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Found on HappyHorses page
If you believe in Jesus Christ, put this on your page and don't ignore it, because the Bible says, "If you deny me in front of man, I will deny you in front of my Father, and the Glory of Heaven" When Jesus was hanging on the cross he was thinking of you! Whether you believe or not, God is ALWAYS with you. Did you know that 98% of teenagers will not stand up for God, and 93% of the people that read this won’t put this on their page! If you are one of the 7% who will stand up for Him, please put this on your page! God loves you so much. He will never leave you nor forsake you! When you carry the Bible, the devil gets a headache. When you open it,he collapses. When he sees you reading it, he faints. When he sees you living it, he flees. And just when you're about to re-post this, he will try and discourage you. I just defeated him! Copy and re-post this if you're in God's army
Found on Jenny.Mills page
Eight is the number of years I served my owners. Racing, pulling, standing for farriers, leading through crowds and hauling everywhere. I have plenty of hay, horse friends, and time to myself. Green pastures, blue skies, I am at peace.
Seven is the number of months I carry on in pain after falling. I do it for them, anything for him. He is impatient with me. I try hard to keep up, but the pain slows me down. Every step hurts. No one wants to drive me, a new horse arrives to carry on in my place. I do not know this word: "useless."
Six is the number of hours I stood in that trailer after you sold me. The pain kept me from moving. The harness was stiff and dirty. The whip was painful, I had to pull. But then I couldn’t. I do not know this word: “broken”
Five is the number of hours I stand in the small pen at the auction. I hurt, I do not know these horses, I do not know these people. I'm far from my pasture. I search for comfort, switching weight off my painful leg, the people notice. I do not know this word: "lame."
Four is the number of times my value is calculated by my weight. I don't understand their words but I can read their eyes. Hard stares. I try to be invisible, but they see me. I do not know this word: "slaughter."
Three is the number of sniffs I take of your face through the pen before deciding you are kind and safe. I like your eyes, they are soft. I like your hands they are gentle. Please don't leave me here. I try to pick my feet up for you, it hurts. I try hard. I rest my muzzle in your hand.
Two is the number of minutes it takes for me to pass through another pen. I am scared, I am trapped, I am alone, people are shouting, it hurts to walk. A man is talking, his voice echo's all around me, there are so many people watching me, hard stares. Suddenly it's over. I do not know this word: "sold.
One is the number of hours it takes before I walk onto a trailer. I am alone, I am scared, it is moving. The door opens, I hold my breath and brace at the light. It's you!! I stand still and breathe slow. Kind hands, soft words, I'm not afraid now. I do not know this word: "rescued."
Two is the number of Xrays the vet takes while I stand quietly for you, anything for you. Many days have passed. I have energy now, my pain is less. I like my new pasture, I like my new stall, I like my new hay. I don't know why we have a vet but I stand still for his visits. So many visits. I do not know this word: "rehabilitation."
Three is the number of months before the pain is all the way gone. I am relaxed with you, we start to ride together. I'm afraid the pain will come back, but you are gentle, so I try. I try hard for you, anything for you.
Four is the number of weeks I learn a new way of riding. Another person rides me every day. I'm becoming strong, I understand my lessons, I am proud to work, I feel you are happy with me, visiting me and learning together. I do not know this word: "training."
Five is the number of years I work hard for you. We travel to shows, we work cows, we ride with friends. We do hundreds and hundreds of miles together. You trust me and I trust you, I give you everything I have, everything for you, anything for you. I memorize your rhythm, your looks, your moods. I know when to be wild and when to be still. We are a team.
Six is the number of minutes I try to hide the pain after a fall, but you see through me. I stand for the vet, still as a stone. The pain leaves but I sense your sadness. I remember a word from before when I had pain, "useless", but you never say that word. You no longer ride me but I see you every day, for carrots and treats and long walks. I relax again, you will not abandon me. This is a new way of being together. I do not know this word: "retired."
Seven is the number of breaths I take in your arms. It has been many years, we have grown old and wise and slow together. I lay down like so many times before but could not rise. You came right away. I tried for you, but I could not stand. You say its ok, sink down next to me. I breathe slow. You are very close, holding my head, weeping, I feel your sadness so I put my muzzle in your hand one last time to comfort you, anything for you. I breathe out. Green pastures, blue skies, I am at peace. I know this word: "love."
