Warning: This post will have graphic images.
Renata’s story is a long one, and just beginning. I’ll speak of her training progress in the blog from time to time, but she has a compelling story that deserves to be told. So let’s start at the beginning, shall we?
February 19, 2016: My friend, K, went to the local meat-buyer’s auction down in Amish Country. You can find some good horses there, and she was not intending to pick up a “project.” However, fate laughs at us sometimes, doesn’t it?
K posted this picture on her Facebook page:
I saw it and my heart broke. Without really thinking, I posted, “I’m halfway tempted to tell you to pull her.” K quickly texted me and said she’d be going up for bid soon, was I serious about pulling her?
Oh man. I couldn’t afford a horse. Heck, I’d just started riding again recently after nearly two decades away from it. What the heck did I know about owning a horse? Especially a horse as beat up as this one was?
But we quickly texted back and forth figuring out the logistics, and then decided to pull her, fix her up, and sell her. I told K what I could afford to buy her for, and then held my breath.
We got her. Holy crap, I was kind of a horse owner. A dream come true, for sure, but this horse wasn’t ever what I’d pictured.
K estimated her to be around 7-8 years old. We needed a name. A strong name. I let my fingers do the walking via Google and suggested a few names, one of them being Renata. Renata meant reborn. It was perfect. So this beat up mare got her fateful name and a new lease on life.
K got her home and I got my first full body shot of our project. She was stunning. Beat up and underweight, but gorgeous. And BIG.
I met Rennie for the first time a few days after she arrived at K’s house. I was expecting I would weep when I met her, because I thought I’d be meeting a victim. A horse that had given up. A horse that had been abused and thrown away like garbage.
I could not have been more wrong. Despite Ren’s terrible physical condition, she was ALIVE. Her eyes didn’t ask for pity. They didn’t ask for tears. They were strong. She was not a victim. She was a survivor. She had fresh open wounds, scabs, scars, knobby knees, and was filthy. She had to have been hurting. But you didn’t see that. You saw a horse that wanted a second chance. You saw a horse ready to be reborn. To be continued…
Renata has a GoFundMe page for those interested in donating to her ongoing medical care: