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Late June, around midnight, I hook up my truck and trailer for a seven-hour drive to somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania. My mind wanders as the hours of darkness slip by. Mostly, I ponder the same question on these trips. Why in the world am I doing this? But, I know there is no turning back and that somehow "it is meant to be."

I'm quick to correct any who call these horses "rescues" and refuse to allow them to be branded "rescue horses." They've simply reached a crisis point. I'm simply their escort to the next stage of their life's journey. The sad fact is that the horses who come to me have been let down by the "horse rescues" who prefer to save easy horses that can be fattened up and resold quickly.

This mare was no different. She was foundering and unable to stand long enough to allow her three-week-old filly to nurse. In the vastness of the Internet, no rescue would step up for her. I offered advice to make her comfortable enough to stand and nurse the starving foal, but the woman who runs the rescue was unable (or unwilling) to help her beyond pleading her case on the Internet (interspersed between requests for financial donations). Yet, for this mare, there would be no financial help. She and her filly were free to whoever would pick them up.

I pulled in shortly after dawn. The mare was thinner than I'd hoped. She shuffled side to side on the gravel drive. Her hooves were trimmed way too short, leaving her to support all her weight on the already painful soles of her feet. The trip would not be easy for her. Such a long trip would also strain the immature tendons of the young filly. I considered refusing them for their own good, but, it was clear that neither the rescue nor the owner were going to help these two. The three of us had few options.

I loaded the mare and made her as comfortable as possible. The owner and the rescue woman heaved the struggling filly into the trailer and quickly shut the doors to prevent her escape. And there we were. The mare made no eye contact, staring straight ahead, stoic, resigned and shifting her feet on a thick bed of hay. The filly cowered under her, staring wide eyed at me. And me, confused, exhausted and racking my brain for the best way to tackle the long drive home. With a silent prayer, we edged out onto the road and our journey together began.

By the time we arrived home ten hours later, the rescue had been on line collecting her accolades and many new donations for all her good work. The mare was now just another

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