Rescuing a Standardbred

                                 In the beginning...an introduction to the history

Part I

    I first crossed paths with Auggie on August 5th, 2022, but I almost think our story started long before he was even born. I've had four months of working with this horse to date, and I can tell you it's been something of a spiritual journey for both of us. It seemed to me that there was something exceptional about him and the way things fell into place, and I knew that I had to begin recording the experience as time went on.

   

     I grew up in southeastern Pennsylvania in the 90's. My father was a Landscape Contractor who worked primarily for wealthy landowners in the suburbs and my mother spent most of her time managing the book work for the family business. We went through our fair share of struggles financially, but despite all that, my parents were able to keep horses throughout my entire childhood and until present day. We never had anything particularly fancy, mostly throw-away horses that needed to be re-homed. As a result, I started riding at an early age and learned to handle the "less than perfect" types.

    

    I had the misfortune of being born to parents who had already lost one daughter, Kathleen, and suffered numerous miscarriages before my arrival. I realize now, as a parent myself, that these events shaped my childhood and everything that happened into early adulthood. The pain and disappointment of all those broken dreams made my life that much tougher. The rules were strict, expectations were high, and the work was demanding; I often wished for siblings to take some of the burden off my shoulders, but it was never in the cards. While I know that my parents loved me, they could be pretty controlling and intolerant of mistakes. I was often told that I couldn't do things or that my ideas were outlandish, and the worst part of it all was that I started to believe that.

   

 Horses were a major part of my life; most of my artwork was devoted to them and my shelves were lined with an array of Breyer models that I still cherish to this day. I played sports in school, practiced the guitar, and even joined the drama club for a while, but my ultimate dream was to have some sort of ranch someday, and get the hell out of dodge as soon as I was old enough. Someday, I swore, I'd show everyone how successful I could be. 

Carolyn riding Ginger in 1999 at the age of 13

  

  I had a successful high-school career at an over-priced Catholic girl's school, with a state track title and first honors, but all I wanted was to get away and go to Wyoming. School seemed like a joke, and I figured I could go directly to work for a family friend outside of Jackson Hole on his horse ranch. My plans came to screeching halt. After many heated arguments, it became clear that my parents would not support this endeavor, and my mother insisted that I attend college, stating that, "there's no money in horses." Looking back, I wish I had the courage to defy them, but my resolve crumbled, and I let the fear of rejection drive me to enroll at a four-year college.

    I hated every minute of it, and while I easily earned both academic and athletic honors, I was absolutely miserable. I spent four years plodding along in a low-level depression just to avoid conflict with my parents. I ended up going through an abusive relationship with some loser guy that I met there, and completely abandoning any hope of ever having my ranch. To put things simply, I was a shell; dried up roadkill on the side of 1-95 just waiting for the next thing to run me over.  It is a terrible thing to live like that. 

    I graduated with a 3.93, but it didn't matter. There were no jobs to speak of and my science degree proved to be worthless. Most of my classmates ended up taking anything they possibly could to pay back their loans, which meant working an endless string of part time jobs to get by. I can't say that I was shocked, but reality certainly smacked my cohorts upside the head. With the conclusion of the college chapter, the next wave of pressure to hit me was the "when are you going to get married/ have kids?" line. But I had a different idea.

    I was going to join the Army. I had always wanted to serve somehow, so I figured the time was right to tell everyone good-bye and head out on the adventure I had always been in search of. My mother absolutely did not care for this plan as it seemed to jeopardize her timeline for my domestic life. I hadn't seen enough of the world yet, and I was desperate for some sort of meaningful endeavor.

    I enlisted in November of 2008 after months of battling over medical waivers. While the ASVAB was a cinch, the medical portion of my entrance processing was a thorn in my side, and I nearly gave up all hope of ever getting in. Every undocumented scar was subject to scrutiny and required me to turn over my complete file of medical records. I was getting ready to call it quits when my recruiter called me up to say that I had been cleared; I was to get my things in order to head over to MEPS to swear in and get my ship date.

    I spent a total of 10 years in the Army National Guard, and while I never quite ended up where I wanted to be with it, I don't regret it at all. I bounced around different units, going from Officer Candidate school back to the enlisted side and changing jobs (MOS) whenever it was offered to me. I never fully believed in myself enough to make it a full-time career, and I know that I probably could have moved higher had I been more confident. 

                                                Fort Lee, Virginia...January 2013

    In the first two years of my enlistment, I ended up getting engaged to a guy who was getting out of the Navy. We had been Pen pals in a program called Soldier's Angels, and he took quite a liking to me right away. It should have been a red flag for me, but he proposed after only a short time of getting to know each other. I felt the tidal wave of pressure crashing over me again, and despite my better judgement I gave into the guilt. I had tried to cancel the wedding at least three times, however my mother pleaded with me not to break this man's heart, he was such a " nice guy" after all. I married a loser.

