10/13/2026
Rest easy, Reba girl. 🕊️🤍
21 years of life, and somehow, not nearly enough.
I don’t even know how to begin writing this. I’ve sat here trying to find the words, and the truth is, I don’t think there are any that could possibly explain how much this mare meant to me or how absolutely devastated I am today.
Today, I lost Reba.
And this one hurts more than I can explain.
If you’ve followed along with Reba’s journey, you know that this sweet old girl didn’t exactly come into my life with the world on her side. She came to me needing someone to believe in her, someone willing to put in the time, the effort, the money, and the love to give her another chance.
And I did. Without hesitation.
At 21 years old, Reba wasn’t some young, fancy horse with a promising career ahead of her. She wasn’t going to win me a buckle, make me a fortune, or give me anything that the world would consider particularly valuable.
But she was valuable to me.
She was worth every single bit of the effort.
We were still in the middle of nursing her back. Still working toward better days. Still putting the pieces together and hoping that eventually she’d get to spend the rest of her life just being a horse. No expectations, no demands, no more fighting to get through another day.
Just sunshine, a full belly, a soft place to land, and somebody who loved her.
That’s all I ever wanted for her.
Unfortunately, today had other plans.
Reba suffered a catastrophic injury to her hind leg. She severed tendons and degloved a significant portion of her leg. It was devastating. The kind of injury that makes your stomach drop because, even before anyone says a word, you know just how serious things are.
And as someone who has spent so much of my life around horses, I know that loving them sometimes means making decisions that absolutely destroy you.
We had the veterinarian come out, and after evaluating the situation, we made the heartbreaking decision to let Reba go.
I cannot begin to explain what it feels like to fight so hard for an animal, to pour so much of yourself into giving them a better life, only to have everything change in a matter of moments.
I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. I wasn’t ready for our journey to end. I wasn’t ready to accept that all those plans I had for her would never happen.
And I certainly wasn’t ready to watch another horse I love take her last breath.
I sat with her today, and those quiet moments absolutely tore me apart.
Because what do you even say to a horse who has no idea how much she changed your world?
How do you explain that you’re sorry? That you tried? That you would have done absolutely anything within your power to make things different?
How do you explain that the decision you’re making is coming from the deepest place of love, even though every part of you wants to be selfish and keep fighting?
You can’t.
You just sit there. You love them. You hold yourself together long enough to make sure they don’t have to suffer any longer.
And then you fall apart.
I think one of the hardest parts about rescue, rehabilitation, and loving these older horses is knowing that sometimes love, determination, and all the resources in the world still aren’t enough to change the outcome.
I can fix a lot of things.
I can work through bad habits, build confidence, put weight on a neglected horse, doctor wounds, spend sleepless nights worrying, and find a hundred different ways to make something work when everyone else has given up.
But I cannot fix everything.
And that is a heartbreaking reality to accept.
I hate that this is how her story ended. I hate that she didn’t get more time. I hate that we were still working toward the life I wanted so badly to give her.
But I will never regret loving her.
Not for one second.
Not the work. Not the money. Not the time. Not the heartbreak I’m sitting with right now.
I’d do it all over again knowing exactly how today would end.
Because Reba deserved somebody in her corner.
She deserved somebody who looked at a 21-year-old mare and saw more than her age, her condition, or the challenges that came with her.
She deserved to be somebody’s priority.
She deserved to matter.
And she mattered more to me than I could ever put into words.
I know people sometimes look at what I do and wonder why I continue taking on horses that need so much. Why I invest myself emotionally, physically, and financially into animals that may never give me anything in return.
This is why.
Because their lives matter even when they aren’t profitable.
Because being old doesn’t make them disposable.
Because a horse doesn’t have to be rideable, useful, pretty, or perfect to deserve compassion.
And because sometimes the greatest thing you can give an animal is the comfort of knowing that, for whatever time they have left, they belong to somebody who genuinely cares.
Reba belonged here.
She was loved here.
And while I couldn’t give her the years I had hoped for, I hope somewhere in the time we had together, she knew that she was safe, wanted, and worth fighting for.
I also want to acknowledge the people who helped me through today. The ones who showed up, stepped in, held me together, and took care of things when I couldn’t quite manage to do it myself.
I don’t think I could have made it through today without them.
There are moments in this life when being the strong one gets really exhausting. Today was one of those days.
Today, I wasn’t a horse trainer, a business owner, or the person who always figures out what needs to happen next.
I was just a girl sitting beside a horse she loved, wishing the world could be a little less cruel.
And my heart is absolutely shattered.
Reba, sweet girl, I’m so sorry our time was cut short.
I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish what we started.
I’m sorry that after everything you’d already been through, life handed you one more battle that we couldn’t win.
But I promise you this.
You were never a burden.
You were never a waste of time.
You were never just another mouth to feed or another horse standing in my pasture.
You were Reba.
My sweet, stubborn, beautiful old mare.
And you were worth every single bit of it.
21 years on this earth, and I was lucky enough to be part of your story.
I hope wherever horses go when they leave us, the grass is belly deep, the water is always cool, and there isn’t a single ache left in those tired old legs.
I hope you get to run like you’re young again.
And I hope somehow you know that the person you left behind is going to miss you more than words could ever explain.
I wanted so badly to give you a happy ending.
Maybe I didn’t get to give you the ending I pictured, but I got to give you love. And when the time came, I made sure you didn’t have to keep hurting just because I wasn’t ready to let you go.
Sometimes the last act of love we can give them is the one that hurts us the most.
Run free, Reba girl.
You don’t have to fight anymore.
Reba | 21 years old | Forever loved. 🤍🕊️
You were worth saving. You were worth fighting for. And you were worth every single tear.
