“What a beautiful mess, what a beautiful mess I’m in… spending all my time with you, there’s nothin’ else I’d rather do. What a sweet addiction that I’m caught up in…’cause I can’t get enough…”

I’m just a mess sometimes. Sensitive, easily prone to tears by things that might register to another on the emotional Richter scale at no more than a “Oh, that’s touching,” you can just about knock me over with a well told emotional story. And it doesn’t have to be gut-wrenching, tragic or devastating – I am as easily moved and brought to near-weeping by a moment of generous compassion or simple joy.

The passage of time has only sharpened this facet of my persona. And so here I am, several years and three rescued animals later, and occasionally and discreetly still searching on the side for stories of second chances and opportunities to do more, to help more, to save another one. Don’t misunderstand me - my home is full. One sensitive, goofy and anxious coonhound and a cat who regularly scales a floor-to-ceiling wooden beam in the middle of my living room – not to mention one rather proud and stubborn Quarter Horse who has so completely stolen my heart that I catch myself associating happy song lyrics with him on a regular basis…yes, I am at capacity when it comes to rescued animals. No vacancy. No can do. I mean it.

There’s something beautiful…and yes, even messy…about loving a rescued animal. The things they teach you about yourself. The emotions they bring out. The self-sacrifice you didn’t think you were capable of. The way they teach you to love. The way they teach you to forgive. The way they don’t need you to be perfect or right, or without flaws…they just need you to be, to have someone they can trust.

I never have an interaction with my horse, Tuff, without experiencing some sort of emotion (even if that emotion is frustration). The other day I walked out into the pasture, grooming supplies in hand and a widespread grin on my face. He looked beautiful and at peace, grazing with his pasture mates. In a perfect world, his head would have snapped up and he would have broken into a gentle lope, coming straight towards me with unreserved delight. But this isn’t a perfect world and he doesn’t always act as my dreams play out, so although his head snapped up and he registered my presence, it just as quickly dropped back down to the lush green grass which was far more compelling than my arrival. I tried to groom him and did so only somewhat successfully - every 30 seconds his skin would twitch and he’d walk away half a dozen steps and drop his head down to graze again. Only mildly exasperated, I turned to Bo, who watched me with a curious intensity from a few steps away. I noted the wind twists in his mane and thought I’d try to untangle the mess if he would let me. What a difference. He stood perfectly still, head held high but relaxed and let me weave my fingers gingerly through his mane for a good 15 minutes. His trust and quiet acceptance melted my heart. I turned to Tuff, whose rear end was facing me and I feigned an indifferent shrug. “I love you,” I whispered to Bo loudly enough for Tuff to hear me and then I sauntered away. After a minute, I turned around to see that Tuff was suddenly alert and watching my every move as I left the pasture. A grin broke out on my face once again and I enthusiastically called out “Bye, Tuffy, your mom loves you!!!” What a pushover.

Yes, I’m a mess. I’ve cried my heart out over that horse on hard days. And I’ve also experienced pure and unadulterated joy just being in his presence…or the times he makes me laugh unexpectedly with his playfulness…the side of him that I feel sometimes is reserved just for me. It really is a beautiful mess. I’d take the ups and downs and all the emotion that goes with it any day…the love I get in return, the way my life has been enriched and the capacity to which my heart has grown is worth it all.

It doesn't take much sometimes. A nasty phone call from someone who refuses to listen. A well-intentioned yet biting remark from a friend. An urgently needed car repair that couldn't come at a worse time. Even something as simple as the local Starbucks running out of your favorite white chocolate mocha with whip can be enough to send you plummeting over the edge and spiraling downward into a complete emotional breakdown.

On a larger scale, events like the recent catastrophic earthquake in Haiti can make one feel like a tiny, insignificant dot in a world filled with so much great need. You want desperately to help, the images are heartbreaking, but you are overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the devastation.

