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Susan Richards

Chosen By A Horse Paperback – June 4, 2007

by Susan Richards (Author)

4.6 1,516 ratings

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“Two kindred spirits find each other in this beautifully written memoir about the human-animal bond” (Temple Grandin, author of Animals in Translation).

The horse Susan Richards chose for rescue wouldn’t be corralled into her waiting trailer. Instead Lay Me Down, a former racehorse, walked right up that ramp and into Susan’s life. This gentle creature—malnourished, plagued by pneumonia and an eye infection—had endured a rough road, but somehow her heart was still open and generous. It seemed fated that she would come into Susan’s paddock and teach her how to embrace the joys of life despite the dangers of living.

An elegant and often heartbreaking tale filled with animal characters as complicated and lively as their human counterparts, this is an inspiring story of courage and hope and the ways in which all love—even an animal’s—has the power to heal.

Print length

248 pages
Language

English
Publisher

William Morrow
Publication date

June 4, 2007
Dimensions

5.31 x 0.64 x 8 inches
ISBN-10

0156031175
ISBN-13

978-0156031172
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PRAISE FOR CHOSEN BY A HORSE "This is an inspirational story of what family means, and what the loss of one can do to us, and for us."—THE BOSTON GLOBE "Two kindred spirits find each other in this beautifully written memoir about the human-animal bond."—TEMPLE GRANDIN —

From the Back Cover

"Two kindred spirits find each other in this beautifully written memoir about the human-animal bond."-Temple Grandin, author of Animals in Translation

The horse Susan Richards chose for rescue wouldn’t be corralled into her waiting trailer. But Lay Me Down, a former racehorse with a foal close on her heels, walked right up that ramp and into Susan’s life. Weak from malnutrition, Lay Me Down had endured a rough road, but somehow her heart was still open and generous. Thenfate brought her into Susan’s paddock, where she taught this brokenhearted woman how to embrace the joys of life despite the dangers of living.

"Susan Richards thought she was rescuing a starved, abused and abandoned mare . . . Turns out Lay Me Down was rescuing Susan Richards. An incredibly moving story, beautifully written and insightful." --The Roanoke Times

"Important lessons about courage, kindness and grief." --The Hartford Courant

Susan Richards has a B.A. in English from the University of Colorado and a Master of Social Work degree from Adelphi University. She lives in Bearsville, New York, and teaches writing at SUNY Ulster and Marist College.

About the Author

SUSAN RICHARDS has a B.A. in English from the University of Colorado and a master’s degree in social work from Adelphi University. She lives with her husband Dennis Stock and their beloved gang of four dogs and one Siamese cat.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

