My Horse is Stalking Me… She stares at me all the time. Has this ever happened to you?






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ORIGINALLY POSTED 5/10/1O… Remi has not changed in all this time, and I love that about her!

I know this may sound odd, but my mare, Remi, is stalking me…  I mean, I think she is stalking me.  Maybe I’m paranoid but I don’t think so.

Whenever I go outside, she is always looking at me.  Day or Night, Winter or Summer, this mare is fixated on me.  I can walk outside and no other horse even lifts its head and she’ll spot me with her held held at Defcon 5.  She could be far off in her field where she is only visible to me via a squint, but that squint will reveal her big white blaze fully loaded right back at me…  I can throw her some hay and sure, she’ll grab a bite but then watch me as I serve everyone else.  And, it isn’t as if she thinks she’s missing out.  She isn’t pawing or putting her face through the fence boards; she is just looking… at me.  If I let her out to graze, instead of heading for the green grass, she will come right to me and look at me.  I ask her what she wants and she keeps looking so intently I feel like I’m the only human that cannot understand her.  She even comes up to the windows of the house and looks in.  If I am in my upstairs office, she will wait at the window closest.  In fact, as I am writing this, I just went over to the window and there she was.  So, I snapped this one shot (the first pic in the post) where I’m looking down at her on the lawn.

Actually, I have assembled several photos for you to see what I mean.  If I went out and tried to get my other (normal) horses to pay attention and look at me while I was taking a photo, they’d all look up for a moment and then go back to whatever they were doing.  Some would even give me that disgusted horsey sigh,  “She has that thing in her hand again”…  Now, I’m not talking about being inside of their pens.  I’m strictly speaking of your regular, every day activities that might include a photo from the porch.  Do your horses watch your every move?  Didn’t think so.  When it comes to Remi, if she sees me,  she locks and loads!

All this would be rather creepy if I didn’t really like her  And, maybe that is it.  Maybe I’m her girlfriend.  Maybe.  Or, maybe I’m just not getting it.  However, I may have a clue…  First though, let me tell you how she came to live here.

I rescued Remington from a feedlot in Washington.  I saw her face on the internet and her brief story which I will add here.  “Remington is a 10 year old BLM Mustang mare – she seems sweet – feet too long to ride — don’t know if broke.”   That was it.   I couldn’t even calculate her size.  There was a guy in the photo holding her rope but I didn’t know if he was a small guy or a giant.  I had no point of reference.  Still, it was something about how she stared right into the camera.  It was as if she was searching for something…  See, I think she was stalking me even then.

I had just gotten paid.  My paycheck was burning a hole in my pocket and my compassion was burning a hole in my heart. I quick, without letting myself talk myself out of it, sent the email that saved her.   Well, actually it was the several buttons I pushed at Pay Pal that did the actual rescuing but you know what I mean.  Anyway, that should have been enough.  I should have stopped there.  For criminy sakes, we have 13 horses here already.  But, ohhhhhh noooooo, instead I asked if I could have her, too.

For those of you who are not part of the gripping daily drama of horse rescue (I’m not putting it down — I want to save them all — but it can be very dramatic.), there are many aspects to a rescue.  Most people who are involved do whatever feels best for them.  Some search the feedlots, some take photos at the feedlots or wherever, some work the computers to get the word out, some send money, some quarantine, some transport and some house the rescued horses until they can find their forever homes.  So, it would have been enough for me to do just one part.  I could have easily stopped after bailing her out of the slaughterhouse.  But, for some reason, I filled out the adoption forms.  I was accepted.

So a few weeks later, she arrived.  Her feet were so long they looked like elf slippers. She was skinny and her coat was nasty.  She wouldn’t let me get near her.  She just stared at me.  Of course, when a new, ex-wild horse stares at you, you kinda figure that is par for the course.  But, it has been two years and she still stares at me — all the time.

