Social Media and the Kill Pen

When I was a teenager (eons ago) I used to accompany my dad to buy horses. It was a part-time hobby of his - finding good family horses for people and turning a small profit on them. Usually he dealt with a dealer whose job was to find such horses (and most came from ranches in Texas, Oklahoma, and Idaho.) But sometimes I'd go with him to one of the horse sales in California's central valley, where we would look for good buys on gentle, well-trained horses. My job was to jump on them (as the owners were showing them off) before the sale started and ride them around the parking lot, through mud puddles and between trucks and trailers and past dogs tied in the back of pick-ups. If the horse did well, appeared gentle, and was kinda pretty, my dad would try and make a deal and we would bring it home before it went through the sale.

I got quite an education back in those days. I not only learned how to ride a variety of horses (and it was also my job to show them off to customers back at home) but this was the time when I learned about the "kill buyers." The sad fact was that those horses at the auction who didn't find new jobs as riding horses would usually be bought by kill buyers and sent to slaughter.

Things haven't changed an awful lot today. There are still horse auctions where many horses get sold for meat. At the moment, there are no equine slaughter houses operating in the United States, and horses are now sent over the border to either Canada or Mexico to be slaughtered. There is a proposal right now to build a new horse slaughter plant in Missouri, and also a movement amongst horses lovers to stop it. But the sad fact is that many thousands of horses are still slaughtered and sold for meat every year, most of it shipped overseas.

What has changed from the time when I attended auctions? Technology. Cell phones, social media, twitter, and facebook help spread the word about horses that are available and horses in need. Is this helping some horses? I think so. At least a few of them.

There are many rescue groups now that scour auction yards ahead of the actual sale time, looking for horses that might be rideable or usable or registered stock. They can then post these horses on facebook, with pictures, and even get identification of tattoos of certain breeds, and find out the horse's name and history. With the abundance of smart phones, you can take a picture of horse, post it on facebook, and maybe find someone to fall in love with it and offer its purchase price or donation toward its rescue immediately.

There are a lot of soft-hearted people out there, and many follow these auctions from home computers. They can save a horse by sending money to pay pal, or by calling or emailing or posting that they'd like to donate. Amazing, huh?

If you'd like to follow some of their attempts to save horses from auctions, here are some sites:

Southern California Thoroughbred Rescue
Website: http://www.sctbrescue.org/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Southern-California-Thoroughbred-Rescue/155169894561912

Horse Plus Humane Society
Website: http://www.horsehumane.org/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/horsehumane

Pony Up Rescue for Equines
Website: http://www.ponyuprescue.com/index.html
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PonyUpRescue

Auction Horses
Website: http://auctionhorses.net/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Auction-Horses/281527494270?sk=wall


These mostly deal with auctions and horses on the West Coast, but I know there are many in other parts of the country as well.

If you want to save a horse in person, you can go to one of these auctions yourself. Bring your checkbook and your horse trailer. I've done so in the past, and brought home not only an emaciated pony that I took home and fattened up, but also a 6-month-old weanling filly that was separated from her mother in the pen and sold separately, price $50. She found a new home the next day with my best friend.

If you prefer to get involved in horse rescue from the comfort of your living room, that's okay, too. Look up some of the sites above, or feel free to post any other rescues or links you know of in the comments below.

Have you ever been to one of these small-time horse auctions, or saved a horse from slaughter? Tell us about it.

A Question

By Laura Crum

So today I have a question for all you horse people out there—particularly those who have adopted out a lot of horses. I have done a little of this, and sometimes my adoptive homes worked out and sometimes I had to take the horse back. Sometimes they worked for a few years and then I had to take the horse back because something had changed—the adoptive owner had lost her job or had a new boyfriend and was no longer so interested in the horse…etc. So I have some ideas about what makes a good adoptive home, but I don’t feel I have that much experience.

Here’s Harley’s story—I would welcome advice.

Harley belongs to my uncle, who is a team roper and has owned and raised horses all his life. My uncle bought Harley a couple of years ago for ten thousand dollars, which is a pretty fair price for a team roping horse. (I know, in some disciplines it would be peanuts, but for a rope horse it’s a good price.) Harley was everything the price implied—a twelve year old, well broke, sound, mannerly critter, and a very good rope horse. My uncle roped on him for all of six months and the horse came up lame.

The lameness was diagnosed as a suspensory tear. My uncle did everything that was prescribed. First rest, then a surgery, more rest, gentle legging up, and then, when the horse went lame again, another surgery. Much money was spent. A year and a half passed. And though most horses do heal up and get sound from an injury like this, Harley didn’t. He is still lame. The vets now think he may always be lame. My uncle has him turned out in a small field, and though the horse walks freely and seems comfortable in the pasture, if you trot him he has a noticeable bob. He isn’t sound enough to be a riding horse. A person could walk him for short sessions—either by hand or on his back—which might, perhaps, help him to heal.

My uncle decided he wanted to find a home for Harley and asked if I knew anyone who might be appropriate. It just so happened that that very day a woman I know, who loved horses when she was a girl, told me she’d decided that she wanted to “bring horses into her life again”. She has a small property where she keeps goats, chickens, and ducks….when her kids were small she kept a pony for them to ride. She is an animal person and a very reliable, responsible one. I know her well.

I asked her if she wanted to own a horse. She said, “Maybe.”

The upshot of this is I told my uncle about this friend, and got his permission to tell her about Harley. I put the two of them together. My friend met Harley and loved him. My uncle met my friend and agreed she was a very nice woman. “But,” he said, “She’s not a horse person. Its not the right home.”

I knew exactly what he meant. My friend is not really a horseman. She has some experience with horses. But even a gentle horse like Harley might spook or kick up on a windy day. These are behaviors a horseman takes for granted. But a woman like my friend could get scared or hurt. She doesn’t really have a horse corral or fenced pasture. Merely a largish fenced area where she keeps the goats.

Here’s the rub. My uncle intends to put Harley down if he can’t find a good home for him. He’s also willing to take the horse back at any time if the new home needs to get rid of him. The friend who wants Harley and my uncle live about one mile from each other. These things are in favor of giving the horse to this home.

The fact that my friend is such a responsible person who takes such good care of her animals is in favor of giving her the horse. The fact that she is not a horseman and doesn’t have a horse setup weighs against it. But lame horses are hard to give away in today’s climate. Harley is a happy, healthy horse who does not look as if he needs putting down.