[1]
IT WAS A cold March day and the horse paddock at the SPCA was full of mud. I stood shivering at the fence in the drizzle as my breath billowed gray mist over the top rail. In my hurry to get there I’d left the house without a hat or gloves, grabbing only a windbreaker from its hook above the basement stairs on my way to the garage.
If I had stopped to think, I would have responded as I usually did when hearing a plea for help for animals sick and suffering at the hands of humans: I might have done nothing, or I might have sent a check. But this time when my friend Judy called to tell me the SPCA had just confiscated forty abused horses from a Standardbred farm and needed help housing them, I ran for my jacket and jumped in the car.
I don’t know why this time was different, why in an instant I chose to do something I’d previously avoided. I was not accustomed to going to the rescue. Mine was never the face friends saw smiling over them as they woke up in the hospital after surgery. I wasn’t the one they called to drive them to get their stitches out or to pick up the results of lab tests or X-rays or anything medical. I had a horror of sickness, my own or anyone else’s.
With such an aversion to illness, why was I standing at the fence watching twenty emaciated broodmares with their foals stumble in the mud? Why did I answer that call? Perhaps it was just a knee-jerk reaction to a deep and abiding love of horses, a love passed down to me by my grandmother, a formidable, sometimes cruel woman who had become my guardian when I was five. As always, I cringed when I remembered my grandmother, and at the same time I envied her a now-vanished world full of ocean liners, Pullman cars, and best of all, horses. When I was growing up, there were still carriages and odd bits of harness in the stable at her home in South Carolina, lovely old carriages that hadn’t been driven in thirty years. I’d look at them and feel cheated that I hadn’t lived in a time when horsepower provided the only means of transportation.
In my grandmother’s attic was a trunk full of riding clothes, hers and her mother’s: brown leather field boots that laced up the front, handmade in England; wool tweed riding jackets with leather buttons and small tailored waists; linen breeches with leather leg patches; and wide-hipped jodhpurs with fitted calves.
There was also a coachman’s heavy wool livery with silver buttons engraved with an H for Hartshorne, my grandmother’s maiden name and my middle name.When I was six or seven I’d go through the contents of this trunk, carefully lifting out the brittle fabrics with the frayed edges and the disintegrating linings, and once, one of the coach-man’s buttons came off in my hand. I turned it over and on the back it said Superior Quality. I put the button in my pocket, and thirty-five years later it hung on the bulletin board above my desk at home. It’s small and round and evokes more images than a feature-length film. One touch and I’m tugged into a world full of horses and carriages circa 1900: traffic jams of horses, horses broken down, horses parked at the curb, horses eating lunch, horses whose coats shine like the waxed paneling of the Knickerbocker Club on Fifth Avenue, and horses as shaggy as schnauzers. A perpetual horse show: every day, everywhere, all the time.
It was my grandmother who had given me my first horse when I was five.
“Her name is Bunty,” my grandmother proclaimed, handing me the lead line as she herself marched out of the pasture, leaving me alone with my new pony.
Standing at the other end of the lead, I squinted up at a fat white body slung between two sets of shaggy legs with a tail that swept the ground at one end and dark narrowed eyes under thick lashes at the other. It was like leaving me alone with a chain saw. I knew I was in mortal danger, but I was holding a horse. My horse.The best thing that had ever happened to me. I wish I could say I was a natural from the start.That I hoisted myself onto her back and, with a willow twig for a crop, went for a wild gallop around the field. But the truth is, I had no idea what to do. I stood trembling in my pink sundress, staring at the pretty pony until she lunged forward and removed some of the baby fat packed around my upper arm.
It never got much better than that, not with Bunty. I loved her anyway: blindly, doggedly, through years of her biting, kicking, and embarrassing me in horse shows by sitting down and refusing to enter the show ring, or refusing to leave it. Occasionally her foul mood lifted and she was a pleasure to ride, but most of the time she brought me to tears. At ten I was given a Morgan gelding named Alert and was shocked to discover that a horse could be gentle and affectionate. I hadn’t realized what a hostage I’d been and, beginning with Alert, developed a lifelong love of Morgans.
Now when I walked into my barn, I walked into timelessness: the coachman’s button evoking the distant past, my childhood, the present—all merged into one panorama of horses. I already owned three horses, and the time I spent with them wrapped around my day like brackets, the same beginning and ending no matter what happened in the middle. I worried, since turning forty, since I’d developed a bad back.What if I got too weak to take care of my three horses, a mare and two geldings? What if I got too stiff, what if I got too old? My next-door neighbor, Henry, had owned twenty-five dairy cows. He loved every single one like a daughter. Sometime in his late seventies he got old.Arthri-tis twisted his fingers, and emphysema stole his breath. For a year he crawled on his hands and knees from cow to cow to get the milking done. He hid his face behind his swollen hands and wept the day the big cattle trailer came to take away his herd. From time to time I had feared that something similar might happen to me. And yet, I stood, waiting to take on the care of yet another horse, one in desperate need of a home.
A man stood beside me at the fence, an SPCA volunteer named Ted, who had helped confiscate these horses. After I’d signed the necessary papers, agreeing to foster a mare, he’d come outside with me to help find and then herd her into the trailer for the drive to my farm.Ted was hatless and coatless, in blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, splattered with mud from his leather work boots to his unshaven chin. His brown ponytail hung dark and wet, coiled between his shoulder blades. Ted wiped at the raindrops gathering on his wire-rimmed glasses, smearing wet lines across thick bifocals. He wore a small gold stud in one ear and when I moved closer to look at the list he had pulled from his back pocket, I smelled nicotine. He traced a thick, nail-bitten index finger down the computer printout and stopped at number ten. “Here she is.” He tapped the paper. “Current Squeeze.”
It was a strange way to acquire a horse, sight unseen, by choosing an appealing name off a Seized Merchandise list from the Ulster County Sheriff’s Department.The entire situation was strange. I knew nothing about Standardbreds beyond the fact that they were long-bodied, harness-racing horses, sometimes called trotters because they raced at a trot. I wouldn’t have known what to look for beyond general good health and a pleasant temperament, neither of which was relevant in this situation. The closest I’d ever come to a Standardbred had been the occasional high-speed glimpse of a brown face looking out the window of a horse trailer as it sped down the thruway on its way to the track with one of the graceful-looking racing carriages called a sulky strapped to the top.
Copyright © 2006 by Susan Richards
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be submitted online at www.harcourt.com/contact or mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ William Morrow; First Edition (June 4, 2007)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 248 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0156031175
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0156031172
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 8.6 ounces
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.31 x 0.64 x 8 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #642,542 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #273 in Biology of Horses
- #7,131 in Women's Biographies
- #19,693 in Memoirs (Books)