I saw a cashier hand this little boy his money back; the boy couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 years old. The Cashier said, 'I'm soryry, but you don't have enough money to buy this doll.'' The little boy turned to the old woman next to him and said, ''Granny, are you sure I don't have enough money?'' She replied, ''You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear.'' Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand. Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this doll to. "It's the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for Christmas. She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her." I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry. But he replied to me sadly. "No, Santa Claus can't bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can give it to my sister when she goes there." His eyes were so sad while saying this: "My Sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister.'' My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked up at me and said, "I told daddy to tell mommy not to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the mall." Then he showed me a very nice photo of himself. He was laughing. He then told me "I want mommy to take my picture with her so she won't forget me. I love my mommy and I wish she didn't have to leave me, but Daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister." Then he looked again at the doll with sorrowful eyes, very quietly. I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy, "Suppose we check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll!'' "OK!" he said, "I hope I do have enough," I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll and even some spare money. The little boy said, "Thank you, God, for giving me enough money!" Then he looked at me and added, "I asked last night before I went to sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll so that mommy could give it to my sister. He heard me! I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy, but I didn't dare to ask God for too much. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and a white rose. My mommy loves white roses." A few minutes later, the old lady returned and I left with my basket. I finished my shopping in a totally different state of mind from when I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my mind. Then I remembered a local newspaper article two days ago, which mentioned a drunk man in a truck, who hit a car occupied by a young woman and a little girl. The little girl died right away and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-sustaining machine because the young woman would not be able to recover from the coma. Was this the family of the little boy? Two days after this encounter with the little boy I read in the newspaper that the young woman had passed away. I couldn't stop myself as I bought a bunch of white roses and I went to the funeral home where the body of the young woman was for people to see and make last wishes before her burial. She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest. I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling that my life had been changed forever. The love that the little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine, and in a fraction of a second, a drunk driver had taken all this away from him. Now you have 2 choices: (1) Copy & Paste this on your page. (2) Ignore it as if it never touched your heart.
Those who serve with the U.S. armed forces often face difficult choices when they receive orders deploying them overseas. Please read this story:
They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in his pen. the shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.
But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls — he wouldn’t go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn’t really think he’d need all his old stuff, that I’d get him new things once he settled in. but it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn’t going to.
I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like “sit” and “stay” and “come” and “heel,” and he’d follow them — when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name — sure, he’d look in my direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then he’d just go back to doing whatever. When I’d ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.
This just wasn’t going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn’t wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the “darn dog probably hid it on me.”
Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter’s number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggie’s direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I’d seen since bringing him home. But then I called, “Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I’ll give you a treat.” Instead, he gave a discontented sigh and flopped down. With his back to me.
Well, that’s not going to do it either, I thought. But before I punched in the shelters number, I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
To Whoever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. If you’re reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time … it’s like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong … which is why I have to go to try to make it right.
So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls. the more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after it, so be careful — really don’t do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him his life.
Maybe the shelter staff already told you the commands, but I’ll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones — “sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.” He knows hand signals: “back” to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and “over” if you put your hand out right or left. “Shake” for shaking water off, and “paw” for a high-five. He does “down” when he feels like lying down — I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business. I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.
Finally, give him some time. I’ve never been married, so it’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially. Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new.
And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you …
His name’s not Reggie.
I don’t know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. but I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I’d never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything’s fine. But if someone else is reading it, well… well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It’ll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you’ll even notice a change in his demeanor if he’s been giving you problems.
His real name is Tank. Because that is what I drive for the military.
If you’re reading this and you’re from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with … and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event”… to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.
Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, I’m just writing it for my dog. I couldn’t imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family.
And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.
That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things … and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don’t think I’ll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight — every night — from me.
Thank you,
Paul Mallory
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly. The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
C’mere boy.” He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months.
“Tank,” I whispered. His tail swished.
I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.
“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek. “So whatdaya say we play some ball? His ears perked again. “Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?” Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room.
And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
Copy and paste this if you love dogs and support the US military.
Found on Dauntless page
Contests
300 congrats - If you are my 300th congratulator person please pm me for a prize. Most Likely a BMI or a high rated foal
Grand Prix - So I am entering https://us.howrse.com/elevage/chevaux/cheval?id=8769221 In the Grand Prix as soon as I see the results on how he did I will see who was my most recent congratulator and the will win 2 Appolos Lyres or a high rated foal