I decided to find out what I could about her past.  I know the BLM has to keep records of all adoptions, so I contacted them.  “Sure, just send us a jpeg of the brand.”  So, I did.  Success!  They, of course, had a record of when she was captured (poor girl) and who first adopted her.  Hmmmm.  “Could I speak to him?”  Well, they didn’t give out that info but they said they would contact him for me and let him know I’d like to speak with him, if he was at the same number…

And they found him!  Yup, he was still answering the same phone number 8 years later and he used it to call me almost immediately.   From his voice, I felt he may have been at least an octogenarian.  Probably more of a centuryarian.  Anyway, he started crying when I said that I had her.  He was so relieved.  It was obvious that he loved her and felt horribly that he had to give her up recently.  I didn’t tell him that she was on a feedlot.  He had no idea what his kids had done with her (so sad).  He asked if I had her sister, too.  That made my heart ache.  I did know that there was another BLM mare that had been rescued at the same time as Remi so I told him that I thought she was rescued, too.  He told me that “Headlight” (that’s what he called her) had been very difficult to break but that she had been his ranch horse.  He described her perfectly, even the scar on her shoulder.  After a few minutes, I promised that I would send him a photo which I did.  He asked God to bless me and I started to choke up a bit.  I didn’t have the courage to ask something as ridiculous as, “Hey, did she stare at you, too?”  So, I didn’t.  I hung up and knew that I was now her keeper and proud to do it for this sweet, old cowboy.

So, I knew more about her, but I still didn’t understand her.  As time passed, I learned a few things.  Yes, she is stubborn until she decides that something is OK to do.  She will not follow you unless she thinks it makes sense.  She will not leave her pen unless she is going someplace equally as safe.   Remi has not forgotten what it was like to be a survivalist in the wild.  No fly spray, thank you very much.  She doesn’t like to be groomed, she doesn’t want to be ridden (we’ve tried) and she doesn’t even want to go to the neighbors to eat their grass.  She has no desires in life except to be touched…  And that was my first clue into why she stalks me.  I have hands.  And, I’m not afraid to use them…

The first time she let me actually touch her, she almost collapsed into me.  Her eyes rolled back into her head and she moaned softly.  I thought I had hurt her so I stepped back.  Remi whipped her head around and I swear I heard her say, “Keep doing that!”  So, I touched her again.  I ran my hands all over her and she let me touch all parts as long as I was stroking her.  Previously, she wouldn’t pick up a hoof.  But, if I was touching her and massaging her (not like I know how to massage a horse… but you know what I mean), she would be very accommodating.  She will let me apply fly spray if I use my hands, she will let me groom her if I put a groomer glove on my hand, she will let me start at her poll and end at the tip of her tail for HOURS, and I do mean hours.  She pins her ears if any other horse comes around and closes her eyes as soon as I start.  The girl is a spa girl.  She loves to be touched!

So, I guess she really isn’t a stalker.  I guess that look I saw on the Internet was a query.  I think she maybe didn’t get so much stroking from the man who dearly loved her.  Maybe she missed the touch of her wild herd.  Maybe she longed for the comfort of having her flesh pressed upon from all sides.  Maybe, my accidental desire to get fly spray on her by putting it on my hand and wiping it on her was a gift from the horsey gods.  Maybe I do understand her after all… Maybe I hear her loud and clear.  “I’m here and ready if you wanna touch me…?  I really, really like that and I want to be near and ready whenever you think you might want to touch me.  So, just know that I’m right here if you want to touch me… Is it today?  Is today the day you want to touch me?  If so, I’m right here and I’ll just wait for you to call my name or whatever…”

So now, when I see her looking at me so intently, I know exactly what she wants.  Hey, I understand…  I totally know how she feels.  Don’t you?

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A very young, neglected and skinny pregnant mare with a skinny baby at her side.

A very young, neglected and skinny pregnant mare with a skinny baby at her side.


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“Aren’t You S’Posed to be Ridin’ that Horse?” Things you don’t want to hear on the trail…






It started out so perfectly.

I got up especially early so I could fit in a ride.  I went out to get Finn, my Tennessee Walking Horse, and he was ready to go.  He went from the pasture and into the trailer in about two minutes.  So far, so good.  The truck was full of gas and the gate was already open.  Yay!

The ride to the park was sunny and glorious.  When I got there, the enormous gate had been left open.  Score!  And, my favorite spot was empty!  Oh, this was going to be a great day!

