Cinder: more than 'just' another horse

Cinderella's Story, aka Cinder, officially became mine on April 25th, 2021. Since bringing her home on that lovely Sunday afternoon, there have been numerous adventures. All of them, each day we've spent together, whether in or out of the saddle, bring us to a deeper level of trust and understanding. One day, I will write our story, my personal "Cinderella's Story." For now, this small, incredibly significant story is one I absolutely have to share.

     Friday, Cinder and I joined Rose and Indy for an 8.67 mile trail marking ride. Originally, I'd planned on camping but life has been crazy and too, too busy so I put myself on hold. The ride was perfect. Cinder took it all in: high winds, Milford Rd traffic, lawnmowers and deer, bicycles and dozens of campers setting up in the Kensington meadow. 

     After our ride, Cinder followed Indy's example and rolled in the sand before easily loading into our slant load two-horse trailer for the hour plus drive home. Aside from a Jeep stopped on the highway as the driver dragged a ladder onto the shoulder, the drive home was uneventful. I laughed a few times as I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Cinder's muzzle stuck out her window, playing in the wind. Everything goes into her mouth for investigation. 

    I pulled into the driveway and backed into place, casually exited, and opened the trailer door. All was well, and then I swung the stall divider open. There stood Cinder, cool and calm...her left front hoof trapped in the bottom of the empty net hay bag. Her leg was stretched straight, her hoof pushing down with all the pressure a nine hundred pound animal can exert. 

     Stupid net hay bags. I know better. As soon as I saw her, I realized I'd left the net on the lower hook. I was shockingly and terrifyingly reminded of why I quit using net bags years ago, as I began apologizing to her for my human stupidity. Cinder nuzzled my cheek as I asked her to trust me. Grasping her hoof, I gently tried to raise her hoof upward, thinking if I could relieve the pressure I would be able to drag the net free. 

     It probably would have worked, except for the front shoes Cinder was wearing. Multiple sections of criss-crossed netting had lodged between steel shoe and hoof bottom. There was no way I was going to be able to pull her free of this mess. 

     As if she could understand, I explained that I needed to get my scissors. I stroked her neck, asked her to please wait right there, and walked out to get my scissors from the trailer's tack room. Within moments, I was back at Cinder's side, snipping away at the black nylon strands holding my horse's hoof hostage. I cut and cut and cut, and all the while she stood quietly.

     Finally, I cut the final strands that held her leg extended, and her hoof was once again on the trailer floor. Like most horse owners, every negative consequence imaginable was running through my head. Yet, Cinder was fine, no heat in her leg, no soreness, no janky steps as I led her out of the trailer and checked her over. 

     Totally unconcerned, Cinder grazed the lawn as Chad approached, wondering why I had disappeared inside the trailer for so much longer than normal. As I quickly explained what was happening, Cinder grazed, shreds of hay net a black spider web beneath her left front hoof. After I smoothed away Chad's panic, he went in search of pliers so I could pull the netting free from Cinder's hoof. While I once again lifted her hoof, tugging multiple times, Cinder grazed. Calm. Unperturbed. Healthy and whole. 

     Finally confident that my Mustang mare was all right, I released her into her pasture and smiled as she trotted over to join her donkeys. As I watched her move easily and freely, I remembered a story that Peter Campbell shared more than once at his clinics. "If one of my horses got caught up in fencing, they'd starve to death before they'd thrash and slice their legs. They don't fight the pressure." 

     I'd believed him, but never understood until Cinder came into my life. There she was, one leg caught for I don't know how long. Back door and stall divider wide open, free spaces and blue skies in plain view. I moved in to help, but then had to leave her before I could cut her loose. No panicking. No distressed whinnies. No rushing out of the trailer or wide eyed reactions. No subsequent fallout.

     Cinderella is a Mustang, and her survival instincts run true. She is smart, showing me time and again how she thinks things out when faced with a tricky situation. I've learned to trust her instincts, and she has clearly learned that I am trustworthy, too. She is clearly so much more than just another horse. 

                                                                   Photo Credit: Lacey Hinkley, 2022