BY JOSEPH CLARK

It was the summer of 1993, and my home life was a disaster. By today’s standards, it would have certainly been considered an unfit home for a child. A year earlier, my grandfather had become very ill with a heart attack and had to have bypass surgery. Though he had survived the ordeal, he was in a lot of pain and could barely move around the house. In fact, it was so bad that the state of Pennsylvania threatened to take his license if he was caught driving. Anyway, at that point, that was all it took for my grandmother to become the mean and hateful person that she was. With each day, she became more and more vindictive. What no one seemed to understand was that she blamed me for my grandfather’s heart attack, and since I was nine when it happened, I believed her. I had no real understanding of the heart and what caused those things to happen.
In 1993, a little over a year since the day he became sick, I had just turned 11 and decided I would run away, though I had no idea where I would go. I lived so far away from anyone that I went to school with, so I knew I was on my own. So I did what any sensible, mature 11-year-old would do, and I took my bike out for a ride to see if I could scope out some good camping spots. Since I grew up in the middle of nowhere and camping was something that I really enjoyed doing, I was certain no one would find me if I decided to live in the mountains. They would become my home.
I got on my bike with a great plan: I hit the main road and turned right towards my favorite fishing spot, intending to go there for a while to think. Going down the little hill towards the pond, I started to pass a horse farm. I knew that there were two kids who lived there, but I didn’t really know them: One was considerably older than me, and the other was younger. Since I had never really been there before, I had never really noticed the lower pasture either. And that day, that pasture would change my life.
As I passed the barn, which stood so much taller than the trees and bushes next to it, I realized that for my “move,” I would have to make many trips out of the house. This was going to be tough but well worth it in the end. I passed the house at the horse farm, wondering if there was anyone home. I did know that they had lots of property, and I would probably be living in a part of their forest. The pond was only half a mile up the road; I’d get a solid plan there.
Before I made it to the pond, I came upon the lower pasture. As I looked out across the pasture, I noticed four of the biggest animals I had ever seen in my life. There was a black horse with a white patch on his chest, a white horse that was peppered with light black spots, a white horse with brown spots, and a light brown horse. The light brown horse started toward me, and I noticed her details: She had a black mane and tail and a white triangle spot on the center of her head.
I got off my bike and walked slowly towards the fence, hoping that I would be able to pet this massive animal. Honestly, I was never more scared in my life; she could have run me over, and no one would have noticed for quite a spell. I had never been this close to a horse before, so I didn’t know if they were friendly or not. I most certainly didn’t know that this animal would change my perspective on whether or not I should run away. I didn’t know the difference in breeds, or what breed she was, or her age — hell, I didn’t even know her name, or if she had one.
But something about this horse called to me as she stood at the fence’s end. It was an electric fence, so I knew I had to be careful. Cautiously, I reached over the fence to pet her head, and when I pulled my hand back, I bumped the fence, and it zapped me.
I said to the horse, “Sorry, I am not doing that again.”
It was as if she understood me, probably having been zapped herself. With that, she lifted her head over the wire so I could pet her.
I never made it to the pond that day. I stood there for hours petting that horse and talking to her. Wondering if she really understood, I told her that I was going to run away but that I would not do it yet because I had to come up with a good plan first. Day after day that summer, I left my house, telling my grandmother that I was just going to the pond, but I never made it there. I found out that my neighbors would let the horses into the larger pasture in the summer while they were at work.
So, day after day, I would go to that spot at the fence, and every day she would stand there for hours and listen to me rant about how bad life was. 

One evening, I had stayed much later than normal, and we were caught. The other horses had gone up to the barn to have dinner and to go in for the night, and when she didn’t go, her owners decided to go out looking for her.
They had to see me standing there, and when their mom approached me, I didn’t even notice. She said something, and I nearly jumped out of my skin and almost ran off. She told me that it was alright that I was there and told me all about the horse. Her name was Pepper, and she was a five-year-old quarter-horse, and she loved carrots.
That evening, I had dinner with their family, and as I sat there, I wondered if they had anything that I could do around the barn.
As if reading my mind, their father said, “Well, this ain’t no petting zoo. If you want to keep petting my horses, you’re gonna have to come and feed them. Be careful around the black one, though: As pretty as he is, if he has a chance, he’ll bite ya.” He continued, “Talk to your grandfather, and if he says it’s okay, I’ll expect ya at seven a.m.”
That night, I ran home. Excitedly, I begged for my grandfather to let me go. Of course, they had already talked and had agreed. Everyone knew I wasn’t going to the pond.
The next morning, I woke up at five a.m. and was ready at 6:20. I left the house, and I was at the barn by 7:25. That day, I didn’t do any work, not really. I fed them some grains, watered them, and, of course, I cleaned the stalls. I was even able to hand-feed Pepper a carrot — she could nibble it without biting my fingers.
But this was not work. This was freedom.
I enjoyed it. Pepper and the other horses gave me something to live for and not run away from. I learned about equestrian therapy before I even learned what the term “equestrian” means. 

The following summer, I worked on that farm, throwing hay for food for the winter and shoveling horse crap. I was even there when Pepper had her colt. The lessons I learned have followed me all through my life. Because of the therapy that only Pepper could provide, I did not run away.