Communications Pro Blog

Archive for April, 2010

Spot the Blind Horse

Spot, the blind horse I wrote about last December who was featured on the front page of the Chestnut Hill Local and served as my first blog subject, has gone to a better place. Even in the end, he was still teaching us lessons.

Spot was a nearly 30-year-old horse, who belonged to nobody and everybody at Northwestern Equestrian Facility (NWEF) in Chestnut Hill. He was a lesson horse for many years, carrying many riders on his back while he patiently tried to obey and understand their commands. Spot got his name because his undercoat, which you could only see when it was wet, had big brown spots show through his white overcoat.

In more recent years, Spot’s eyesight went and he was pretty well blind when I stumbled upon his story last fall. I had been doing a story on the Wissahickon Horse-lovers Organization for Adults (WHOA), when I took a break from the meeting and walked through the barn to clear my head. That’s when I saw Spot and a notice on his stall door that he was blind and that donations were being sought for his upkeep. The boarders at NWEF were carrying his load, which averaged about $500 per month. I wrote the story, sought donations, and placed a laminated copy of the article on his stall door. And then I visited him, and visited him, and visited him, and brought others to visit him. I took my good friend, Gina Pio Cossman, and her college age daughter to visit Spot. We ran him around in the ring and let him graze and groomed him. After interviewing Lisa Levinson, Zipora Shulz and Jim Harris for a story on their animal awareness group, Zipora and Jim asked if they could meet Spot. I took them to the stable and we fed Spot carrots. They giggled like little kids as his whiskers tickled the palms of their hands. They were very grateful to have connected. There were dozens of small children who would come up to me while I had Spot out to graze, and I showed them where he liked to be touched and told them his story.

Since I wasn’t riding regularly, I would carry horse treats in my car, along with some hard-toed boots, stopping in to see Spot several times a week. Sometimes I took him out, sometimes I groomed him in the barn. He was happy for the company. So was I. Everyone said how nice it was that I was giving him some attention; but they didn’t realize what he was giving me in terms of animal therapy. I had the honor of relating to this gorgeous animal, and on bad days rambling a bit about my woes. I got to stand with him in the sunlight and recharge from a hectic week as he grazed on green grass and we welcomed an occasional visitor. I got to groom him and smell like a horse for a couple of hours. I also got to write a lovely story about my friend. I got a lot from Spot.

I had written an initial draft of a story on Spot, and was returning to the barn with photographer Denize White-Christiansen, who lives around the block from me in Flourtown, when we stumbled upon a bigger and sweeter story. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and students from the Crefeld School were there on their weekly visit to take care of the horses. I talked to Gabe Pfeiffer, a 17-year old blind student who attends the school, and the article turned into one about what the sighted community needs to know about blind horses and people. He told me what would seem like common sense; don’t walk up behind a blind horse or person without announcing yourself softly. Spot, through Gabe, was still teaching.

This past Friday night I stopped by the stable after helping people get to ‘their stories’ during a Public Speaking Boot Camp for the Main Line Chamber of Commerce. I shared Spot’s story with the group and encouraged them to write down their stories about pets and people. It had been an exhausting day and week, and I really wanted to go home. But Spot’s spirit drew me toward NWEF. When I went in, I saw a sign on his stall stating that he should not be taken out of his stall unless Kathy, the barn manager, gave the okay. Not a good sign.

I tentatively knocked on her apartment door. Eventually, she opened it and told me that Spot had fallen earlier that day, and that they may have to put him down over the weekend. I went back down to his stall and groomed him from his head to hooves. He seemed to enjoy the grooming and didn’t seem to be in much distress. But the next morning I went to feed him apples and he wouldn’t eat them. He seemed scared and afraid to come close to the stall door. I told him he was a good horse and that if he had to go, we would understand. On Sunday morning, as I walked down the long aisle to his stall before the Wissahickon Day Parade and Horse Show, I was half expecting to find an empty stall – and frankly I was fine with that. The horse I had visited the previous day was not in good spirits, and I suspected he was in pain. Having been through this life/death scenario a few times with people and animals, I knew that putting an animal in distress down was the most humane thing to do; hard, yes – but also humane. Spot tentatively took some carrots from me, but it was clear he just wanted to be left alone. It was raining. I understood and let him be.

