Tiny but tough

A Minia­ture Horse’s diminu­tive size is an as­set af­ter an at­tack by a stal­lion leaves him with a trau­matic head in­jury.

EQUUS - - Eq Casereport -

My cell phone rang just as I put my hand on the door­knob, head­ing out­side. The caller ID flashed “Brett,” and I looked at my hus­band’s name in sur­prise. Brett was sup­posed to be in the garage, just a few steps away, where he had spent the af­ter­noon re­ar­rang­ing our blue stor­age tubs.

I glanced out the win­dow as I an­swered the phone, and there was my hus­band, curled up like a horse­shoe in my gar­den, clutch­ing his knee. He had seen Mer­cury, our new 900-pound Fell Pony stal­lion, break out of his pad­dock, and while run­ning to tell me this, Brett had stum­bled on a rock and dis­lo­cated his knee.

I rushed out to Brett and knelt, care­ful not to jar him. The denim on his jeans stretched im­pos­si­bly tight over his grossly swollen knee. Brett gripped his leg, clenched his teeth and en­cour­aged me to go check the horses. Pow­er­ful, dom­i­neer­ing Mer­cury was now in the pas­ture with the oth­ers, and Brett knew there could be trou­ble. “I’ll be fine,” he said, and clasped his knee a lit­tle tighter, hun­ker­ing down to wait for the pain to ease off.

I ran down the driveway and through the barn to the south pas­ture. The scene was like a bizarre play where all the char­ac­ters are caught frozen in place im­me­di­ately af­ter a crime. Five of our horses---Josie, Jack­son, Trav­eler, Re­becca and Laura ---all stood like stat­ues, heads raised, nos­trils flared, star­ing at the white stal­lion who had thun­dered into their midst.

Mer­cury now stood in the TOO CUTE: dis­tance Kim Hin­son’s on a lit­tle daugh­ter, knoll--Me­gan, holds mag­nif­i­cent, Phoenix months fear­less … be­fore a bru­tal and dan­ger­at­tack left him ous. He was with a se­ri­ous born wild head in­jury. on the fells

in Cum­bria, Eng­land. We could ride him, but his beauty some­times left us in dan­ger of for­get­ting the wild­ness, power and ag­gres­sion that still ran hot in his blood. He wasn’t afraid of any­thing, and he’d pro­tect his herd from ev­ery­thing. With a jolt, I no­ticed the heavy iron gate to Mer­cury’s pas­ture swing­ing wide open, the lock bolt thrust aside, and the ex­tra-thick pre­cau­tion­ary rope we’d tied so care­fully flap­ping in the chilly Jan­uary wind. So our savvy new stal­lion could open gates and un­tie ropes. Great.

Tak­ing a deep breath, I counted the horses crowded un­der the bo­dark tree, mak­ing sure they looked un­harmed. All five hud­dled tight, watch­ing me. Then my heart raced as I no­ticed one face was miss­ing: Where was lit­tle Phoenix?

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