Story shared by Elizabeth Kopras
I wasn’t looking for a life partner when I saw the first photos of him. I had been following the abuse case from the kitchen table of my “partner in crime,” Deb Noem. She owns Sunrise Ranch in Morning View, Kentucky, where I had been riding horses for several years. She has a habit of helping horses out of bad situations—taking in unwanted and untrained animals and finding them new homes. She volunteers her talent and horse trailer to local 501(c)(3) rescue groups like Speak Up for Horses, always with the goal of saving just one more animal. She had been keeping me up to date on the story.
“Day-um,” I said slowly, amazed by his stance and beauty. “Are you going to bring him home?”
“Probably not,” she replied. “He isn’t even gelded yet, and I don’t need that kind of nonsense at a barn with kids. Besides, you never know what kind of mental issues a horse like that will bring with him. I’m going to focus on the babies and maybe the mares.”
This abuse case was nothing new for Kentucky. Our state had ranked 50th out of 50 for animal protections by the Animal Legal Defense Fund for eleven years running (aldf.org). Eight horses had been found dead when the owner was first charged with abuse in February 2009, and another three dropped dead before she could remove the incriminating bodies. She still had forty-eight running the property, including five stallions. Speak Up for Horses worked with local farmers to provide hay over the fences to keep these remaining horses from starving.
In May, the owner was found guilty of animal neglect. Despite receiving seventeen concurrent one-year sentences, she served only 30 days before receiving shock probation. As part of her probation, she was ordered to disperse all but five horses and stop breeding. She refused to comply. When the farm was foreclosed upon in November, the sheriff arranged to transfer the herd to a local auction run by a man who ships horses to Canada for slaughter. Speak Up was able to work with the sheriff, who was happy to pass the problem on, to stop the transfer. The group’s blog still has all the legal details (speakupforhorses.blogspot.com).
Transporting and caring for forty-eight horses, including pregnant mares, was no small feat. Deb and several others made the trip to Breathitt County to retrieve them before the auction. Speak Up had to organize health evaluations, provide care, and arrange adoptions. That first month was chaos. Almost every mare was pregnant or had a foal by her side. Few of the horses had any training. Without knowing the pedigrees of the foals, they were all considered grade Quarter Horses, even though their parents were registered. Despite this, the American Quarter Horse Association still paid that woman almost $4,000 in breeding incentives in 2008 while she let horses die of neglect.
Deb brought home a couple of the mares and a baby that winter. As 2009 turned into 2010, our 4-H kids earned volunteer hours mucking stalls, moving hay, and trying to gentle the horses. I found myself checking the Speak Up blog regularly to see which parent had finally been cajoled into adopting a horse for one of our kids. Every time I opened the webpage, there he was—his blue-eyed stare piercing right into my soul.
He was one of the handsomest Quarter Horses I’d ever seen, but nobody was willing to adopt him. An untouched, recently gelded five-year-old nicknamed “Mister Touchy Butt” for being so sensitive and twitchy wasn’t exactly appealing. Speak Up took a lot of flack for gelding these valuable stallions, but having a granddaddy with a $10,000 stud fee hadn’t kept this one from starvation.
At the time, I was experiencing some changes of my own. I had been leasing an old paint mare, Millie, who was more stocky pony than horse. Her age was catching up with her, and my daughter had lost interest in riding, so we found her a lovely retirement home. I was working with another rescue, a three-year-old named Booger, and enjoying all the horses at Deb’s place. I volunteered at Speak Up occasionally and couldn’t stop cyberstalking that blue-eyed boy. Because he had been a stallion for so long, some volunteers weren’t comfortable working with him, so he was confined to his stall.
I thought if I could just calm him down, maybe someone would adopt him. My 2011 New Year’s Resolution was simple: get this horse adopted.
Now, I’m not a horse trainer. I once did a summer internship at Pilot Dogs, Inc., learning to train guide dogs. I was a psychological assistant in an equestrian therapy program. I hung out at Sunrise Ranch with my crazy friend a couple of times a week. But working with an untrained, thousand-pound bundle of explosive energy? That was new territory.
Magic wasn’t just nervous—he was confident, but he carried himself like a coiled spring, ready to release all that energy in a flash. Walking him out of his stall felt like holding the string of a balloon ten times your mass, waiting for a gust of wind to snatch it from you.
One time, I opened the gate to let him into the arena, and he exploded into a gallop so fast the rope ripped the skin from my palms. Watching him run was breathtaking in the literal sense—I would forget to breathe, awestruck by his power and spirit. He would rear and buck, trot with an arrogant prance, and gallop in perfect circles around me. For all his power, he never made me feel like I was in danger.
During a visit in early February, I slid open the arena doors to let in sunlight and sat on the railing. Magic trotted up to me, snorted, and lightly touched my arm. We both looked out through the open doors.
Now, I’m not one to believe in fairy tales or telepathy. But that horse looked at me, then back out at the land, and I swear I heard his voice in my head.
Get me out of here, he said. Get me out there, and I will do anything you ask. All I want is a chance to run across the grass again.
“It’s not that easy,” I told him, fully aware I was talking to a horse. “I have limits on money. My husband has to agree to this kind of expense. I can’t even ride you.”
Anything, he whispered.
When I got home, I poured my heart out to Randy, my husband. I told him about this horse and how it broke my heart to leave him in the rescue. I listed every reason why I couldn’t adopt him. Randy listened patiently and then gave me advice I didn’t expect.
“Fill out the paperwork,” he said.
“Seriously?”
“Adopt the horse. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
That was the beginning of our grand adventures. With the help of a good trainer, we got Magic under saddle. In just 30 days, he was doing fancy sliding stops—though that skill had to be unlearned after I ended up on his neck every time.
Adventure after adventure, Magic proved he could figure out what needed to be done and still keep me safe. We’ve worked cattle, trained green horses, tackled competitive trails, and even jousted against some of the best in the US.
Every day, he fulfills the promise he made that January. And every day, I work to return the favor.
