slinks away. I position myself to show I mean him no harm. My flank is screaming with pain from the mare’s kick. She’s limping and bleeding but there is no satisfaction in that.

Hungry flies probe my eyes and nose. They crawl up my legs and torment my belly. It’s maddening. A single flake of hay is thrown into the pen. I know it’s mine to eat — these horses won’t challenge me — but I’m not hungry. The old horse and I stand and watch the others tear it apart. I’m thirsty but balls of manure float in the water trough. Undrinkable.

I lick the rusty fences for some moisture and find nothing. The sun reflects off the hard ground and stings my eyes. I dream of soft bedding. I long for the smell of cooking oats or the crunch of a peppermint offered from a friendly hand. I miss the orange cat.

Horses come and go. A vicious pony replaces the angry mare. Immediately, he has it in for the old horse who is afraid to sleep. I corner the pony, peppering him with kicks and mustering my scariest screams, but in no time, he’s back to his terrorizing.

I’m tired. I think about daily baths and a clean stall. Hunger cramps my stomach. I dream of cooked oats laced with salt and chunks of carrots.

The water trough is crusted with green slime. It sticks inside my nose and lips. The mud around the leaking tank sucked off one of my front shoes. My bad knee catches. I think about laying down but I know the skinny dogs pacing outside the pens will attack when I’m down. I stand and sulk.

I’ve gotten to know the old horse. He lived in a pasture with friends. He’s confused and scared. He is dying.

The stupid young horse made friends with the vicious pony. They flick their noses at the hungry dogs. They prance back and forth every time the old trailer pulls into the yard with another beast. They chase the old horse every time I doze off.

A man halters me and brings me into the yard. A snarling dog circles us and I snake my head with pinned ears until she tucks tail and runs away. The man holding my lead-rope jerks hard and stomps toward me with teeth bared. I remember the heavy punch from our first meeting and step back.

He presents me to two men with yellow eyes. They smell like chewing gum and cheap, stale cologne.

“I thought you said this horse can race?”

“Hombre, this horse is fast — I tell you. Look at the muscles! He was at the big track!”

“He can barely walk, he’s done. I need something to run right now. I told you.”

“All this horse needs is a little bit of magic dust and he can fly for half a mile. He knows how to win.”

“$2,000 for a cripple? No way.”

“A cripple who can fly. Look at him. And he’s mean, you saw him go after my dog. Mean horses run. You know that.”

“Show me something else — I don’t want a horse this old.”

“Gimme $1200 for him. He’ll run I swear.”

“I’ll give you $600 for him.”

“I can do better than that for meat.”

“Liar. I know what meat prices are.”

$750?”

“$600 is the best I can do.”

“I’ll show you this other horse I got, maybe you take two?”

A clump of grass teases me, just out of reach. My belly screaming for moist food, I strain hard and get a good mouthful before a swift kick to my chin forces me lift my head. I’m torn between gratitude for the morsel of green food and an urge to stomp all three men into the ground. I keep myself out of trouble by chewing grass in my mouth.

In the pen, the pony and his ornery side-kick are cornering my elderly friend. He’d made the mistake of helping himself to some of the hay left by the water trough. I don’t want to care. I want to brood in what’s left of the shade in the opposite corner of the paddock but I can smell the cancer that bubbles up underneath the skin of the old horse’s belly and I know he can’t defend himself. I charge in, head lowered and tail raised. I rush between my cowering friend and the marauders and then start to glower, to paw the hard scrabble, and let my outrage take hold.

Stupid young horse scurries and pony turns away nonchalantly. For now, my old friend is safe to cower in the corner. I glare at the pirates and lower my head to take a large bite of the hay on the ground. It’s bitter and dry and I eat every bite, daring the pony to take it from me. I can’t eat for my friend, but I can keep my strength up to protect the two of us. Behind me, I hear the old horse nibbling at dried manure.

A loud and dangerous smelling truck pulls in. I stomp, too tired to care. The dogs circle the vehicle, pissing on its tires. Men push horses through a chute and into the trailer. Hooves clatter on the thin wooden floor, cries echo off the aluminum walls. The belly of the rig shudders with it’s growing load. Our pen is the last one emptied.

I stand close to my old friend shielding him from the threats that lurk everywhere.  Stupid young horse tries to stay with the pony but he’s lost in the fray. We load into the trailer with the rest. But the pony has eluded the handlers. He’s frantically running around the pen. Terrified, he ducks and dives and spins away from the men.

Rivers of sweat run from behind his tiny ears, around his wide eyes, and drip from his quivering chin. We watch through the slats of the trailer as the men shout and try to corner him. Each time they have the pony cornered, he charges past them, knocking them over.

“Enough!” A big man picks himself up off the ground where the pony knocked him down, storms across the yard into a shed; the pony panting and watching. The man squints and aims and we all jump when we hear the report of the rifle. Another crack and the pony crumples on the spot. As the truck starts up and the trailer pulls away, we shudder at the sound of starving dogs feasting.

