** Spoiler alert: Amazing true subplot from the screenplay and book! **
Joy is a real horse. I bought her sight unseen as a young Morgan rescue from Ohio and endured a harrowing two years as my filly’s behavior grew progressively worse under training. She could not even be led safely, much less ridden. Eek! Finally I drove a horse trailer through Friday afternoon rush hour in Providence, Rhode Island to a clinic by a renowned natural horsemanship trainer. After three sessions with Joy, this gentleman confirmed my worst fears: “I’ve got no qualms about putting her down,” he said. “This horse will never be safe.”
I knew the trainer was right. Yet that same evening, I drove past an auto body shop with a large billboard that boldly proclaimed, “Don’t Forget God!” Believe me, that’s a rare message in Massachusetts. A small flame lit in my chest and I was convinced I was not meant to put Joy down—though I was certainly ready to give her up. The woman who’d been working with her, emboldened by observing the trainer, decided to take Joy. I signed her over with mixed feelings, mostly of relief.
At first Joy seemed to improve, but soon her old tricks reappeared. After a year of this, she colicked—so badly that the vet gave her a 50-50 chance of survival. That night was bittersweet. Joy’s head was lowered, two IVs flanking her … finally, she was safe to pet. But she survived, and during an exam the vet discovered the root of Joy’s problems: an ovarian cyst the size of a softball was pouring testosterone into her system 24-7. She was displaying stallion behavior, and worse. Removing the cyst would correct this—but surgery would cost $3300-3500. Her new owner, an animal rescuer who’d become my friend, had no funds for this. Neither did I.
My friend decided to have a yard sale to raise money for the surgery. A local journalist wrote an article, and the sale became a big deal in our small town. People started dropping off items a week ahead of time—including a washer and dryer! The sale took place on our quintessential town green, and was scheduled for a whole weekend. I felt funny about raising money on a Sunday—usually I’d be in church—but my friend insisted she needed every bit of cash the sale would bring. So I prayed. Then the first day brought in $3,400—and it poured buckets all day Sunday, forcing an end to the sale.
Joy had surgery, and within 48 hours was a different horse. Today, she has a “forever” home with someone who loves her dearly. The whole experience was an ordeal that, as often happens, built my faith. Her trainer also became a Christian while I owned Joy. God truly did cause all things to work together for good (Romans 8:28).