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Susan Richards has a BA in English from the University of Colorado and a Master of Social Work degree from Adelphi University. She lives in Olivebridge, New York, with three dogs, two cats, and four horses.

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Shirley Welch

I loved this book.

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on March 19, 2023

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Anyone who loves animals will love this book. I have a cat that I feel the same way about. I can't imagine what life will be like without her.

One person found this helpful

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VKR

A Quiet Masterpiece

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on November 11, 2019

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I thought this book was magnificent. (I am baffled by the negative comments, but notice that the four and five star ratings account for 90% of the reviews; the ones and twos make up a mere 10 percent.)

My favorite books I describe as "simple eloquence." Eloquent in language, simple and powerful when it comes to making connections with human emotion. That's how I would describe this book. I loved Richard's style, but I also loved her story. It's been many years since I have cried at the end of a book, but I wept hard over this ending. The situation warranted it, but it was her description, the way she so perfectly and poignantly managed to put words to it, that led me to the depth of my feelings.

Although I have never owned horses or even ridden much, I've always marveled at their dignity, grace, and beauty. In this book, Richards manages to make me care about the horse characters as fully as I've ever cared about any human character. They were precious people to me and I loved them dearly.

And I loved her, too. That is so important in a memoir. I've read memoirs and autobiographies where this isn't always true. I don't always want to be the writer's friend. But Richards does the reader the great honor of being completely honest. I loved her character, her candor, her humor, her heart.
And I admired the light touch with which she handled the grim realities of her childhood. In her simplicity and matter-of-fact-ness, they were all the more powerful and moving.

I loved how she wove so much of her life and personal struggles (and triumphs) into the background of her immediate story. It is all relevant and fits together seamlessly, creating a beautiful balance and effectively eliciting new and true understanding by the end of the book, which to me is the point of literature and drama: human understanding.
To me, Chosen by a Horse ended with a peaceful and positive feeling. It ended hopeful and strong.
I've given the book to several friends, and though they are all very different personalities, these women all loved this book, too. I would call it a quiet masterpiece.

5 people found this helpful

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Timothy J. Bazzett

Hearts and Horses

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on January 22, 2009

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I bought this book for my wife for Christmas, but I read it first. (She still hasn't.) It's a very well-told story about a woman who lost her mother as a child, then suffered abandonment, abuse, neglect and an all-around lack of love throughout her youth. As an adult she lost herself in happy hours, alcoholism and promiscuity, followed by a bad marriage that ended in divorce. Finally, through AA, a few good friends, and an innate love of animals, particularly horses, she gets herself straightened out and begins to learn how to love herself again. In other words everything you need for a good potboiler of a book. But instead Susan Richards chooses to examine her life carefully. The catalyst for doing this is an abused horse she rescues, a special horse who seems to return Richards' unconditional love in kind. The horse, Lay Me Down, is a Black Beauty for the 21st century, that rare animal who endures man's cruelties and gives back love in return. And helps a damaged lonely woman to finally come to understand that she is capable of loving and of being loved. Geeze, this sounds almost too corny, but it's what just came out when I started writing this, so ...? I also found it interesting that Richards ended up a Social Worker, since it seems so many abused and mistreated women finally end up in this profession. Is it because they feel they've been through it all and so can do some good for others who have suffered the same kind of stuff? I don't know. Now I've gone and broken the spell of that fine review I started. What the hell. This is a damn good book, and one of the best "horse books" I've read since Molly Gloss's lovely novel, Hearts of Horses. Read 'em both. - Tim Bazzett, author of the Reed City Boy trilogy and Love, War & Polio

10 people found this helpful

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pinky

Not really about the horse

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on February 23, 2019

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There is no doubt that the author loves animals. When she sticks to writing about the relationship she has with the horse, this is a book worth reading. She describes the personalities and qualities of her horses with tenderness and acuity. Their beauty humbles her. If only those feelings rippled out through the rest of the book. Instead it becomes mired in autobiography that displays no real self-awareness of how the author's own background of privilege and wealth creates the conditions for this story to exist.

