I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart

The quote in the title of this post is the last line of Anne Frank’s diary. I think I first read that book when I was in the third or fourth grade, and even then, the irony of the line struck me, given why she had been in hiding in the first place and why that was her last entry.

I write this not to depress all of you, but because of two things that happened last week that were both pretty depressing/sad, but that, because of the goodness of people, turned out to be… well, not good things, but they had as good an outcome as things could be.

Both involve the horse program at Moose’s barn, Horses Hope & Healing, which is why I’m posting this on Tuesday Mooseday.

The first one actually happened second, but I’m listing it first just because. Last Wednesday, one of the horses across the barn aisle from Moose died suddenly. He had a seizure disorder (which they’d known about) and had a seizure in the middle of the night, when no one was around to administer treatment. The vet said apparently a lot of horses with this disorder have been seizing more lately, maybe due to the weather or something.

So that’s the sad part. The neat part was on Wednesday afternoon. I didn’t get to go to this, because I was stuck in jury duty, but they held a balloon release at the barn in his memory. I thought that was a really neat and touching thing to do for a horse, and I really wish I could have been there.

Besides, maybe then I could have gotten my crying out of the way at that, rather than when I walked into the barn aisle the next morning and saw all the horse heads hanging over the stall doors… except for his. Moose is always nice about letting me cry into his neck, at least. :-)

(Pictures are courtesy of Selina and Tiffany.)


That's Moose hanging his head over the fence in the background to watch.






Goodbye, Cameron.


The other thing that happened this past week is sad, depressing, and incredibly enraging. On Sunday the 20th, one of the kids in the program (and one of the charter members of Moose’s fan club) was hit by a car and had his leg broken in six places. The driver got out, said he was going to go get his wallet, and then DROVE OFF AND LEFT HIM THERE AND NEVER CAME BACK.

There’s a special place in hell for people who do stuff like that.

I’ve actually posted a couple of pictures of him (let’s call him V) before.


V's the one with the rake. The other kid is his little brother.



Here is V. on the perpetually grumpy Mariah, one of the program horses. Yeah, the other kid is on Moose. Hey, I had to get Moose in here somehow--it is Tuesday Mooseday! :-)



Some of the kids visited V. in the hospital on Monday and brought him a Wii to play on... although it doesn't look like he got to do much playing here. ;-) (Photo courtesy of Karena, one of my students and one of the kids in the program.)


I don’t know how long V. is in the hospital for — he had to have surgery and have pins and a plate put in to stabilize the leg.

And then something else happened. Last Thursday I went to the barn before going into work, and on my way to get Moose, I saw a horse I didn’t recognize — a small, cute, black and white paint miniature horse.

I have a soft spot for minis (who doesn’t for something that little and cute?) so a bit later, I asked another one of the women at the barn whose he was, and she replied, “Oh, you didn’t hear about that?” Then she dragged me over to a horse trailer parked nearby and opened up the back to show me a little miniature cart.

Apparently someone donated the mini horse and cart, and when V. is well enough to be able to come back out to the barn, but not yet able to ride, he can drive the mini horse and cart around.

When she told me that, I teared up for the second time that day. I’d already cried about Moose’s barnmate dying (and, I’ll admit, thinking of the eventuality of having to one day say goodbye to Moose) and when I heard about V. having a way to get around and still participate in the horse program even before he can ride again… well, I’m choked up again just writing this. So yeah.

This makes me think about that Forbes study about Sacramento being the fifth most miserable city in America. You know, life is what you make of it. There’s a lot of lemonade to be made out there, folks. Bad, sad things are going to happen because that’s just how life goes (whether it’s right or not.)

But it’s things like this, as well as the huge outpouring of support for the stray dog I took the pictures of last month, that make me realize just how wonderful people can be, here in Sacramento and elsewhere.

Thanks, Anne Frank, for summing it up more eloquently than I ever could hope to.


5 Responses Subscribe to comments

  1. Heidi M.

    Moose has a lot of years left hon!

    I'll admit that when we had the vet euthanize Monté it was one of the hardest things I've ever done, I almost called it off… but his teeth were so bad that big chunks of carrot were dribbling out of his mouth as he pranced. He'd lost a lot of condition the previous winter, and the carrot firmed my resolve. My boy was going to leave this world on a beautiful September afternoon, full of piss and vinegar; not on a bleak February morning, cold and weak and miserable.

    He is buried on my own farm, and while I miss him… I have had the most wonderful dreams of him, galloping and scratching his head on me.

    (You surely didn't think that only dogs and cats waited at the Rainbow Bridge, did you?)

    V is a lovely, lucky boy – and I hope that his assailant gets what's coming to him.

    Mar 01, 2011 @ 7:08 am

  2. Kari Bluff

    Oh, I know he does. It's just something I worry about… I already lost him once, ya know? And that was so difficult that I couldn't even talk about him almost at all. So the thought of losing him again… yeah.

    Now how did I miss that you had a horse?? You need to post a picture of him! I've never been a Rainbow Bridge fan–it's too saccharine for me, and it makes me squirm. I'm not sure why. A friend of mine wrote this, and it's much more my speed: http://www.pawcurious.com/2009/07/oh-emmett/

    Mar 01, 2011 @ 7:24 am

  3. Heidi M.

    It's not good to cry like this at work, Kari…

    Happy/sad tears. We had Monté from the time I was 10 (1973?) or so until 1997. My parents bought him as part of a package deal (my mother actually wanted the other half of the deal, a young chestnut stallion). Monté was, well, a rescue horse. He'd been beaten with barbed wire and a cattle prod, left tied to a post with no feed within reach – because he was a games pony. He could race anything in pole-bending or barrel-racing, and his owners thought that making him wild also made him fast. He hated men, would bite or charge if he could.

    And I wanted him. He was a dark glossy bay, just 14 hands, part quarter horse and part Welsh pony – but when he arched his neck and pranced, he looked like a Morgan. Over the next few years he transformed into a pleasure pony and developed some surprising talents: he loved English jumping – LOVED it! My mother won several trophies on him. He also enjoyed chasing the cows when they escaped the pasture. He was quite a character, and the best friend an awkward teenage girl ever had.

    I'll see if I can find a photo.

    Mar 01, 2011 @ 9:11 am

  4. Tiffany Oreglia

    I don't have a lot of words right now, just tears!
    I needed that :-)

    THANKS Kari, you are an amazing person.

    Mar 01, 2011 @ 8:16 am

  5. Kari

    Awww, I didn’t mean to make you cry!! Thanks for all you do–there wouldn’t be a CEC or HHH without you!! :-)

    Mar 01, 2011 @ 8:56 am