[Fwd: CTR: Fwd: A touching horse story]

[Patrick Allen <jfhr@inetworld.net>]

RkyMtnHrse@aol.com wrote:

> Get out the kleenex!!
>
> Barbara
>
>   --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Subject: A touching horse story
> Date: Sat, 9 Oct 1999 07:47:11 EDT
> From: DarbyMae@aol.com
> To: RkyMtnHrse@aol.com
>
> Thought you'd enjoy this one.........  :)
>
>          HEART OF A CHAMPION
>
>       Though it's been years since his racing career ended,
>  Niatross is still a powerful horse. Taller than most men, he
>  weighs half a ton, with a broad chest and chiseled muscles
>  that ripple under a rich bronze coat.
>       A racing legend, the champion Standardbred racehorse
>  won 37 of 39 races in 1979-80 and over a million dollars. No
>  horse could pass him once he got the lead.
>       In 1996, when he was 19 years old, Niatross made a 20-
>  city tour across North America.  For 16 years, Niatross had
>  done little more than romp in his paddock and munch hay and
>  oats. Now he'd have a rock star's schedule, with press
>  conferences and photographers in every city, a strange stall
>  to sleep in and thousands of fans wanting to pet and fuss
>  over him.  As his tour manager, I traveled with him.
>       Niatross greeted fans from Maine to Illinois, in big
>  cities and county fairs, in scorching heat and chilly winds.
>  Niatross endured it all with grace and almost eerie
>  intelligence. He was always able to sense what was expected
>  of him and do it.
>       One night in Buffalo, New York, Niatross pawed and
>  stomped his feet as he waited for his cue to pace down the
>  racetrack for a photo session. The big horse, in his
>  impatience, reared up on his hind legs, pulling his handler,
>  a 6'6" man, off his feet, before lunging on to the track.
>  But the outburst was over quickly and soon he stood to be
>  photographed, once again the obliging star.
>       After his track appearance, Chris, his handler,
>  unharnessed Niatross and brushed his lustrous coat. As the
>  two rounded the corner from the barn to the grandstand where
>  a crowd of fans waited, Niatross rolled his eyes and stopped
>  in his tracks, as if to say, "Oh, no. I have to do this
>  again?"  But with a gentle tug on the lead rope, Niatross
>  moved ahead to take his place of honor.
>       For two hours, he was petted, stroked, prodded and
>  swooned over. I was silently thanking Niatross for another
>  night of patience with us when out of the corner of my eye,
>  I saw a moving, buzzing blur zipping across the pavement
>  toward Niatross.  As it drew closer, I could see that the
>  blur was a child in an electric wheelchair. The child had
>  his chair going full throttle and before I could caution him
>  not to scare Niatross, he came to an abrupt halt under the
>  horse's nose, mere inches from his powerful front legs.
>       Clearly startled, but maintaining his poise, Niatross
>  widened his eyes and craned his neck to peer down at the
>  tiny blonde boy, who was around five years old and looked
>  like a doll in the heavy, motorized chair.   I said hello to
>  the child, who perhaps because of his handicap, was unable
>  to speak. The fingers of his right hand were clutched around
>  a button that propelled his chair; the fingers on the left
>  hand were frozen around a Niatross poster. He looked at me
>  intently, his eyes burning a hole through my face.
>       "Would you like Niatross to sign your poster?" I asked.
>  With great solemnity, he nodded his head yes.  I pulled the
>  poster from his fingers, tapped Niatross' foot to get him to
>  lift it, placed the poster beneath it and traced his hoof.
>       "There," I said, slipping the poster back between his
>  fingers, "Niatross signed his name for you."  The child said
>  nothing, but continued his fixed gaze at me.
>       "Do you want to give Niatross a pat?" I asked.  Again,
>  he solemnly moved his head up and down.  Yes.
>       A mild panic came over me. How could we do this?  The
>  boy couldn't extend a hand or unclench his fingers, his arms
>  were frozen at his side. How could he reach up to pat a
>  horse? I turned to Chris, not knowing what to do, but
>  knowing we couldn't disappoint this child.
>       "Chris?"  I said, hoping he'd have an idea.  Without
>  hesitation, Chris placed his hand a few inches beneath
>  Niatross' soft muzzle.  Niatross lowered his velvety nose
>  into Chris' hand.  Slowly, cautiously, Chris moved his hand,
>  with Niatross following, lower and lower, past the boy's
>  head, past his tiny shoulders. Chris pulled his hand away
>  and Niatross, closing his eyes, rested his head in the boy's
>  lap.
>       The boy's intent expression melted into a faint,
>  tranquil smile.  The tension gone from his frail body, he
>  laid his head alongside Niatross' powerful head, the same
>  head that jerked a man off his feet just hours before.  The
>  two were secure in the only kind of embrace a horse and a
>  wheelchair-bound child could have. Boy and horse looked like
>  old friends, exchanging a wordless greeting understood only
>  by them.
>       Slowly, steadily, Niatross lifted up his head to look
>  down at his new friend.  With a flick of his finger, the
>  child spun the wheelchair around.  Still smiling and sitting
>  a little taller now, he disappeared as quickly as he'd
>  appeared, into the chilly night.
>
>          Ellen Harvey
>       Chicken Soup for the Dog & Cat Lover's Soul
>  by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M.
>  and Carol Kline


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