On Monday morning, I got a call from Denize asking me not to go to the barn until I had called her. I knew what this meant, and indeed, she broke the news, gently and lovingly. I told her I was okay and that I had said my goodbyes to him. Sometimes we aren’t so fortunate. She had not been so fortunate.
I later learned that Julie Goldberg, the Executive Director at NWEF, had spent the morning with Spot, giving him plenty of carrots, grass and love. His last moments were filled with mouthfuls of fresh grass, as she whispered to him and let him pass to the Rainbow Bridge.
When I got home at 3 pm, I did lose my composure when my sweet 9-year-old Golden Retriever, Simba, greeted me at the door with his tail wagging and a ball in his mouth. Simba (and Spot) made me realize that we only borrow these furry, hairy and feathered (and human) friends. We connect with them on so many levels, and one can only hope that when our time comes it will peacefully and that we had a chance to say our goodbyes.
Thank you to everyone at NWEF and beyond who took care of Spot for many, many years. I only knew him for a short time, but I am a much better person for having connected with him. Thank you to Len Lear and The Local for helping spread Spot’s story.
Thank you, Spot, for teaching us this final lesson about growing old with dignity and knowing when your time has come. You will always be a great lesson horse – and one who will be missed by many.

If you would like to make a donation to help pay for Spot’s final veterinary bills, please make checks payable to NWEF with Spot in the memo field, 120 W. Northwestern Avenue, Philadelphia, PA 19118.

Post Script: I had one green apple left in my Jeep. I always carried apples and carrots in the vehicle for Spot. Upon arriving at the barn late in the day after Spot had gone to the Rainbow Bridge, I decided to cut the apple in half and without thinking, gave half to Goober and half to Jasper, two horses who have no single owner – they too are lesson horses and owned by NWEF. The next day, Julie Goldberg e-mailed me to suggested I ‘don’t become and stranger’ and visit two other lesson horses in need of a little TLC. Their names: Goober and Jasper. Coincidence? You be the judge. I think Spot had a hand (or hoof) in it.

Barb and her Dad riding and storytelling

Verbal communication is very much a part of our monthly Public Speaking Boot Camps. So when my jaw dropped as I was giving participants their homework assignments for the follow-up session, I tried my best to force the it back into its proper place. The assignment was to develop a 5-minute presentation in which two stories were incorporated in order to make a point, plea, or pitch and connect with the audience. The dropped jaw scenario came about as the CEO of the Main Line Chamber of Commerce said she couldn’t think of any stories to tell. She turned to her staff and pleaded with them to come up with some stories for her.

I told her that I would develop an exercise or two to help her pull her stories out; and that I really didn’t want to hear other people’s stories during her talk. They had to be her own stories in order for the audience to connect with her. I then gave the group a sheet with the following questions in order to jog their memories and come up with some interesting stories to share.

Here are the questions:

Did you ever have liquid come out your nose from laughing and what caused it?

Nobody could come up with a liquid coming out of the nose story, so I started this one off. To this day I cannot look at orange soda and pepperoni pizza without thinking of it. My two older sisters and younger brother were having pizza one night. It was probably a Friday night, because that was typical Friday night fare. Anyway, my sister, Patrice, and my brother, Kevin got into an argument about who knows what. All I can remember is she threw a piece of pizza at him and he ducked. It hit the wall and stuck there. I was drinking orange soda at the time and laughed so hard it came out my nose. I have had other liquids (milk and water) come out my nose on two other occasions, but the soda and carbonation really hurt enough to leave a lasting impression – as did the greasy pizza on the wall!

Do you have an interesting story about how you were named or nicknamed?