I stood in the arena a few weeks ago and watched an intense chiropractic, holistic evaluation be completed on my horse. "Overwhelmed" doesn't begin to sum up my feelings after the 2+ hour session. I knew he needed it, desperately needed it, and eagerly anticipated positive results. I didn't count on or expect the flood of emotions from either my horse or myself. And with each reaction he gave - head rearing up sharply, sidestepping, resisting and recoiling...then, more softly, head dropping, eyes softening and a slow chew - I reacted, my eyes welling to the brim each time, swallowing hard over the ever-growing lump in my throat. Near the end of the session, when he had let down his guard and begun to trust enough to allow Dr. Seelye to work on his front legs and she loudly and joyfully proclaimed "Good for you! Good for you!!" to him, I wanted to collapse into a sobbing heap right then and there. My own self-conscious embarassment prevented this, however, and I covered my mouth and squinted my eyes tightly should they betray the carefully composed air of stability I tried to exude. In fact, I still cannot think about that moment in the arena, or talk or write about it, without welling up all over again. I love my horse and when it comes to his healing and well-being, my emotional ties to him are plainly and at times pathetically evident.

I walked away from the session with a lot of information. And a bit of a sense of - how am I ever going to help him or make a difference? Adding in the challenge of trying to select a new name for him (and the resulting internal dialogue I've wrestled with the past few weeks: does his name, "Tuff," really define him or is he who he is as a result of everything he's been through and does today? Am I spending far too much time dwelling on and stressing over this?), and I feel a bit ineffective and, again....overwhelmed.

It's easy to feel outnumbered when the challenges are stacked higher than the victories. So as I left the barn the other day, again having struggled through an "off" day with my horse (also known as the Most Beautiful Horse on Earth), I climbed slowly into my car, removed a glove, and stopped. I breathed it in deeply - that sweet and familiar smell of my horse: hair, dirt, shavings, the whole bit. Fellow horse lovers may understand. I have loved that smell my whole life. It is associated with some of the best memories I have. So here I sat, worn down by the odds seemingly stacked against me - and him - and just....breathed. It had a powerful effect, this simple thing.

I have to remember this sometimes, about life. At times you really only can take things a day at a time. Walking alongside rescue horses, one knows this all too well. And even if you can't take on a whole day, you take a step. My horse is living proof of this. For each step he's bravely taken, even in the midst of intense pain, it's been a cause for great celebration (and sometimes happy weeping). If I can focus on this, I don't feel so overwhelmed. Or powerless. We're all capable of making tremendous impact and great strides, even when it doesn't feel that way. Even through the small and simple things.

Working in rescue, the focus is so often upon the saving and healing of the animals who come into your care. For those who come in battered and wounded from the neglect they've suffered, the need for recovery and tender loving care is all the more apparent. I think of horses like Baylee, left in the muck and mire of a round pen with no source of food or clean water, and the transformation that has taken place since she has come into our barn. This beautiful animal seemed to develop rapidly into a stunning young prospect horse. And yet, as we sometimes learn, the transformation that a rescued animal must undergo is more extensive than the changes that take place in just their physical appearance. Baylee still struggles with lameness issues that were brought on as part of the malnourishment she suffered during a key time of development in her young life. Her journey to recovery is not yet complete.

As I led my own rescue horse, Tuff, into the round pen the other day, I struggled with the twinges of guilt that I hadn't devoted the amount of attention to him over the past couple weeks that he deserved. I counted on him making me pay for this too. I took a deep breath and attempted to focus - I needed the time with him to be positive, having just struggled through a particularly difficult week myself. He deserved nothing less than my undivided attention. Starting with basic groundwork, I encountered immediate resistance. He held his ground stubbornly. A swish or two of the tail, a pawing of his front hoof and a set expression all let me know that he wasn't going to make it easy on me. The more time I spent, the more I became engrossed in his movements - or lack thereof - and his demeanor. As mild frustration started to swell within me (really, I just wanted this to be a good day between us), I bit my lip hard and tried to will him to connect with me and what I was asking. Finally, something broke and released. I don't know who experienced it first - although he gave the first outward signal with the shifting of his hind end, I felt a dead weight lift and a sense of calm and intention come over me. Suddenly his head dropped, his eyes softened, and he let out three deliberate and exaggerated yawns (in the world of natural horsemanship, this was a signal that he was processing, making new connections in his brain). Something so simple, yet it was enough to send me over the edge - tears welled up and abruptly spilled down my cheeks. It wasn't just relief that he finally "got it." To me, it communicated the crumbling of a wall between us - he was letting me in and I was finally open to receive it. As I leaned forward and buried my face helplessly into his neck, he remained still and quiet, just allowing me to be. I realized in those few moments that he was not the only one in need of tender loving care. He's been broken....and so have I. Working with him and learning with him has taught me so much about myself and I sometimes wonder if I give him back a fraction of what he gives me.

