Margo

Margo Hamilton

Born with the incurable disease of horse fever, my parents informed me my first word was 'horse,' and my first complete sentence was 'I want a horse.' I was unrelenting with my quest, and shared the bond for four-legged 'bang tails' with my dad, who was born and raised on a Wyoming farm. My mom, a city girl through and through, was hoping her daughter would lean towards becoming an accomplished artist, dancer or mucian, and tried valantly to disuade my steadfast dream of owning a horse. At age two she took me to a Wyoming ranch, hoping to instill fear into her toddler when placed up a very large range horse. To her dismay, I stretched outreach arms away from mom and clutched to the horse's neck. It's a pose I still strike when in close proximity to any horse.

Dad recognized I would not abandon my passion for ponies, and he convinced mom I should start riding at age three, along with endless tap, ballet, and musiclessons with instruments too many to list. I was blessed with a Pony of America, appropriately named Pixie. Dad didn't want me to ride with a saddle, thinking I'd get my foot caught in the stirrup, so I learned to ride bareback, and would have proudly challenged any American Indian to a high speed race, complete with my mom's kitchen rug which served as an Indian blanket atop the bareless back of my treasured pony. Pixie's stable mate was a massive gelding named Rowdy. His abusive handlers beat him nightly, then threw feed in his stall, and left him, often bleeding and quivering. Despite my dad's pleas to stay away from Rowdy, I would disobey, crawling over the rails that seperated Rowdy's stall from Pixie's to lay on his back. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my tears flowed into his mane. I understood his pain, his fear, and his rage, and in later years used the lessons Rowdy imparted when I worked with at-risk kids.

It was decided I would attend a college not for it's academic excellence, but because it had an equine program, and it was there my years of bareback riding paid off. The head of the equine program was so taken with my balance and skill as a bareback rider, he allowed me to work with him on weekends to train the Army Reserves in their equine program. Several years later I encounted a stallion off the King Ranch in Texas, and long story short I learned my own method of a then yet discovered 'touch method' and broke this majestic steed.

The heart of a horse beats into my very soul. Through the twists and turns of life, finances required that I relinguish my beloved horse, and I searched for the perfect forever home for a horse that became mine because no one else won his trust. If Juliana Lehman had founded Colorado Horsecare Foodbank several years earlier, I have no doubt that I would have found the support I needed to find a way to keep my horse. I did the right thing in finding my trusted horse a home where he lacks for nothing, and he's showered with love. The tears I shed for him are out of selfishness, but my brokenheart has been healed through the gift of knowing and serving the amazing people that comprises the Colorado Horsecare Foodbank. Help is here, ready to help you keep your horses, where they belong.

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