Jane Butler of Accessible Home Health Care told the group that she was born in 1966 the year the Rolling stones came out with the song Lady Jane. Her father liked the song so much, that he insisted they call the new baby Jane, and to this day he calls her Lady Jane. Sweet.

Tell us a funny or sad story about your pet.
Scott Knutson shared a hair-raising story about his pet dog Alfie. When Scott was 12-years-old, Alfie was died of kidney failure.   A few days later, he was laying in bed and he felt something at his feet, where Alfie used to sleep. He turned on the light only to find the impression of Alfie’s body at the bottom of the bed. He remembers running in the bathroom and locking the door and not getting much sleep the rest of that night.  Alfie’s form was felt and an indentation made in the covers on a few more nights, but Scott fought through the fear and remained in bed with his buddy at his feet.

I then  told my audience about a book my father and I had written about his memories of life on the farm in South Jersey and riding in the local rodeos and my stories about riding horses. The book is titled: “The Cowboy Mission: The Best Sermons are Lived…Not Preached.” It is now in it’s 5th printing, as Dad is now selling it at flea markets and in the local pubs. Too funny – and what a great story!

I then suggested that they (and you) go to www.rememberswhen.com where there are 17 downloadable worksheets to help you get to your stories. I have since done a Memoir Writing workshop with a group of senior citizens at Tedwyn Apartments in Bryn Mawr using many of the techniques in the worksheets. They really helped get to the heart of people’s stories.

A woman by the name of Irene O’Connor shared a fabulous story she had submitted to the Philadelphia Daily News. I would like to share it with readers in its entirety.

War through a child’s eyes: When your town becomes the front lines
Submitted by Irene J. O’Connor

I grew up on the outskirts of a small town in Alsace, France. Our house was surrounded by meadows, woods, and in the distance by the Vosges Mountains.
When I was six years old, my job was to feed the hens. The only red hen we had became my pet.
In the summer of 1944 my perfect childhood suddenly came to an end. As I was looking out the kitchen window admiring the landscape, I could see an airplane approaching. As it came closer, I could hear the machine guns. My mother grabbed me and we ran down to the basement. Later on, we found bullet holes sprayed just below the kitchen window.
Sometime in October, some families had left their homes for a safer place. When our next door neighbor left, the Germans occupied their house. They did not bother us. Sometimes in the evening they would invite themselves over, just to talk. We were not German sympathizers but we tolerated them out of fear.
By mid-November the Germans ordered us to vacate our home because they wanted to install radio equipment. We left for a three-story building four blocks down the street.
When we arrived at the building, the Germans had already occupied it, but they let about 10 families use the basement. As time went on, it was difficult to get food. One day when a horse got killed in front of the building, once again we had food. Because of the unsanitary conditions that developed, we wound up with fleas and lice with no medicine to be had.
As the weeks continued, bombs fell all around us. The noise was deafening, the building shook and for the first time I trembled. I thought we were going to die.
In May 1945, as the war was coming to an end, the French surrounded the building. One German soldier went berserk and attached hand grenades all over his body. He was ready to blow himself up and the building but his commanding officer talked him out of it.
As other German soldiers were brought to the building, one smug soldier came in carrying my pet hen. I leaped toward him, screaming “GIVE ME MY HEN! GIVE ME MY HEN!” He was ordered to give me back my hen.
As we left the building to go back home, we saw for the first time the devastation of war. It was heartbreaking.
Our house had a big hole in the roof from mortar shells. It was right over my bedroom. It was a blessing that we weren’t there at the time.
Also after the war, General Charles DeGaulle came through many of the towns to inspect the destruction. As he came past our street I waved to him and he waved right back.
The war affected me for a lifetime.

While the world was crumbling around her, it was her hen that she – and the listener – really cared about. Oh, the power of stories. Please share some of your own.

Barbara Sherf is a writer, speech coach, and storyteller. You can contact her by calling 215-233-8022 or e-mailing Barb@CommunicationsPro.com.