On a bitter cold February night in Santa Fe, New Mexico, my husband burst into the house at 11 p.m. and told me my mare Maisie was sick. She hadn’t eaten her evening meal and seemed lethargic and dull.
I had bought Maisie, a gray mare with kind eyes, for trail riding. I had been told she was calm, a “push button” horse. But, as it turned out, she was sometimes overcome with anxiety and struggled to stay calm and connect with me. Nonetheless, I loved her and knew with time and patience we would become partners. Now she needed me.
I crawled into my long underwear, grabbed my flannel-lined jeans, pulled on my boots and warmest down coat, and headed to the barn. I assumed Maisie was colicking, so…