I’m stymied by this. Should we give the friend a try and take Harley back if it doesn’t work out? Or is that asking for trouble? Should we keep looking for someone else who might possibly want this horse? I don’t think we’ll get many takers right now.

I honestly want to do a good thing here, not a bad one. I don’t want to see my friend get hurt or scared. I don’t want to see Harley get hurt. My uncle has thrown the ball back in my court, asking me if I think that he should give the horse to this gal. I’m worried I’ll end up with Harley myself, rather than see him put down, and I really, really can’t afford to take on another horse (see my last post on “An Old Gray Horse”). I’d like to see this friend have a chance to get back into horses, as she wishes to do. I’m truly confused as to what’s the right thing to do.

So what would you do here? Any advice?

An Old Gray Horse

By Laura Crum


Out in the five acre field where I keep Gunner, the retired cutting/team roping/cowhorse that features in my mystery series about equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, there is an old gray horse. His owner called him Gray Dog. Somehow, I’m not quite sure how, I agreed to take Gray Dog and retire him.

His owner was a friend of mine and she had too many horses. She didn’t want the financial obligation of retiring Gray Dog. She said the horse was kind and gentle. He had been a team roping horse. He had navicular and had been nerved twice. Gray Dog gets around fine in the pasture but he isn’t sound enough to ride. He’s about sixteen hands, a registered Quarter Horse with a very TB look to him. He’s a hard keeper and needs plenty of hay and Equine Senior as well as pasture to keep his weight on.

I’m still wondering how I came to be responsible for Gray Dog. I can tell you the story, but it hardly makes sense, even to me. Here I am, feeling short of time and money because I care for too many horses, four of which are old/crippled retired pasture ornaments. Why, exactly, would I take on another old useless horse? Because my friend was desperately trying to find a home for him, I guess. He was for sale dirt cheap. When I asked her if he was gentle enough for a beginner, she promptly offered to give him to me. At one point, I had visions of my husband riding him, which vanished between my husband’s lack of enthusiasm, and Gray Dog’s lack of soundness.

Anyway, my friend hauled Gray Dog to the pasture where I keep my herd of retirees, and I turned him in with Gunner, wondering if I’d gone stark raving mad. I warned my friend that I would not be buying expensive veterinary care for this horse. If he got too lame to be a pasture pet, I would put him down. My friend agreed and said she would pay for euthanasia and the tallow truck. Fair enough.

And so this very tall (to me, sixteen hands is a very tall horse—I know you warmblood people will laugh), dignified, fleabitten gray gelding backed stiffly out of the stock trailer and became my horse.
From the beginning, Gray Dog was a gentleman. He never tightened the leadrope (not once) as I led him around his new pasture. He never pinned his ears (not once) as he got acquainted with 29 year old Gunner. Though aloof seeming, he was always easy to catch and handle. His ribs showed, he walked stiffly, but he seemed healthy and content, right from the beginning.

Gray Dog and Gunner were a good match. Though Gray Dog is only eighteen, his body type requires about the same amount of equine senior and hay as the much older Gunner. My new old horse gained weight slowly and his gray coat developed a silvery sheen. He began to trot a little more freely, and would even buck and play at feeding time. He was no problem to catch and hold for the farrier and to be wormed. He was a gentleman about everything. At least, I thought, if I had to rescue another old useless horse, this one is no trouble.

And then a funny thing began to happen. When I would walk out to check on the pasture horses, Gray Dog, formerly aloof, would spot me immediately. He was the first one to approach me. He would nuzzle me and my little boy affectionately, not begging for treats, always polite and respectful of our space, but distinctly friendly. It was as if, in some mysterious way, he had recognized that we were his benefactors. He had decided that he liked us. It sounds silly, but it felt true.

And I, who have many horses that I have owned for ages, horses who have done lots for me, horses that I have put many miles on, I started to fall for this old horse that I’d never once swung a leg over. I looked forward to seeing him almost as much as I looked forward to seeing Gunner. Though I don’t, in general, care much for grays, I admired the silvery color of his coat and thought his steady dark eyes had a noble look. He reminded me of Shadowfax in “The Lord Of the Rings.” (OK, now I’m really getting silly…I know.)

In short, I fell for this old gray horse in a big way. For no other reason than that he is a genuinely nice horse. I know his history. I know he was a good team roping horse who would pack a beginner, and a good trail horse. He took several people for their first-ever ride on a horse. He was kind to the babies in his previous owner’s pasture. She used to wean the young ones to him as a babysitter. But the thing that really matters is the feeling I get from this horse. Its just a pleasure to be around him.

This is a hard thing to explain to anyone who’s not a horseman, and a lot of horsemen wouldn’t understand it either. But I am grateful that fate, or something, caused me to agree to take this horse, against all logic. This horse deserves his peaceful retirement. This horse has been a gift to me, not a burden. I’m proud to own him.

OK…I really hope my husband never reads this blog. He’ll be sure I’ve gone off the deep end. But I wonder if many of you have similar illogical bonds with certain horses that would really make no sense to any one else, but which work for you. Or am I just a little loony? Or maybe its both. Cheers—Laura Crum

Rescuing Horses---Freddy's Story

By Laura Crum




Whenever I read Joe’s Thoroughbred Friends blog, I am overcome with the desire to rescue a few horses in need of homes. And right now, as I think all readers of this blog know, there are many, many horses in need of homes. What holds me back? I already care for twelve horses and am stretched to the max making sure that every one is cared for appropriately. See my post (“Happy Stories For the Season” Dec 08). In general, these are all horses that I rode and/or trained myself. I retired them and care for them because they are my legitimate responsibility. I have owned enough horses in my life, that just taking care of all of them is a fair amount of horses, so I don’t often rescue other horses. (And recently one of my horses colicked and had to go to colic surgery to save his life, which brought home the financial truth in spades—responsible horse ownership can be very expensive—see “Colic” Feb 09.)

I have never been in the business of rescuing horses. And, in fact, I have never driven down to the auction and bought a horse that was unknown to me, just to save him. Maybe I should, but I haven’t. The horses I’ve rescued were horses I knew, horses that I liked (see “Why I Have One Skinny Horse” September 08), or horses I felt sorry for (see “A Happy Ending” June 08). In this latter category was Freddy, a horse I rescued many years ago. Freddy is dead now, but I’d like to tell his story here, in the hope that it might inspire a few people.