The healing can truly be on both sides. We spend our time, hearts and energy loving on these neglected, unwanted and abused animals and so often may miss the lessons and healing they are in turn giving us. Life is not easy and we all have our battle scars, like so many of them. Taking the time to understand them and walk alongside them on their journey of healing can offer lasting benefits we never may have imagined.

Sometimes, no matter how high your hopes or how pure your intentions, things just don't go the way you envisioned. Driving to the barn on a cold and rainy fall evening, I was hopeful that my horse was feeling better after his most recent bout of lameness. I also hoped to glean some inspiring material for the latest blog entry. I packed away my camera and anticipated maybe even getting a great shot or two.

After battling traffic for an hour, I arrived and it was nearly dusk. The rain and dark didn't make for an ideal photoshoot, so I scurried inside to be near my beloved horse. The barn was nearly deserted as the horses quietly and contentedly munched on their hay. Tuff jerked his head to attention in his usual fashion and I knew within three steps that he was feeling no better. He limped out slowly next to me as I set about to examine and clean his feet. I have found that there is almost nothing more personally discouraging to me than seeing my horse in discomfort like that. Next to his hulking and powerful frame, I feel sadly helpless in easing his burden.

As I rummaged through the tack locker to find some bute and sunflower seeds to lift his spirits, I heard a pathetic and sharp series of cries emitting from the nearby tack room. Kittens. Molly, a resident stray and elusive as always, had escaped the last vet appointment and delivered a final litter of kittens for the season. The volume of mewing led me to believe the kittens were at least 4 or 5 weeks old - I was taken aback when I opened the door to see five tiny squirming babies, their eyes barely opened. Molly had stopped nursing them and they cried out in hunger. Emily, one of our Leg Up For Kids instructors, suggested I try giving them the formula again.

And try I did. Sitting on the concrete floor, watching them squirm over my boots and cry out pitifully, I looked desperately at Molly for help. She shied away each time I placed a kitten helpfully near her. One kitten stepped into the tiny dish of formula and I watched it spread over the floor. Molly came up and lapped it up and I exhaled in disappointment. Emily stated that perhaps she would take them home that evening and try to bottle feed them in order to get them through the night. I prayed so.

As I led my lame horse slowly back to his stall, I felt downright defeated. Although Tuff's mood didn't seem terribly impacted by the soreness, I grimaced each time I watched him struggle to put weight on that foot. Then I walked back to hear the cries of the 5 hungry kittens. The entire drive home, I fretted over the kittens and whether or not they'd survive the night...tears blurred my vision and I wanted to curl up in bed and call it a day. For about a week.

No one ever said that rescue work was easy. Logically, I know that. But I suppose I go into it each time hoping for the natural high that comes with each success story...each animal saved from the brink of death... But there are heartaches too. Animals that can't be saved. Instances of abuse and neglect that can shock even the most seasoned animal welfare worker. Even small struggles, like listening to the small cries of young hungry kittens, are enough to send someone like me over the edge and morph into a sniffly, tearful mess.

But then I think about Tuff. And although his struggles with soundness are likely permanent, which I knew going in, his triumphs are far more measurable and impactful. They tell the true story of who he is and what he's been through. We have temporary setbacks all the time and I'm still learning to sort through what he's been through emotionally as well. I may never fully know. But I know that he tries. His spirit is indomitable and I'd like to think that, at least some of the time, he's happy now. He's permanently etched into my heart.

The kittens made it through the night. Thanks to the dedication of fellow animal-loving big hearted ladies, they were bottle fed through two critical nights and when returned, Molly accepted them back and immediately began nursing. I would be lying if I said my eyes didn't instantly well up at the news. The anguish of the night before seemed a distant memory. It's this. Moments just like this that keep us going and motivated to take on the next day, filled with heartaches, joy and challenges. No one ever said it would be easy, but I promise you it's always, always worth it.

In light of the release and recent reinstatement to the NFL of Michael Vick, I couldn't help but comment on the conflicting views in our society over animal cruelty. While I'd like to think that the majority of people are sickened by some of the animal abuse cases in the media, the reality is that there are people who just cannot relate. Although they may not condone cruelty, they also may not view it as the deplorable crime that those of us who work in animal rescue do. I've watched the discussions play out over the pages of Facebook - animal lovers enraged by the NFL's forgiveness...others who believe Michael Vick has more than paid his dues. But the truth is, his crimes were more than just a poor or lapsed judgment on his part. They were a six year long history of sick, deliberate and conscious cruelty that he inflicted on living creatures. When I stop and think of what those dogs were subjected to - when I hear of any animal cruelty case - my heart cannot bear it. It's too much.

