The BBC featured an interesting piece this morning on coincidences. Apparently, there’s renewed academic and scientific interest in the subject, meant, I suppose, to counter the paranormal and religious connotations that the public more typically associates with the phenomenon. As a man of faith, coincidences don’t exist for me; I take them as signposts, meant to either test or reaffirm my belief in God, to challenge or confirm what I take to be my calling.
This past morning….a case of the latter.
Between Nora and Warren, on the north side of Stagecoach Trail, if one is westbound, a driver will inevitably spot a dilapidated horse farm. Rusted, sagging fencing is attached to bent posts. On rainy mornings, mud competes with weeds for space. There are rundown buildings. Junk in the yard and in the paddocks. Piles of old manure, several feet high and negligently composting, the product of dozens of horses, young and old. Could this be an equine rescue?
As I was passing this morning, I noticed a young horse, alone and standing very close to the poor-excuse for a fence, just off the ditch. Something didn’t seem right, so I turned around to get a closer look. Sure enough: she’d somehow managed to entwine her two back legs in the bottom portion of the fence’s wiring. I considered freeing her myself, but thought better of it, fearing that her unfamiliarity with me would cause her to become nervous and perhaps kick me as I attempted to free one or both of her legs.
I ended up pulling in the owner’s driveway, honking my horn to get his attention. Getting out and knocking on the door looked to be a bad idea, as three dogs encircled my van, barking and growling. Eventually a man in his forties exited the house, sat on the back porch, and slid on his boots. “Horse get out?” The tone of his voice made it rather obvious to me that he’d had trouble before. And often. I told him no, and described what I saw. I then backed out of the driveway and onto the road, stopping where the horse stood, still stuck. She whinnied as the man approached, three dogs in the lead. I got out and went over to see if I could be of any assistance. “This is a good way to get kicked,” he said, as he struggled to free the one leg, then the other, of a beautiful young mare. The poor thing had been trapped for hours in that spot, judging by the pile of shit that had accumulated beneath her feet.
Once he had freed the horse, he thanked me for stopping, headed back to his home, dog tails wagging, and I took off for Warren, to deliver the newspaper route. As I drove, I couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to handle so many horses, and why his home and the farm itself were in such bad condition. I also wondered how many vehicles had passed before I did, drivers never seeing what I saw, or considering doing what I did. Further consideration had me making a couple of phone calls to friends I know who have horses, hoping they might know the back story to the horse farmer’s situation. Nothing concrete so far, but I’ve made the decision to stop there tomorrow. Maybe I can give him a hand.
Labels: calling, coincidences, helping others, horse
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