Freddy was a rope horse. Not a particularly great rope horse, but a decent rope horse. He was a medium sized bay (about 15.2) with some white on his face, a nice eye, an absurdly short tail carried high, not much butt, a deep heart girth, and straight, well made legs with plenty of bone and not a bump on them. Like all horses, he had good points and bad points. He was completely sound. He would really stick his leg in the ground when you turned a steer on him. He could cover country outside in a fast determined walk that left most horses in the dust, and he could keep it up all day. He could run across broken ground faster and more sure-footedly than any horse I ever knew. He was great on a gather. He was also a nut case.

A friend of mine bought Freddy as a seven year old green rope horse. He roped on the horse for several years. All would go well until some little thing pushed Freddy’s panic button. The things that pushed this button were unpredictable. Freddy wasn’t like a normal spooky horse. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, he would panic. When he did he was violent, willing to run right through an arena fence, rear straight up…etc. My friend put up with this for a couple of years and made excuses for the horse as being green, but in the end, quite wisely, decided that Freddy was going to get him killed and determined to get rid of the horse before that happened.

And this is where I came in. I’d been around Freddy the whole time, and I felt sorry for him. He really was a nut case; he didn’t want to be a panicky idiot. He couldn’t help it. He had fear issues that sprang from somewhere deep in his past—a horrific looking scar on one pastern might or might not have had something to do with it. He was a pretty good rope horse when he wasn’t panicking. My friend was planning to price him cheap, and I knew some team roper would probably buy him. I also knew if he was bought by another team roper, he would either hurt the guy or find himself seriously beat up, sold to slaughter…you name it. No team roper was going to put up with Freddy’s aberrant behavior. I looked into those big brown eyes and made the choice. I bought Freddy.

I had ridden Freddy several times and I really enjoyed him as a trail horse, but I knew better than to think that I could get along with this horse on a regular basis. To be frank, I was scared to try. But I had a cowboy friend who could handle a tough horse and who kept his horses turned out in my sixty acre pasture. So I gave him the horse. I explained what he was. And my friend used the horse for many years. He team roped on him, gathered cattle on him, branded calves on him, rode him through the hills…etc. Freddy was one of the best head horses this guy ever had, and considered the best horse “outside” in that part of the world. Tales of him outrunning cattle who were headed in the wrong direction in rough country were numerous and admiring. He never put a foot wrong. He was in great demand on gathers. My friend was often hired with the request that he “bring that short-tailed horse”. But Freddy remained a nut case. My friend had several close calls when the horse panicked. We discussed the horse many times. It was a tough choice. But in the end my friend gave Freddy back. He was too dangerous, even for this fairly tough cowboy.

I turned Freddy out for awhile. I didn’t know what to do with him. He was in his teens now, still sound and healthy. Another friend approached me, and asked if he could use Freddy. He wanted to rope and go to gathers and brandings. I explained exactly what Freddy was. This guy agreed to try him and be kind to him. In the end, he found he could get along with him (getting older helped Freddy a lot). Freddy was still a nut case. He could still do a good day’s work. I asked the guy to retire the horse if he kept him and used him and he agreed.

That was ten years ago. This last roper kept Freddy and used him successfully for many years. I saw them at the ropings, and Freddy looked good. He even had a long tail (a first for him—his tail just never seemed to grow). His new rider even appeared to be fond of him and to understand him. In the end, he was retired to the pasture. They sent me photos of him at Xmas. Last year I was told that he was having so much trouble getting up and down that they euthanized him. I thanked them.

The point of this rambling story? I stepped forward for Freddy out of pity. He was a horse that I knew, a horse that I was sure needed help. And I was the one person who was in a position to know his problems and want to find a solution that would work for him. Freddy had a decent life because of me. I’m glad I was able to make that happen.

If more of us were willing to do this, just as much we can, and step forward for the horses we know who need some help, a lot less of them would fall between the cracks. The true rescues, like Joe at TB Friends, wouldn’t be so overwhelmed. I offer my story as an example of what can be done, by all of us, one horse at a time. (And see Janet’s previous post about Pete for another example.)

If I could afford it, and had the room, I’d love to take on some of the horses that Joe and Cathy Shelton are rescuing, horses that are doomed, except for the intervention of TB Friends. I encourage everyone to check out this website and for those who are able, to consider adopting a horse from TBFriends.

To Joe, and the good work he is doing….
Laura Crum

Why I Have One Skinny Horse

By Laura Crum

Okay, I can’t resist doing this. I’ve been reading fugly horse of the day, and yes, I agree with her that its evil for people to starve their horses. I agree that if old horses are properly cared for they should not be thin. Then I went out and fed my old rescue gelding his seven gallons of equine senior. I stared at his skinny little self and thought about all those photos of skinny horses on FHOTD. I looked over my shoulder, hoping no one was nearby with a camera. If said imaginary observer took my old critter from the right angle, oh, and managed to include the top strand of barbed wire on the hogwire fence, I’m sure I could be the next asshat of the day. (For those who don’t read this blog, that’s what she calls those she’s picking on—often for good reason.)

And then it struck me. I may be a good example of something that’s worth pointing out. Not everything is quite as black and white as it may appear. So, let me tell you ET’s story, and you be the judge.

I rescued ET about ten years ago. I first saw him about twenty years ago, when a tough young team roper I knew slightly showed up at a roping I was competing at. The kid was just in from Arizona, where he’d bought this horse cheap. He unloaded the horse, saddled him, and entered the roping on him. I couldn’t help staring, and I wasn’t the only one. This was, bar none, the funniest looking horse I’d ever seen. To begin with, he had the longest back I’d ever seen, coupled with real short legs. This gave him somewhat of a dachshund appearance. Add to this a very long upright neck, which created a sort of giraffe-like twist. And the horse was missing his right eye-—just an empty socket remained. To say the least, he wasn’t pretty. We all wondered why the heck that kid had bought him. We found out.

Our tough little cowboy friend won the first pot he entered on the funny looking gelding, who turned out to be a spectacularly good heel horse. He could run, turn with the cow and stop as well as any horse in the arena. And he was a real pro. Nothing bothered him. Endlessly curious about horses as I am, I went up and talked to the kid about the little gelding. Turns out the horse was real well bred (for a rope horse)—he was a son of Two Eyed Jack (kind of ironic) out of a daughter of Blondy’s Dude. Not bad, if you know anything about those old Quarter Horse lines. It passed my understanding how he wound up so funny looking, but if you studied him, you could see why he was athletic. Despite his odd looks, his hip and hind leg were set on just right, his shoulder was perfect. I could only conclude that a long back and short legs do not necessarily make a problem, same for the high head carriage. The eye had been lost in a pasture accident, so his new owner had been told. He had named the horse ET—that movie had just come out. The horse definitely had a distinct resemblance to the little space alien.