Perhaps he is reformed. Perhaps he can use his mistakes to educate others. Perhaps my skepticism shines through these words, as they were hard to even type out. Sadly, the NFL's decision does not surprise me. He is a star player and he is money for them. Or maybe people don't want to deal any longer with the cruel reality of what he did and what that implies about his character - sweeping it under the rug for the sake of entertainment.

I don't expect that my personal passion for animal welfare will infect everyone I meet. We all have different strengths and passions to pursue. But the issue of animal cruelty - it's more than just about treating animals better than people, as some would claim. How can anyone feel confident that someone capable of such complete disregard, such elaborate torture of an innocent living creature will not inflict that same kind of abuse on someone else? Studies have proven a connection between the two.

For anyone who has witnessed a case of animal abuse firsthand, you cannot help but be impacted profoundly by it. And as much as it pains me to hear of it, read about it and worse, see it...it motivates me to work harder. To educate the public. You may be labeled, misunderstood, mocked. But when you think of those who don't have a voice, who cannot speak up for themselves, who are essentially defenseless...how can you quit? Any animal that gets a second chance is worth it. Worth the sweat, energy and yes, the bitter tears. All three of my beloved pets were given another chance in life. My PHH rescue horse, Tuff, has the power to bring me to tears at the mere sight of him. Having this passion is both a gift and a burden. Yet I hope the work never stops, for as long as it's necessary. There is untold value in saving even one life.

"They say you have to fall off a horse 100 times before you become a really good rider." Spoken with the wise authority of a long-time horseman weathered by years in the blazing sun, it was a stark contrast to instead glance down at the small, soft-spoken boy who shuffled along next to me. "I've fallen once. So I guess that means I have 99 more times to go!" he quipped brightly. Although only ten years old, he was perhaps a wiser horseperson than I. He had been riding regularly from the age of 2 - though it was more than this. In the short half hour that I accompanied him around the barn, I felt that at some point he was no longer my charge, but I his. He went at every "chore" not with reluctant acceptance, but a matter-of-fact pride. And all of this was after his ride had ended and his twin brother was now engaged in his own riding lesson in the arena nearby. I soaked up his youthful energy and marveled over the delight he took in such small things. It was no different with his brother who, upon learning that my friend had not been to the barn before, immediately and joyfully asked "Would you like a tour?"

I went that day to volunteer with PHH's latest program - Leg Up For Kids, a therapeutic riding program for riders with a wide array of disabilities or challenges. After only two visits, I have decided with some level of certainty that I benefit and learn just as much as the children in the lesson. One hand firmly cupping the heel of a young boy with autism, I spent most of the lesson focusing on keeping up with the horse and being there to assist should he lose his balance. Yet each time I had a moment to steal a glance at him, brownish-red hair sticking out from under the helmet and a smattering of bright freckles across the bridge of his nose, my heart tightened a bit. With his limited expressive language, it was hard at first for me to know how much of Laurie's instruction he was responding to and absorbing. Then I would watch in amazement as he, without hesitation, would flip around on Snickers' back to ride backwards or sideways. He seemed fearless. It occurred me then that perhaps some of these children know a secret to accessing a deep inner joy that doesn't know the limitations and boundaries that we are faced with as adults. It's not to say that they are not faced with a number of tremendous challenges, ones to which I cannot begin to relate. Yet I was happily mesmerized by the excitement that exuded from them during their time at the barn. A joy that I have felt at times near my own horse and would be well-served to seek out more often. Even during the small things.

Laurie shared with me after the lesson with the adorably freckled boy that during one of his rides, he began counting out loud with her. Not a huge feat given his age, but when you learned that his autism made counting nearly impossible anywhere else - home or school - it was a discovery that brought tears to my eyes. We may never fully know or understand the magic that lies within these beautiful creatures. But I know that they are helping to make incredible things happen for people every single day.

