Chosen by a Horse Read Online Free Page A

York, with her parents, she’d thought the two Shetlands providing pony rides looked overheated and decided to save them. She sneaked back to the fair in the middle of the night (this was in the days before much security) and led the two ponies to the empty garage of nearby weekenders who didn’t come up much from the city. There the ponies were free to come and go, grazing on the lush turf of the unmowed backyard, unencumbered by hot, oversized western saddles and squirming children. It seemed to be a perfect rescue until the weekenders appeared and within hours, the ponies were back at their job, shuttling children around the dusty ring.
    It was the first of many horse thefts (there were a lot of empty barns back then in Dutchess County, perfect for stashing rescued horses), but after the county fair incident, the police knew which little girl to follow to solve the crime.
    A nearby horse vet read about the young horse rustler a year later and offered to channel Allie’s zeal by taking her along with him on his farm calls. This was the beginning ofwhat Allie referred to as “medical school.” At the same time, neighbors across the street who owned several horses made one available for her to ride. So, between the ages of seven and seventeen, she spent her free time either riding or in “medical school.”
    At seventeen she left home to work on a large Standardbred racing farm. She started as a groom but quickly rose through the ranks from exercising horses to breaking, training, breeding, and imprinting. By the time she was nineteen, she was managing the entire operation.
    Horse racing is a man’s world and a difficult arena for any woman to find success in. But Allie made it to the top, first at the Standardbred farm and later managing a Thoroughbred farm. I accused her of owing her success to her looks, because she is a voluptuous Norwegian blonde. And while it’s true that men were dazzled by her looks, sooner or later they always recognized her horse expertise. She was a good rider, but her specialty was horse management: training, breeding, and general health care. Even now, fifteen years after having left the horse business to become a massage therapist—a career she felt would be more age friendly—professional barns as well as backyard operations like mine continued to seek her veterinary advice.
    We crossed Lay Me Down’s pasture (how quickly it had become hers) and stopped under the overhang of the turnout. Allie’s doctor’s kit rattled to the ground like a bag of dishes. I listened to the rain hitting the roof and watched Allie absorb the sight of the emaciated horse.
    “You poor baby.” She shook her head and bent to pull a stethoscope out of her bag. She hung it around her neck and walked over to Lay Me Down, who had finished her bran mash and was eating hay again.
    “The foal kicks,” I warned Allie. As usual, the foal stood on the far side of her mother, but she was eating hay, too, and didn’t seem interested in us at the moment. I wondered if she was less cranky because her belly was full, and she felt better.
    Allie ran her hands all over Lay Me Down’s neck and chest, keeping up a soft chatter. Allie’s approach to life was so different from mine. I was standoffish, cautious, an observer. Allie jumped in, fast and fearless: a hugger, a toucher, a player from the first moment. I wasn’t sure if she was just petting Lay Me Down or doing something diagnostic. Maybe she was getting Lay Me Down used to her touch so she could listen to her heart and lungs with the stethoscope. Some horses get anxious at the sight of anything pulled out of a bag. Tempo would fix a wild eye on the object, nicker, and trot stiff-legged to a safe distance. But Lay Me Down looked untroubled, her ears fixed forward, a sign of openness, curiosity, trust. She gave Allie a wheezy sniff, leaving wet marks here and there on the dark coveralls Allie wore. Her eyes were intense and quizzical under a slightly furrowed