I watched ET at the ropings for many years after that. The cowboy kid was a horse trader and soon found a way to make money on ET. All the young ropers traded him around among themselves. Anybody could win on him. Anybody could ride him, including little kids. He was obviously very gentle, well broke, and talented. He was always sound. He had every imaginable virtue besides looks.

As the horse got older, he was bought by some rough types. I once tried to get the toughest cowboy I knew to deck ET’s current owner, who was beating that sweet old horse up at a roping I was at. (The horse had done nothing wrong—the asshole of a rider had missed his steer and this guy always beat his horses up when he missed.) I realized that ET was being traded steadily downhill. He was in his late teens. No one had ever owned him who had cared anything about him. He was not going to be retired. I could see the writing on the wall. And no horse ever deserved to be retired more than that one.

The horse was still sound and a useful rope horse. He was once again for sale. I needed him like I needed a hole in the head. I bought him anyway. I loaned him to a friend who roped on him for several years and let his kids ride him. He kept the horse turned out in a big pasture with other horses. All seemed well. The guy gave the horse back to me when ET was in his early twenties. “He’s the hardest keeper that ever was,” my friend said. “He can’t live turned out on pasture and hay.”

Sure enough, the old horse, who was built like a snake, anyway, was too thin. I found a home for him with a neighbor woman who just wanted to lead her little girl around on him. The horse was still sound, and perfectly gentle. The woman promised to feed him well.

I checked on him for years. He looked good, for ET. (This long skinny little snake of a horse looks “good” if you can’t see any ribs.) The woman had his teeth floated, she had him trimmed and wormed regularly, she fed him well. So far so good.

I began to trust that ET was cared for. Years went by. I still checked him, but not so often. The woman lost her job (so I found out), her daughter grew uninterested, she reduced ET’s ration to just hay and declined to buy the more expensive equine senior that he needed. I went to see ET after a six months hiatus, and the horse looked terrible. Ribs and spine sticking up. To make a long story short, I took him back.

I turned him in with my old gelding, Burt, who was eating 5 gallons of equine senior a day (Burt was in his late thirties and had no teeth left—for his story, see Farewell To A Friend, June 08). ET’s teeth were fine, but he clearly had a difficult metabolism. On the five gallons of Senior a day, along with free choice pasture, he gained weight. In six months, he looked fine. We were all happy—though those two retired horses were costing me a bundle.

Then Burt died. ET pined. He wasn’t happy living in the 5 acre field by himself. He fell in love with the mares in the pasture next door. Owner of said pasture begged me to turn the pathetic old guy in with the mares. It was spring; the grass was long and lush. ET looked fine, weight-wise. I agreed to try it—though I doubted he could stay there forever.

Well, for four months ET was the happiest looking horse you ever saw. He loved his herd of mares, he thrived on the grass, all was well. But the season changed, the grass dried out. The mares looked fine, but ET began to get thin again. I knew I had to separate him, but I was having a hard time doing it. I also knew how upset the old guy would be.

I finally took him out of the herd and gave him my horse, Gunner, as a pasture mate. (Both of these horses are 28 this year.) Gunner was a little underweight, and I figured they could both use the senior. ET was thin again, and I felt bad, but was sure he’d rebound. To cut to the chase, it didn’t work out. Gunner got fat, and ET stayed thin. Though ET was dominant, Gunner was a faster eater. After a month, it was clear I’d have to keep my skinny little horse by himself.

So that’s where I’m at now. ET lives alone in his 5 acre field, and he has finally settled down to it and is gaining his weight back. He looks a lot better than he did a month ago. He still doesn’t look great. If you drove down the road and saw him, you might wonder what asshat owns this skinny little horse. And now you know the story.

Am I an asshat? Or a saint for rescuing this critter and caring for him? Or something in between. Do I have lousy judgement? Yeah sure, I should have separated him from the herd sooner. But what is life about, after all. That was the happiest I’d ever seen the old horse look. What do you think I should have done?

Happy Endings

By Laura Crum

No, I’m not talking about happy endings in books. I’m talking about real life happy endings…the best kind. I spoke at the local Rotary Club a week or so ago, and got a very nice surprise. (As a published author of mysteries, I’m a minor celebrity in my smallish town and am occasionally asked to do these gigs—I always comply if I can. It helps sell books and can be fun.) I had done my usual spiel on how I became published, my life with horses…etc (trying to keep it light and funny, as I always do) and was answering questions and talking to people after the event. A man came up to me and told me his name, which meant nothing to me, and then said, “You gave my wife and daughter a horse eighteen years ago.”

I was puzzled. I honestly couldn’t think what horse he might mean. He told me his daughter’s name and the light bulb came on. “Oh,” I said, “You mean Artie.”

Indeed. Now I remembered. Artie had been a nice, reasonably well-broke seven-year-old Quarter Horse gelding that an acquaintance bought to make a team roping horse out of. Several months into training, Artie came up lame and was diagnosed with navicular. The acquaintance, who had got the horse cheap ($1000), was inclined to haul the poor critter down to the local livestock auction and get rid of him quick. A navicular horse is not a good bet for a long team roping career. But lame, as he was, the horse would inevitably be bought by the killers. And he was a sweet, kind, useful animal, who (according to the vet) had every chance of staying sound with light riding. I gave the acquaintance his $1000 back, took the horse home, and rested him until he was sound. Then I looked around until I found a home that was interested in him as a riding horse and seemed suitable. All information and X-rays to do with the horse’s navicular problem were given to the new owner. I charged her the same $1000. She was a teen-aged girl, and for years I visited her and Artie, and watched her show him in the county fair..etc. When she went off to college, she took her horse and sent me photos of herself competing on him at shows there. She took good care of him. She dealt with his navicular problem responsibly. He remained a useful working animal. And then I lost touch with her.

“Wow,” I said to the Rotary guy. “Is Artie still alive? He must be pretty old by now if he is.”

“Twenty-five,” the guy said. “And still sound.”

I must have had a grin a mile wide. Turns out the guy’s daughter became a horse vet, now has a little daughter of her own, and is teaching the kid to ride on Artie. How cool is that?

