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.

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?