Twenty or so of us are standing as still as we can, trying to stay on our feet. The floor is greasy with nervous excrement. We sway against each other as the vehicle lurches down the road. We are so packed we can’t turn our heads to see where we begin and another horse ends. We muster our collective senses of smell, taste and sound to gain awareness.

A slamming thud and a shift of bodies tells me a horse is down. The smell of fear and sickness reaches my nose. It’s my old friend.  A horse reacts to the crush of his falling body on her legs. She squeals and lashes out. A chaos of panic and kicking and thrashing ensues until a hard left turn of the truck causes us all scramble to stay upright.

The fray re-ordered us. I can see my friend, down and battered, his head jammed against the wall at a horrible angle. The damage to his body is grave. Blood trickles from one nostril, his breathing is labored. He sighs and tries not to move but horses step on him as they do their best to remain standing in the moving space.

I lean my head into the strong back of the horse next to me. She shudders and I sigh to show her I am neither trying to dominate nor seek her protection. She echoes my sigh while I close my eyes and dream of sweet straw beds, of rich alfalfa hay, of immaculate white bandages supporting my massaged legs, of a groom singing softly while rubbing my coat with a clean towel. He’s patting me with big hands and offering me peppermints.

I’m awakened from my sweet dream by a scream of brakes and a crush of bodies. The van fish-tails wildly back and forth. The smell of acrid smoke is everywhere. Something big slams into the side of the trailer. The violence of the impact causes two horses to flip into the air.

The floor is a frenzied mess of terror. Blood and urine spray the walls as a score of horses try to flee the locked aluminum cage. Legs are tangled with tails and throats. I look up to see sky but my legs can find no purchase. Everywhere flailing hooves meet soft bellies, hard skulls meet harder walls.

We thrash and panic until our bodies collapse in an unholy heap. It’s all we can do to lay in place, panting and snorting, letting panic rule. Except for the moans and a steady pounding at one end of the cage, it’s quiet. We are still, we are down, and we are trapped.

We are waiting to die.

At last, when the rear doors of the trailer are jimmied open, daylight and fresh cool air cascade over us. Two uniformed men stand sweating between us and solid ground. One frantic mare jumps over the near corpse that was my old friend, powers past the men, and bolts into oblivion.

“Jeezus!”

The other officer radios for back-up, closes the hellish door, sinks to the ground, and repeats “Jeezus!”

Nate Hamer had just finished up his last bite of frozen waffles  and was savoring the last sip of his one daily allotted cup of strong coffee when his wife presented him with the morning paper.

 San Diego County Journal

TECATE, CA Hwy 188 was closed yesterday for three hours while authorities cleaned up after a tractor trailer wreck. The trailer contained 23 horses presumed to be headed for slaughter in nearby Mexico. Three horses were dead at the scene, one escaped from the trailer wreckage. Its whereabouts remain unknown. Six horses were euthanized at the scene due to the extent of their injuries and the rest were taken into custody by the San Diego Humane Society. The driver of the truck fled and has not been found.

A mechanical malfunction is presumed to be the cause of the accident.

The San Diego Humane Society needs help to find homes and health care for the 13 surviving horses. They are of all ages, breeds, and backgrounds. Many are presumed to be Thoroughbreds taken from a recently foreclosed breeding facility in Temecula. 

If you can help with the horses, please contact the San Diego SPCA immediately.

If you have any information about the owner of the vehicle, please contact the San Diego County Sheriff immediately.

Nate’s wife of 38 years took his plate and, against doctors orders, refreshed his cup of coffee. She placed the dishes in the chipped sink and poured herself another cup as well. She sat down, folded her hands, and watched Nate read and re-read the article.

He sighed “We don’t have any more room.”

“I know.” And she did.

“Where are we going to put them?”

“I have no idea.” And she didn’t.

“I guess the Bleau’s might have been serious when they said they’d send the broodmares to the auction if we didn’t take them.”

She didn’t answer, there was nothing to say.

“Well, let me see if I can talk Javier into hauling some for us. Maybe Tammi and her mom can foster one or two. Do you want to go with me to the shelter?”

“No, I’ll stay here.” She sipped and cradled the cup in both hands. “We can’t take them all Nate. You know that.”

And he did.

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Please, check us out! Google us, see us on Yelp!, GuideStar, and Great Non-Profits. Ask the people at TCA and at California’s CARMA. When

you’ve done your due diligence and determined us to be dedicated and effective, please help us to help these amazing animals.

Your donation goes straight to care and feeding of Square Peg horses. None of the money you donate ever goes to me personally.

We have a hefty goal for this fall’s fund-raising campaign. Let us bring you along on this amazing journey.

For each $35,000 donated to Square Peg, we can rescue one more Off Track Throughbred (OTTB). What does this mean to the horse? It means a permanent sanctuary at Square Peg Ranch. It means compassionate, capable animals like Vaya Con Dios can settle into a forever home.

We’ll update you with stories, pictures, and even videos of how your gift granted one of these animals an amazing new lease on life.

We all know about the power of the internet to share stories, photos, and experiences. If “Vaya Con Dios” moves you, please share the story with your local horse club, your friends, your horse crazy niece, and anyone else who loves or respects animals. Together we can make a difference and save lives.

Thank you.