    It quickly became apparent that my "husband" was an entitled slob with a drug and alcohol problem. The "nice guy" act dissolved quickly, and the beer bottles piled up. He had little ambition and a controlling, narcissistic demeanor. He was out of a lackluster four years in the Navy and collecting disability from the VA as well as unemployment. He took the GI Bill to go to school to collect the monthly housing allowance that came with it but couldn't seem to pass his classes. 

    Things spun wildly out of control when I became pregnant in January 2011. It was the absolute lowest point in my life, with many nights spent in my car with nothing to call my own. We were destitute and plans with the Army and switching to active duty had to be put on hold. I re-entered my father's landscaping company to get by during that time. I was working six days a week doing manual labor up until four days before my daughter was born: many times fighting exhaustion and horrible nausea. I've never felt so alone in my life as I did the year my daughter was born.

    After a year and a half of a lousy marriage, I decided I had to end the suffering. I filed for divorce, and though things got pretty ugly, I knew it was the right thing to do. I threw his abusive ass out and ended up taking a new position in the Guard as a Stryker mechanic.  I began regular work with my father's landscaping company and started generating new business as I navigated raising a toddler. Much to my dismay, I was stuck back in the same place that I grew up.

Tony, our original rescue horse from New Holland, looks over the gate.

    Life was still difficult. We struggled financially, but I worked every chance I could, including Sundays. We lived in a little ranch house that my grandfather had left vacant, and I cleaned it up as best I could. My parents' horses lived on the property, although they were all getting close to retirement age. I managed to send my daughter to private school without any assistance from her father, but it often meant that I had to go without certain things that I wanted or needed. Despite feeling down on my luck, help always arrived when I was at the point of losing hope. I can't explain it, but somehow I knew someone was looking out for me when I was down to my last dollar. My daughter never went without the things she needed.  

    

    As I became more involved in running the business, drilling with the Army National Guard started to become an impediment. I began to struggle with managing three different lives-Business owner, mother and Guardsman. Simultaneously, I was managing a long-distance relationship with another soldier, Josh, that I had gone to Stryker school with. He was on Active Duty and had been stationed down at Fort Bliss, Texas. This was a rollercoaster of emotion, and while Josh was a good man, he suffered from bouts of depression and thoughts of suicide. It was difficult to maintain a connection with him.

    Eventually, the relationship dissolved. Around the same time, my second contract with the National Guard was coming to an end and I decided that it was time to leave the organization and pursue running the business more completely. On April 27th, 2018, my contract with the Guard was up and I turned in my gear for the last time. I had mixed feelings about leaving, but something told me that the Army was no longer a good fit for me. Life was changing again, and not in the way I had planned.

    Seemingly out of the blue, a man that I had worked with on certain properties for a few years, asked me on a date. Dave was a little bit older but was a successful contractor with a talent for carpentry and managing the high-end construction projects.  "This time, I got it right!"  I thought. Things couldn't be better, and that summer we spent our free time eating out and going fishing. He was also divorced and had two kids, so I felt confident that he could relate to the responsibilities that I had. 

    Dave didn't last that long. After about a year and a half, he started going MIA and come to find out he was mostly at home drinking like a fish (see a theme here?). After months of not hearing from him, he reached out to let me know that he had been sent to rehab for alcohol abuse and in the process had learned that his liver was irrevocably damaged. He would eventually need a liver transplant, but he planned on refusing that. For that reason, he felt that it was better to formally end things with me. I wasn't sure how true it all was, but it was a slap in the face regardless. How did I keep ending up like this?

    In December 2020, Josh contacted me to say that he had been medically retired from the Army after 12 years of service. He had attempted suicide out in the field and spent weeks going through psychiatric treatment at Fort Carson, Colorado. The cause of his problems was determined to be improper diagnosis by Army physicians who had prescribed him Prozac. He explained that they had given him Prozac and Effexor for an incorrect diagnosis of PTSD, and that the combination of drugs with alcohol consumption sent him over the edge. It made sense, but I was apprehensive about talking to him.

    He had gotten a job in North Dakota working in the oil fields and he made good money doing it; good enough to buy a house with four bedrooms and 3 bathrooms just outside of Watford City. We began talking like it was old times, and after a few weeks, he offered to fly me out there for a visit. It was January 7, 2021 when my plane touched down at the Williston regional airport and Josh was there to greet me immediately. My daughter was home with my parents, and I felt that all I needed was a long weekend away. Nothing to worry about.

    To be continued.....