Its stories like this that make me glad I have stepped up to the plate for so many horses, dogs and cats over the years. Yes, folks, I have rescued even more dogs and cats than horses. Sometimes the endings have been happy, sometimes not so much. But I’m glad I tried. Hearing about Artie made me stop and think about horses I’d rescued years ago, that I’d more or less forgotten. One in particular came to mind, and though I don’t know the true end of this story, I think you’ll agree that what I do know of it is another happy ending.

So, once upon a time, a very long time ago (before I rescued Artie, so at least twenty years ago) a certain breeder of Quarter Horses for whom I worked, raised a colt he didn’t like. The horse couldn’t be registered as a Quarter Horse (too much white); he was coarse, homely, blue-eyed, though structurally sound enough, and the man who owned him was ashamed of him. When the horse got to be three-years-old, and it was clear he was not going to grow out of his ugly duckling phase, the breeder asked me to haul him to the local livestock auction (where as an unbroke, fugly three-year-old, he would inevitably have been bought by the killers). I refused. The breeder then asked the vet to euthanize the colt. The vet refused.

Now there was nothing really wrong with this colt. He may have looked more like a small draft horse than a Quarter Horse, and he sure wasn’t pretty, but, as the vet pointed out, that was no reason to kill him. Still, I knew the breeder would find someone to haul the animal to the livestock auction eventually (the man was embarrassed to do this himself—wouldn’t have helped his reputation as a breeder of quality horses). The colt was halter broke, had received reasonably good health and foot care, was sound and gelded, but had been not been handled much. He was a little "looky",” but seemed sensible to me. He really wasn’t so badly made, despite being coarse. I saw no reason why he shouldn’t have a decent life and bought him from the breeder for $100.

I had two horses at the time (Burt and Gunner—see Farewell to a Friend, June 08, and The Real Horses Behind the Books, March 08, for their stories), and I could not afford to keep another. But I knew a cowboy horse trainer and trader who was a pretty good guy. I asked him if he would take this horse for $100 and find a decent home for him. He said he would. I said I wanted to know where the horse went and I wanted his word it wouldn’t be the auction. He agreed.

I loaded this colt single-handedly in my old two horse trailer and hauled him across the state of California to the horse trader’s place. The horse was as cooperative as a green horse could be through all of it, and I liked him a lot and was glad I’d stepped forward to save him. I even wished that I could keep him. But I let the horse trader have him.

Several months later I heard that he’d been started and was an easy, willing horse and doing well. Some more months later I heard he’d been sold to a cowboy who traveled around Nevada, working for various ranches, and who also worked for the rodeo as a pick-up man (bronc riders who don’t get bucked off get off their bucking horse by grabbing onto the pickup man and his mount). A year or so later I heard that this cowboy really liked the horse and planned to keep him.

So far so good. Now comes the funny, or ironic, anyway, part of the story. The breeder raised only two colts of this cross. The second colt was the homely one I saved and the breeder never bred that mare to that stud again. The older colt wasn’t pretty, but certainly looked better than his younger brother and this colt was bought by a team roper. And guess what? He became one of the best heel horses in the state of California. The breeder, having heard (from me) that the homely colt turned out well, contacted the cowboy who owned him and tried to buy the horse back (!) The answer: No way. Not at any price.

I call that a happy ending.
Cheers,

Laura Crum

New Horse, New Book

Guess what? We have a new horse! I haven't had my own horse in ten years and well, this one sorta fell into our lap.

Last week I received a call from my best friend who is a phenomenal horse woman. She has a toddler these days and so her time is limited with what she can do outside of being Mommy. Her trainer called her up and told her about this mare. Her name is Krissy. She is a grey TB/Warmblood, 12 years old, 16.2 hands, sound, jumps four feet, gorgeous, sweet and very well trained. You'd think this horse would cost an arm and a leg, right? Well, the lady who owned her has a handful of horses, a lot of $$$$ and needed a write off. Krissy was her practice mare. Now she is my mare. All I had to do was donate a few hunderd dollars to a horse rescue and we got to bring her home. I am so in love with Krissy. I have to keep pinching myself. I wasn't even looking for me, but for my little girl. However, she's a bit too large and powerful for my little one. Funny thing is, I made a dream board about six months ago and guess what was all over the board? A grey horse. Maybe this Secret stuff works. LOL.

I will be posting photos. i'm taking my camera out today to take pics of her and I can show you.

In other news: My daughter was in her first show and won a second in equitation and third in pleasure. It was a very exciting day!

I know we like to keep it about the horses on the blog here, but the other gals gave me the "thunbs up" to share some news about my wine mysteries. Book four in that series (A VINTAGE MURDER) will be out tomorrow. If you haven't read any of the books in the wine lover's mysteries, i hope you'll give them a try. They're a combo of murder mystery, mayhem, comedy, a little romance and recipes with wine pairings. They star my heroine Nikki sands who is the manager of The Malveaux Winery and who always seems to have the misfortune of coming across dead bodies. I like to say that they are a bit of Murder She Wrote meets "Friends," on the vineyard with a dash of Racahel Ray.

I am posting chapter one here of the new book and if you'd like an opportunity to win all four books in the series, please visit my website and go to the contest page to enter.

Thank You. Have a wonderful week!

Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER ONE

Nikki Sands could not believe where she was and what she was doing. But what she really couldn’t believe was with whom she was doing it. She looked out the car window. The valley was breathtaking, covered in grape vines, the soil the color of buttered toffee as the sun cast its morning rays across the landscape. Although she’d seen plenty of vines working at the Malveaux Winery in Napa, this was different. She was far away from home.

She couldn’t help but smile. Even inside the car she could smell the rich soil and the aroma of ripe fruit that hung in the air. God, it was intoxicating. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she shook her head in amazement. Was it possible that she actually sat smack dab in the middle of a Monet painting? Because if that was at all possible, this would be what it would feel like—kind of blurred but completely serene. Peaceful. Yes that’s where she must be—in the middle of a painting. The view spread out in front of her: rolling hills of green set behind a charming village filled with church spires rising high from ancient stone buildings, and amidst it all were rows of manicured vineyards. Napa had charm in and of itself, but this place felt almost as if Nikki had been tossed back in time to a yesteryear of simplicity combined with rustic elegance.

