** Spoiler alert: Don’t read if you haven’t read the book! **
Joy is a real horse and was mine. I bought her sight unseen as a young Morgan rescue from Ohio and had a harrowing two years as my filly’s behavior grew progressively worse, not better, 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 for Joy to be evaluated by a noted natural horsemanship trainer from out West. After three sessions, this gentleman confirmed my worst fears: “I’ve got no qualms about putting her down,” he said, and felt she would never be safe for anyone to handle.
From the human standpoint, I knew this trainer was right. Yet that same evening, I drove past an auto body shop with a large billboard. There in bold letters were the words, “Don’t Forget God!” This sort of thing is almost unheard of in Massachusetts. A small flame was lit in my chest and I was convinced I was not meant to put Joy down—though I was definitely ready to give her up. Also, my husband and I were preparing to move nearby to a house with no barn. The woman who’d been working with Joy, emboldened by observing the trainer, decided to take Joy. I signed her over with mixed feelings that included relief.
At first Joy seemed to improve, but soon her old tricks showed themselves again. After about a year, she colicked—so badly, the vet gave her a 50-50 chance of survival. That night was bittersweet. Joy’s head was lowered, she had two IVs running … finally, it was safe to pet her. But she made it through, and during an exam the vet discovered the cause of Joy’s disturbed behavior: 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 had 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 journalist friend 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 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. Well, 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, but it built my faith; her trainer, who became my friend, also became a Christian while I owned Joy. God truly did cause all things to work together for good. (Romans 8:28)