For instance, she idly describes her life as if anyone could have it...a single woman, owning a farm in the Adirondacks and four horses on a social worker's salary. Her job as a "social worker" is at a luxurious, private addiction facility for only twenty patients at a time, located on an estate. Her office is on the top floor of the mansion, with "white vaulted ceilings and a pink marble fireplace", with a view of "two hundred acres of rolling lawns overlooking the Hudson River."
She assures us she's "burned through her inheritance", and any mention of her family's money is then offset by a memory of her miserable childhood. And, while it is heartening to know that an abused and sick horse received such love and care, the author never has to sacrifice anything financially to do so. She doesn't blink at a single vet bill, not for the home visits and x-rays and sonograms, the medications, then the testing and a week or two spent at Cornell Veterinary Hospital.

She is detached from people in general; they are seen largely for how well they fulfill her every need. People are either judged helpful or selfish accordingly. She is dismissive and condescending towards "commoners". In one chapter she writes of being consumed with insecurity about beginning a new relationship in her forties, so much so that she is distracted during a patient's therapy session. She refers to the person, who notices her distraction and comments upon it, as only " my newly crack-free client." The kind man who agrees to come dig a hole on her property to bury her horse is ridiculed for trying to comfort her, because he has the appallingly poor grammar to say he will "arrange the horse real pretty" once she is dead. (You know, so the author isn't forced to look down into the hole for a last goodbye and see the broken heap of flesh and bones that was her former beloved pet.) Apparently this unpretentious and well-meaning phrase is funny to no end; she employs it three times in the course of her story, in italics no less, as evidence of her sense of wit and irony.

Kindly pardon the harsh tone of this review. If the author is happier and a better person, I am glad, but it seems to me that she is none the wiser about the rest of her disposition, and because of this, their is no "journey to healing". It left me longing for the sweetness and purity of the horse's world, instead.

30 people found this helpful

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Top reviews from other countries

deborah

a really good read

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on September 17, 2013

Verified Purchase

I read this book after reading other reviews, I was warned how sad the ending was, but I still felt the need to read it. The storyline is very true to life, the way it's written makes you feel as if you're there, the ups & expected downs of rescuing any abused horse, described along with the authors feelings made it even more riveting, anyone who's ever had the pleasure of knowing a horse, sad or happy, will enjoy this book. Be warned, the ending is very upsetting, a sad truth about outliving a loved animal, large or small.

Wendy Newson

The horsey part of me

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on September 9, 2013

Verified Purchase

I really enjoyed this book. I am mainly a doggy person but I also love horses although I have not really had much to do with them. This book realised all my day dreams about owning and loving a horse. I loved LAY ME DOWN as I loved my spaniel Murphy who I lost only a few weeks ago. Reading this book brought my love for Murphy back to me again. Thank you. I have already recommended Chosen By A Horse to my friend who owns a horse and who will be facing the same dilemma soon. I hope she reads this book with the same love and feelings as I did.

Joy B

A Very Emotional Read.

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on April 2, 2012

Verified Purchase

A very emotional read. Horses are Susan's family, each one completely different. The unexpected addition, Lay Me Down is totally different to any other she has met, so needy but also so open, trusting and affectionate. Susan has to learn to cope with far more than she thinks she is capable of doing. In doing so she becomes a much stronger person and learns to extend her own trust beyond her immediate circle.
Definitely a keeper.

Wilma May

Chosen by a horse

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on February 6, 2015

Verified Purchase

Fantastic read I am not a horse person or ever owned one although I think they are fabulous creatures I found I could put the book down and was annoyed when battery went flat on my kindle I have to say that this book had me in tears but understood the love behind it . Never read books from this author but will look for more. First download ed as a sample but had to read it all.

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alan westgate

For the love of my horse Wallis.

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on August 23, 2013

Verified Purchase

Having had horses most of my "happy" life I could understand everything Susan had experienced with her horse and more, this was a great read for me, like her I have had to put horses down and it felt like I had put a family member down which in fact I had. Only horse lovers will ever understand what I mean by this. This particular horse changed her life to a level she never thought she would ever get to. To love a horse and get that love in return has no comparison.

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