The last forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind, and even though she still had some jet-lag, everything in her world felt right. Well, almost everything. She knew that on another continent, in another part of the world, she’d left someone with a broken heart, and that did not feel good at all. In fact, she knew she’d have to deal with it, with him sooner than later, or the guilt would eat her alive. There was a part of her that couldn’t help feeling like a monster for making the choice she had, but the logical side—the one not connected to her heart—helped her realize that by making that choice, she’d actually wound up sparing him less pain in the long run. The truth was, the relationship she’d decided not to pursue would’ve never worked. No matter how hard she would’ve tried to convince herself that it was right, her heart would’ve belonged to someone else, and it was that someone else she was now with.

And when the man beside her took her hand and gave it a squeeze, a surge of electricity shot up from her toes and warmed her entire body, validating that yes, she’d made the right choice. He glanced over at her. “I can’t believe you’re really here with me.” Nikki’s stomach swirled with a mixture of nerves and something she hadn’t felt in years—passion, not lust, but real passion. “I really can’t believe it. I didn’t know if you would come. I’d hoped.” He pulled the car off to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“This.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Thank you for being here with me,” Derek said and then kissed her again.

“There’s no place else I’d rather be,” she replied.
Derek pulled back onto the road. They were on their way to the Hahndorf Winery in the Barossa Valley of Australia, to meet with the owner, Liam Hahndorf, and his wife. Derek’s goal was to secure a co-op deal with Hahndorf Wines. The popularity of Australian wines was on the rise in the states. Derek felt they made a great product, and when Liam Hahndorf had approached Derek, he saw the potential in the deal.

“Tell me a little bit about Liam Hahndorf,” Nikki said. “You’ve obviously met him before and you think he makes a good wine.”

“Yes, he does. He and his wife Grace started the winery about fifteen years ago and they’ve done well. Liam is a smart businessman. I’ve met him a few times, and he’s real personable. The last time I saw him was about six months ago. He was in L.A. at the same time I was.”

“Oh yeah, when you went there for that big-time celebrity soiree and didn’t invite me,” she joked.

He shook a finger at her. “Let’s get one thing straight: I know I should have told you a lot sooner about my feelings. I didn’t know how you would react. I didn’t know what you felt.”

How couldn’t he have known? She thought her signals had been loud and clear, like a neon sign.

“Anyway, you know what I’ve been through in the past, so as stupid as it might sound, I guess I was apprehensive to hang my heart out there again.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid.” Nikki knew all about Derek’s unlucky-in-love history. He’d married a conniving, horrid woman who’d totally manipulated him without ever truly being in love with him. “I just wish you hadn’t taken so long to get smart, you big dummy.”

“Funny, huh? I like funny women, you know.”

“You do?”

“Oh yeah. What I’d really like is to take you back to the hotel and have my way with you.”

Oh boy, stomach flip flop right on over, like a pancake on a griddle. “Hmmm.”
He held up a finger. “But business first this morning, and like we agreed on the plane, the first time will be an all-day affair.” He winked at her.
Oh yeah, that agreement. That had been her idea. How stupid had that been? But last night had been kind of sweet. They’d talked all night aboard the Malveaux jet and cuddled, ate excellent food and drank champagne. Then, after a bottle of Dom Perignon and some slow kisses, the topic of sex had come up.

“Wow,” Derek had said after one long swap of the tongue that made Nikki’s toes curl.

“Yeah, wow.”

He laughed.

“What so funny?” she asked, feeling confused.

“I’m laughing because this is so crazy. You and me.” He leaned back in the cushy seat.

“Well, yeah, it is a little crazy, but…”

He took her hand. “No I don’t mean crazy in a bad way.” He shook his head. “I know how your mind works. I mean crazy in a great way and I was laughing because if our kiss is any indication of…well, you know…” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Her face grew hot and all she could do was nod.

“You do want to, don’t you? Make love?”
Of course she did, but things did feel sort of weird. After all, Derek was her boss and she’d run away with him on the spur of a moment. Holy cow, this was the craziest thing she’d ever done in her life. “Yes,” she said tentatively.

“I don’t want to push you, Nikki. I can definitely book us separate rooms at the hotel.”

“No, no. I want to. I guess when we do, I want it to be special.”

“Me too.”

So when they’d landed in the middle of the night, exhausted from travel and emotions, they’d turned in with Derek taking the sofa in the hotel room and insisting she sleep in the bed. Although she’d been exhausted, she’d fallen asleep thinking she sure would have liked having Derek’s warm body by her side. Suddenly their idea of making their first time extra special seemed extra stupid, because no matter what, it was going to be special.

Nikki set the fantasies aside as they pulled up to the Hahndorf winery. A security guard waved them to a stop at a kiosk. “I thought this was a mom and pop operation in the middle of nowhere. What gives?” Nikki asked.

“You got me. It does seem like overkill, and I had no idea Hahndorf would have security.”

Malveaux was one of the larger and more well-known wineries in Napa, and they didn’t have a set-up like this. Not even close. Derek gave the security guard his name. The man glanced down at a sheet of paper. “Yep. G’day sir. Says here you’re visiting with the Hahndorfs. Okay then, go straight ahead and over the small hill there and you’ll see the winery and house.”

Derek thanked the man and drove off.

Unlike Napa Valley, which in May would mean summer was near and so was picking season, in the Barossa May was the end of autumn. Winter would arrive in the next month, just as the heat in Napa started to rise into the nineties.

“What’s that?” Nikki pointed toward the middle of the vineyard, where several trucks were parked, including a large semi. There was also a row of motor homes. She squinted to see if she could get a better look. “I think that’s a film crew.”
Derek slowed down. “Yeah, it looks that way. You should know.”

“It’s been a while.” Nikki had once played the starring role in a one-hit-wonder cop show when she’d pursued an acting career in L.A. The acting had never taken off, and she’d discovered she was much better at managing a winery than she could ever be at playing a detective on TV.

They pulled past the winery, its architecture very chateau-like, reminiscent of the wineries in France. “Jeez, if that’s the winery, what must the house look like?”

“Good question. We’re about to find out. I’m curious what they’re filming out there,” he said. “Maybe a commercial.”

“I don’t know, it seems like a lot of vehicles for a commercial.”
At the end of the drive, in an area secluded back behind a row of gum trees, a house appeared. It wasn’t as opulent as the chateau. Though still quite large, it looked comfortable, like an English-style stone cottage.
Derek parked in the circular drive next to a row of expensive automobiles ranging from the sporty to luxury.

“He must like cars,” she said.

“I’d say someone does.” Derek climbed out, went around to her side and opened the door for her, taking her hand.

