The 9/11 Horse
Sterling is known to many of you who follow me on Instagram because of his regular appearance in my stories. He is a huge part of my daily routine, and although I probably don’t NEED to go to the barn every day, I find a way if at all possible.
Sterling is 27 years old, which is on upper end of the average equine lifespan. He started his days in Oklahoma, which is fairly ironic, given we now live in Texas. But, I found him in 2001 after he’d been “shipped East” because he wasn’t “good” at what he was bred for, being a cattle horse. Now, those of you who have seen him I have to ask “does that little grey pony look like a cattle horse?!”
My husband and I had moved to a farm in Vermont and our daughters were 8, 6 and 4. We had decided to fill the barn on our property with horses, and Sterling would be second horse in a barn that could hold five. At the time we only had one little mare named Libby who was the girls’ first pony.
When I decided I was ready for a horse of my own, a friend led me to a farm in western, Massachusetts that shipped horses from “out west.” So, early one morning in September, my youngest daughter and I set out to take a look at what I’d been told was “a horse who just wants to be owned by a little girl” (or possibly a mom who always wanted a horse but grew up in suburban Boston)? Either way, we were excited for our day trip and Hannah, at age 4, was bitten by the horse bug in a big way. She had a bag of carrots in her lap and was glad she wasn’t old enough to be in school like her older sisters.
The first time I laid eyes on him, he was tied to a fence standing knee deep in mud. There was no spirit in his eyes and his mane was long and unkempt. A quarter horse, grey coat with a black mane - was hardly visible through the grime covering him. I would learn later that dirt brushes away quickly, but emotional scars take much longer to heal. My tiny daughter, who has known nothing but living with and around horses since the day she could walk, strolled right up to him fearlessly and held out the carrot she’d been clutching. She was so accustomed to other horses we knew gobbling up anything she gave them that was shocked when this horse shied from her little hand. It was clear he’d been hit, he was so “head shy” - his demeanor screamed fear. I phoned my husband and told him this was a mercy mission - I wasn’t leaving without this horse whether he was right for me or not.
That night at dinner, we tossed around names for a grey horse and eventually voted on Sterling. We did not own a horse trailer yet, and so he was scheduled to arrive the morning of September 11, 2001. It was a gorgeous, clear and crisp fall day. The sky was a soft blue and white puffy clouds danced over our farm’s fields. It was one of those days that confirmed we’d made the right decision to raise our family hidden in the Vermont woods.
On the morning of 9/11, I took the girls to school and then busied myself by turning on my computer and answering emails. I was well prepared for Sterling’s arrival: his stall was clean and piled high with pine shavings; his hay feeder was overflowing; his water bucket was clean and full, and I had a grain bucket ready for his dinner.
The phone rang and broke the silence. My mother’s voice was panicked and she told me to turn on the TV. We both sat in silence, separated by 300 miles, watching the horror unfold in New York City. I saw the first tower come down and then was shaken by the roar of a diesel engine and the rattle of a horse trailer coming down our long dirt driveway.
The driver jumped out of the truck and I could tell by his expression he’d been listening to the new as well; we stood together in front of our barn, strangers but for the few moments we’d spoken ten days prior when I’d met Sterling. We worked together to get Sterling off the trailer and out into our fields and I invited him into the house for something to drink before he left. The only comment he made prior to departing was something about how difficult Sterling was getting on the trailer. It foreshadowed the long road we were headed down as we embarked on healing the deep wounds this horse had suffered. Over the years, he would teach all of us just how long it takes to undo the scars from years of abuse. He would go on to become a lifelong companion to our pony George (who arrived a few months later) and the cornerstone of our equine family - a family which would grow horse by horse over the next decade.
The rewards for rehabilitating an animal, whether it be dog or cat or horse, is beyond measure. The struggles can be overwhelming. There were times I could be found weeping in our barn because I thought I might lose what often seemed like a battle with Sterling; it took months for him to begin to trust us and years before he didn’t exhibit the emotional scars he came with. We were all on a journey that started on the one of the worst days in our nation’s history. When I am asked “how long have you had Sterling?” my response brings a flood of memories from the day that changed everyone. Sterling is a living reminder that when that the world stood still, yet mere miles away lives were unfolding and continuing. That night we stood as a family on the edge of the horses’ fields, holding the girls tighter than usual, not knowing what the future held. We watched Sterling begin a new life, and we were never more sure of our decision to hide away, if only briefly, in the woods of Vermont.