Finn walked out of the trailer and tied up gracefully.  He didn’t whinny and act like a kid.  He was composed and mature today.  Yes!  Grooming was easy, he wasn’t full of mud and his mane and tail were untangled.  The saddle and gear assembled perfectly and we were ready to Go!  But oops, I had forgotten to pick his feet.  I’d better do that…

I picked up the front left and started to dig but it looked different, something was… ohforcryingoutloud!  He’s missing a shoe!  Dagnabbit.  The stoopid mud had sucked his brand new shoe right off.  Merde.  And, it was at that point I remembered I had sold my emergency boot on Ebay because I had never used it — or I guess I should say that I hadn’t used it — yet.  I had no duct tape and had nothing that would protect his newly trimmed hoof on this rocky terrain.

OK, well, I’m not going to let this little imposition ruin our day.  We are going to go on a trail hike, then!  I took off his gear, put his halter back on and we set off.  Now, with all of my horses, we usually walk (me on the ground) trails often in the beginning.  For me, it helps me learn about the horse and creates a confidence that we both need to start riding.  I did the same with Finn when he was new.  But, I  had forgotten how fun that wasn’t.  I had forgotten the early days…

Finn is the horse who thinks he is Daniel Boone.  Why ride on the trail when you can trailblaze?  He sees no reason for walking on the trail.  Heck, it has already been done… let’s go someplace NEW! If you take Finn on a trail he’s seen before or if you make him go on a fire road, you may as well be asking him to cross nails.  He would rather sit down and pout than go where every horse has gone before.  In his little horsey brain, he fancies himself a Captain Kirk, commanding the Enterprise.  He wants to go discover new lands.  Or so he thinks…  Having taken him on those types of uncharted cross country rides, I can tell you he is absolutely fine… until he hears something.  “What was that?  Did you hear that?  OMG! I know it eats horses!  I suggest we leave NOW!”  Yup, that’s my Finn.  He wants to go into the dark forests as long as there are no boogeymen.

So,  here we were.  Me at the helm, him at the caboose.  See, it’s easier when I’m riding him.  I can keep him from pouting on the known trails because I keep him occupied.  But, today as we walked along, I had to drag him.  As far as Finn was concerned, keeping the 10′ lead rope taut was his goal.  No matter how many times I looked back and gave him my mare face, he didn’t change his pace.  He sauntered like he was Old Shep.

I thought about driving him from behind and actually did it for a few yards but reconsidered when he kept looking back at me and moonwalking.

My next bright idea was to bring him slightly off the trail.  That actually worked for a while.  But, since it had rained all week, I kept slipping into mud holes.  So I scratched that idea even though Finn was on a roll.  He was pulling me along which was why I kept overlooking the holes.  And then I thought that with our luck, he’d pull the other shoe.  So we got back on the trail.  Screech.  Halt.  Plod.  Oh, and let me add, he has no issue with circling for hours down the trail.  I tried to use that tactic but he thought it was kinda fun.  I started to get vertigo.

Finally, I resorted to insulting him.  As I’m pulling him along, sweat running down my face, “Hey, you have four legs, I only have two… what is your problem?”  And, “Finn, you are a big, strong boy, the other horses are laughing at you!”  Finally, I lobbed the big one, “No treats and no Granola Bar when we finish.”  He ignored me and I think he actually slowed down, if that was possible.  “This is so boring, Mom!  I’m sleep walkin’ here.”

At last, we hit the halfway point, which he knew.  With the agility of Mikhail Baryshnikov, he swiveled around and started back at a rate of speed worthy of a checkered flag.  Now we were at the most glorious running walk I had ever seen!  I was actually starting to have a good time!  There was no slack in the rope and we were moving!  I was almost airborne as we flew back to the truck.  For the first time, he was gaiting like a maniac.  I swear that my feet only lightly touched the earth as we covered so much ground so fast my eyes were tearing.  His head was bobbing and his teeth were clacking.  This boy was having a great time!  He looked back at me a few times smiling and pelted some horsey insults of his own but I ignored him.

And, just as we got back to the trailer, exhilarated, exhausted (or at least I was…), laughing and sweaty, a man who was just starting to ride out said to me, “Hey, aren’t you s’posed to be ridin’ that horse? Heh Heh!”

And we just looked at him… Finn gave me that, “Well aren’t you gonna say something?” look.  Here my wonderful gelding had just given me a fabulous trail run so proudly I retorted, “Why no, Sir, this here is a Walking Horse…”  And, I was right.  ;)

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