“Such the gentleman.”

“My dad didn’t send me to private school for nothing. I hated that place, especially the etiquette class.”

“I’d say it paid off nicely.”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m only trying to impress you.”

“You’re funny too.” They walked up a pathway lined with flowers and plants that Nikki assumed were native, because she didn’t recognize them. “Someone keeps a lovely garden.”

Derek pressed the doorbell. Chimes rang out from the other side of the door.
Soon a young woman in her early twenties swung the door open. She had long sandy blonde hair, large hazel eyes, pouty lips and seemed awfully thin. She wore tight jeans and a low-cut orange cotton sweater. Nikki thought her pretty in the grunge, Kate Moss way that had hit heights of popularity back in the late nineties. “Oh, the film crew is down in the vineyard. You passed them,” she said in a heavy Aussie accent.

“We’re actually here to see Liam Hahndorf,” Derek said.

“Oh. Dad!” the girl shrieked. “Some man and woman are here for you.” She breezed past them, keys in hand. They watched her get behind the wheel of a Navy blue Aston Martin. She took off in an apparent hurry.

“Well, well, g’day mate!” A tall gray-haired gentleman with warm brown eyes and soft wrinkles forming around them appeared in the doorway. “Oh damn, Hannah. She’s gone again! Damn girl. She is not a good listener, that one. Oh boy, Grace won’t be happy about this.”

“I won’t be happy about what?” A middle-aged woman joined him. Nikki assumed she was the girl’s mother. They had the same eyes, and the lady was as thin as her daughter. She also had the same long blonde hair, but hers was pulled back tightly into a ponytail.

“Goodness, we have forgotten our manners. Grace, this is my friend Derek Malveaux. I told you he’d be dropping in with us today for some business. Good to see you.” The men shook hands. “This is my wife Grace, and that was Hannah, our terror of a daughter, who blew past you. I’m not sure how we’ll survive her.” Liam kissed his wife on the cheek. “Grace here is far more patient with her than I am.”

“Hardly. You spoil the girl something terrible. Nice to meet you, Derek.”

“And you. This is my girlf… ah, my winery manager and my assistant, Nikki Sands.”
He’d almost said girlfriend. Girlfriend? Wow. That had her in a spiral—a delicious spiral. She understood why he’d used her business title, but she couldn’t wait until things were more cemented between them and the formalities could be pushed aside.

“Where are my manners? Come in, you two,” Grace said.
They followed her through the entrance across light hardwood floors inlaid with another type of wood in a diamond pattern. Maybe walnut, but it was more reddish than walnut and quite dark. Possibly cherry. “Your floors are gorgeous, Grace. What type of wood are they?”

“It’s Jarrah wood. Popular wood here in the bush. Somewhat on the expensive side, but I love it. I redecorated the house a few years back and couldn’t resist.”

“It’s lovely. The entire house is.”

No joke. The house looked larger on the inside than it had from outside, and Grace had done a great job of turning the manor into a cozy home with warm golden colors, family photos, colorful throw rugs and leather sofas. Everything about the place spoke of wealth and sophistication, but also of care. For the family it had to be a nice place to live, because it was definitely a nice place to visit. Grace led them out to the back, where the gardens spread out and a lap pool took up a portion of the yard. Behind the pool, a large patch of grass rolled down to a flowing river. Vast woods stretched out across the river.

“This is gorgeous,” Nikki said. “What river is that?”

“That’s the North Para River,” Liam said. “More of a creek typically, but we had some decent rain this year, so we have a bit more water than usual, which is good because the water can be important to the Barossa Valley for viticulture. You can’t imagine how lucky we feel to have it run right through the property like this. Good stuff for the vines. Have a seat. Enjoy the view.”

“Nikki and I were wondering what’s going on here. When we turned into the vineyard we saw all the activity.”

“Oh yes. Hollywood has come to our village. Our place really,” Liam replied.

“Hollywood?” Nikki said.

“It’s quite a story. We’ll have to tell you all about it, but let me grab these contracts for us to go over first. They’re in my office. I would like to go over some matters that have come up, Derek. Would you like your assistant to join us?”
Derek looked at Nikki, who felt that whatever Liam wanted to discuss with Derek, he wanted to do in private. She’d just met the man, but she read body language and she knew that Derek likely sensed that too. She wondered what it was all about. “Uh, no. Nikki why don’t you visit with Mrs. Hahndorf? We should be back soon.”

“Of course.” It felt really awkward to have been holding his hand less than half an hour ago, and now this stilted kind of weirdness.

“Yes, yes. You two take care of what you need to.” Grace waved them away. “We’ll head into the kitchen and have some tea.”
Nikki found Grace to be hospitable, and the tea was warm and soothing. They made small talk for quite a while. Nikki told her about the Malveaux winery and Grace began to fill her in on the scene they saw when they’d entered the winery.

“You wouldn’t believe it. Shawn Keefer is doing a movie here, with Nathan Cooley directing it.”

“The Shawn Keefer?” Nikki’s jaw dropped. Shawn Keefer was only Hollywood’s most sought after leading man, and Nathan Cooley was the kind of director everyone in the business wanted to work with. He was a genius.

“No kidding. What’s the movie about?”

“I…don’t think I can discuss it. We had to sign a non-disclosure agreement with the film company.” Grace lowered her voice and looked pensive.

“Who else is in it?”

“One of those young starlets. The one who is supposedly so brilliant. But she’s quite a troublemaker, from what the tabloids say. We’ve even had some paparazzi lurking in our midst. It’s the pretty redheaded girl. That Lucy Swanson.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of her.” Who hadn’t? Lucy Swanson was a fine actress who’d starred in some successful films. She was also one of the new breed—if that’s what they could be called—of Hollywood: young women who spent too much time partying, getting busted, and then going back for more. This one hadn’t done any stints in rehab but rumor was that she needed to, if you believed the tabloids. She at least supposedly had a work ethic, and that was her main driving force. It might also be her saving grace. God, Nikki really had read too many rag mags and watched way too much of E! Entertainment.

“Yes, well I can tell you that she is a wild one. Hannah has been spending some time with her, and also one of the crew people. Some good-looking young man, and I’m not crazy about it. I’m afraid they’re going to get Hannah into trouble.”
Nikki doubted that the girl had any problems getting herself into trouble. Instead of saying what she thought, she replied, “Really? Trouble, huh?”