Quiet and tentative, the 9 year old girl held her breath in nervous anticipation as she approached the side of the small bay mare. Although she was reassured by the shorter stature of this gentle horse compared to the others towering over her nearby, she couldn't help but wonder if she would do something wrong to cause the mare to abruptly toss her off. With the help of the instructor, she was hoisted quickly and easily into the saddle. And then suddenly, all of the nervous insecurity, the worry, the apprehension...dissipated. Between the sweet and welcome horse smell and the coarse, thick feel of the black mane near her hand, this unsure girl felt a surreal sense of freedom and delight as the horse began to amble slowly beneath her. For there, on the back of her trusty steed, she was living a dream.

So many years later, not much has changed for me. I still hold my breath in nervous excitement as I swing my leg over my horse's back. As an insecure and somewhat awkward 9 year old girl, the barn and my lessons there offered some of my happiest memories. The smell alone was enough to send me into waves of delirious euphoria. Something about those majestic animals allowing me, of all people, to pet them, ride them, learn from them...it was incredible.

I watched a story recently on CBS news about Molly, a pony rescued after hurricane Katrina, who suffered a debilitating attack by a pit bull. Her leg was lost and her owner was certain she would have to be put down. But Molly had a hope and resilience that no one counted on...and she now stands as one of the few horses with a prosthetic leg. Molly proved everyone wrong and although she is starkly different from most horses, her willing spirit would never indicate it. More than this, with her courage Molly has inspired kids few others could reach. A young boy who lost a leg to bone cancer found courage in Molly's brave persistence. He recognized that she was different, just like him. And with that one encounter, he returned to school and put his fears and worry behind him.

I believe animals, especially horses, have a tremendous ability to counsel and console. Although I was spared disease or physical limitations as a child, I experienced firsthand the courage and joy one can receive from these beautiful creatures. And now that I've had firsthand experience with a rescue horse, I can see how they have even more to offer. These are horses who know what it's like to go without...to be neglected, abandoned...unloved. Their ability to overcome and trust again is a powerful lesson to us all. Their very will to keep living after all they have endured is inspiring.

Imagine the impact some of these horses could have on a child struggling - be it physically or emotionally. Children, like animals, are unable to control their environment or what happens to them. The horses who overcome these trials and adversities stand as a living, breathing inspiration for children. The horses don't judge. And for the child on the receiving end of their gentle trust, an invaluable experience is sure to be had.

If only we could all live this way. Life is sure to beat and batter us and yet, we can overcome. And who knows who we might inspire and encourage along the way.

It's not every day that you get to experience love in its rawest form; love free of judgment, preconceived ideas or an expectation of something in return. In fact, many of us would be lucky to experience that once in a lifetime. When you do come across such an experience, it is one that will remain emblazoned in your mind and heart forever.

I spend my weekdays trudging through the daily grind of work, a stressful commute and then a sad attempt to pack chores and errands into a few hours at the close of the day. I covet my time on the weekend and, in particular, the opportunity to spend at least one morning undisturbed by the angry beep of an alarm. More than this, it is often the only time I am able to travel north and spend time around someone who brings me joy at the mere sight of him. It's really no secret that I love my horse. His obstinate, borderline-bullying ways aside, he is a magnificent creature full of more intelligence and emotion than there are words available to describe. At the same time he both emboldens and humbles me...and I never cease to be amazed at the way just a mere glance from him can speak volumes. I have so much more to learn from him.

I only need to walk down the aisle of the barn to know that each of these animals has a story - most likely a heart-wrenching one full of mistreatment and neglect. Yet as they peer at me with kind, hopeful eyes, I am always struck by their resilience. Some of them, having been through absolute misery, will still nicker eagerly and happily accept any treats offered. I know they all have so much to offer us, if we just give them the opportunity.

I have long believed that the love and devotion of an animal is a powerful and rare thing. And now, having rescued three animals myself, I know that the love and devotion of a rescue is life-changing. To earn the trust of an animal that has only been disappointed and betrayed by humans is truly an honor. And so often the joy itself comes from the opportunity to just give love to an innocent creature so deserving.

My horse may never gallop joyfully to me when I walk to the fence of his pasture. He may never nuzzle me softly when I come into his stall. (In fact, if he did, I'd be worried that something was wrong). No, he will always be a bit aloof, proud and cautious in his devotion. Yet the moments I catch his eye following me intently as I walk away from him, or feel his warm breath on my neck as he approaches quietly behind me, are enough to wring a happy grin from me each time. I don't deserve such an incredible animal...but I am so thankful to have him and to know that kind of love.