“Out partying at all hours.” Grace shook her head. “Anyway, tonight we are having an old-fashioned barbecue and the entire crew is joining us.”

“Including Shawn Keefer?”

Grace nodded and smiled. “He’s quite a cad, that one. He flirts with all the ladies.”

“I’d read in one of the tabloids that he is a huge flirt.”

“But he is a dear really, once you get to know him. We’ve had the actors up for dinner on occasion since they’ve been on the premises.”
Nikki noticed Grace’s cheeks flush and she wondered if the woman had a crush on Keefer. Many women around the world did. He was on par with Brad Pitt and George Clooney in both the looks and acting categories; definitely a superstar. People loved him, and considering his stature he did a decent job of lying low and keeping out of the limelight, except for a few years back, when he’d gone through a divorce with his actress wife, Fiona. But from what Nikki recalled when that happened, they had remained decent to each other, and she’d made out like a bandit in the settlement. It would be interesting to meet Shawn Keefer.
They talked a bit more about the actors on the vineyard before Derek and Liam returned. “Ladies, would you like to take a trip down to where they’re filming? I filled Derek in, and he said that he’d love to go, especially when he heard that Andy Burrow was on the set.”

“Andy Burrow, too?” Nikki shot a glance at Derek. “How great!” Andy worked with all sorts of wildlife. He was eccentric, quite a character. Nikki knew that Derek loved watching the guy’s show on the Earth Channel.

“I know. Isn’t that awesome?” Derek sounded like a kid, but there was also a catch in his voice that Nikki didn’t recognize.
It was strange, because he sounded excited about meeting Andy, and Nikki was sure that he would be, but there was something else there that she couldn’t put her finger on, as if he were slightly troubled. She wondered if there was a problem with the business deal.

“Liam says that he’s not in the movie, but they’ve got a bunch of wild animals they’re working with on the film, and Andy is on hand with the animals. He brought all of them from his zoo,” Derek added.

There is was again—an edge, almost fake like. “Sure, I’m in. Let’s go,” Nikki replied. “This must be quite a production,” she said as they climbed into Liam’s golf cart, still curious about what was rattling around in Derek’s head.
“It is at that,” Liam replied. “Quite a group too. The producer has put up a lot of money to film it and they’re looking for one of those big blockbuster movies you watch in America.”

“I personally can’t wait until they’re finished. They’ve created a bit of havoc for us,” Grace said, “as much fun as it’s been.” She glanced at Liam. Nikki couldn’t figure her out. “Did Grace tell you that I wrote the script?”
No she hadn’t. Now that was strange. She acted as if she wasn’t even certain what the movie was about. “Uh, well…”
Grace rubbed Liam’s shoulder. “I didn’t mention that. I know you don’t like to brag much.” She smiled at Nikki.

“Since when? I couldn’t be prouder, and having Andy here is wonderful. You’ll love him.”

Derek looked like a kid in a candy shop, he was so excited. For him, meeting Andy Burrow was way up there with one of the coolest things in the world to be able to do. She was excited too, but also baffled by Grace. “That’s great,” Nikki replied. “I know what the business is like. It’s not easy to even get a screenplay read, especially not a first one. Then to have it made into a movie, no less. You should be proud.”

“Oh this isn’t my first go at it. I have a bunch of them in the closet. Been writing forever, but never really thought it would happen, you know. I’m a farm boy at heart. I grow grapes and we make wine. To have this now makes everything complete.”

“How did you get the idea for the story?” Derek asked.

“That’s a long story in itself,” Liam replied.

“Yes it is. We don’t want to bore you with it,” Grace said. She looked at her husband. “Do we, Liam?”

“Right. Maybe another time.”

Nikki thought she heard Grace’s voice tighten as she spoke.
A group of people sat around in chairs as they got closer, all looking pretty bored. The camera crew and extras. Maybe they were taking a lunch break. It seemed a little early for lunch….

Liam parked the cart just as a horrible scream came from the direction of the trailers parked on the set.

GUEST BLOGGER: Maggie Toussaint

I'd like to welcome Maggie Toussaint, who has written a wonderful equestrian romance that involves a horse rescue farm. I've read this book so I can vouch for how good it is. Thanks for joining us today, Maggie.

Rescuing horses one book at a time
By Maggie Toussaint

The love of horses is an abiding emotion. It lodges in our hearts, a warm glow that transcends time and space, a powerful feeling that fills our emptiness.

I fell in love with horses as a child. Shetland ponies and quarter horses hauled me to the swimming hole and to the country store. They kept me out of trouble and taught me confidence.

School happened, then college, marriage, and children. So when my oldest daughter fell in love with horses, I understood her enchantment. I can’t begin to list how many hours I’ve spent at barns, at horse events, pulling trailers, soaking horse hooves, and so much more. When I had down time, I worked on my dream, that of becoming a published writer.

As with riding, publishing takes practice and untold hours in the saddle before the blue ribbons start appearing. Last year, I contracted my horse rescue farm book to The Wild Rose Press. I’m thrilled to be here at Equestrian Ink to share details about my recent release and the real life horse rescue charity it benefits, Days End Farm Horse Rescue (http://www.defhr.org/).

In the story, Hope Farrier has rescued more horses than she can afford to keep. Devlin Temple’s goal of taking over the family firm is jeopardized by his cousin, a man who wooed Devlin’s fiancée into his bed. The link between these two strangers is Devlin’s mother, a terminally ill woman who’s determined to see her son and her friend achieve their goals of financial independence and leadership. To that end, she establishes a business partnership and unknowingly triggers a deadly enemy into action.

Horses are a mainstay of this book. Their actions and behaviors are integrated into the romance and suspense, adding impulsion to the fast-paced story. You’ll keep turning those pages because you want Hope’s farm to succeed and for Hope and Devlin to have their own happily-ever-after.

Plus, each sale of No Second Chance benefits Days End Farm Horse Rescue. Though this farm is located in Maryland, they help rescue of horses on both a regional and national basis. Be sure and visit their website to learn more about them and the fabulous horses that they have saved.

No Second Chance is available in print or ebook. Buy links are listed below. If you’ve got thirty seconds, click here to see the book trailer at YouTube.

Thanks, Equestrian Ink, for the opportunity to share my love of horses.

Maggie Toussaint
No Second Chance, ISBN 9781601541628, buy a book, help a horse
Print: Buy it at Amazon ebook: The Wild Rose Press or Kindle
romance.danger.mystery
http://www.maggietoussaint.com/