Sources: Fauquier Times Democrat, March 2, 2005; Fauquier Citizen, June 2, 2005. For more information, send me a message regarding the pony's website.

The young stallion let the warm breeze off of the ocean cool his long face as he stared into the sinking sun. The sky was painted with beautiful bands of hot yellows and oranges and reds that eventually cooled into soft pinks, purples and blues as it touched the turquoise ocean off of the island of Eleuthera. The air smelled like salt.

He arched his long neck proudly as he allowed the pleasantly cold ocean tease his legs as it lapped at the shore. Sea foam sprayed his body as he danced on the tips of his hooves with contentment. He galloped along the shoreline, where pink sand met with the sapphire ocean.

As he proudly tumbled into his wild herd, shaking his magnificent head about in a playful manner, they scattered, beckoning him to run with them. He opened his throat and whinnied shrilly. Nearby tourists who were relaxing on the beach, watching this peaceful sight, were awed by this frightful sound. It made the hairs on the backs of their necks stand on end. The horse dipped his head and sighed as his white forelock covered his huge brown eyes.

Another horse trotted up to him and they blew into one another’s nostrils by means of saying hello. They walked down the beach together; their rhythmic hoof beats in the soft sand lulling the tourist children to sleep.

When the horse awoke, the herd was clustered together at the bottom of a very large rock. He was aware he was standing in the ocean. Thankfully, the water was shallow so he didn’t mind too much. White barnacles dotted the underside of the black rock. He tasted one and found that he didn’t like it too much. He tossed his head and cantered down to the other, dryer end of the beach. Small children ran around in their colorful summer clothes, laughing and screaming with glee. The horse was spooked, and he backed up, ears flattened back. He took comfort and pride in his small, wild herd. They had had no contact with humans whatsoever, but they had observed the vacationers from far away, of course.

The horses nibbled at the dry sea grass that surrounded some of the rocks. It tasted fresh. Then, the stallion watched as the other horses darted into the water, kicking up white spray to cool themselves off. He had no intention of going into the ocean. It was a horrible, terrifying creature, a moving, wet mass that throbbed with anger and fury. It teased and taunted him relentlessly. The horse let out a snort and charged up onto the main part of the island, where most of the activity took place.

On the road, he passed several other horses, who were being ridden by happy people who either owned them or rented them. They didn’t look at him as he passed, but he gave them a disapproving glance. Those horses, he thought. They allow themselves to be ridden, when they could be running on the beach, wild and free! As golf carts passed occasionally, he darted to the opposite side of the road. He didn’t like the way they looked and moved.

A sharp click made him stop in his tracks. A young Bahamian man was standing in front of a small cottage on his right with a camera in his dark hands. He wore nothing but swimming trunks and a necklace made from colorful shells. The horse stared intently at this man. How rude he was! How could he photograph something so wild and pure? The man laughed, showing straight, white teeth. “You’re a handsome fellow,” he said gently, and reached out a hand.

The stallion reared up with a piercing whinny, which made a chill run down the man’s spine. Then, he turned and ran as fast as he could, dodging the strolling tourists and the horseback riders in the streets. The colorful flowers outside the tiny restaurants and houses blurred together in his frenzy to get back to his safe little herd by the water. The dark ground became speckled with more and more sand as he neared the beach, heart pounding, and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The other horses, alarmed at his sudden appearance, galloped into the safety of the bright water. Again, the stallion stayed behind, not wanting anything to do with the ocean. He turned around when he heard shouting. A small group of lean, strong men with coppery-colored skin and tangled dark hair ran down the hill, led by the Bahamian man the horse had seen earlier.

They went after him with rough rope coiled in their hands like a huge, coarse brown snake waiting to strike. He dashed around a black cliff and was instantly trapped as the sand ended and the sea began. The man’s tone was rough. “Come on, you horse. Just do this cooperatively…” He threw the rope, and his aim was true. The loop went over his head and tightened as it touched his shoulders. The horse screamed in fear, and pulled against the rope, antagonized by its cruel touch. “We got him!” The men shouted in triumph as they pulled the struggling animal back into the main part of the island.

Over the course of several months, the horse’s days were mostly comprised of enduring hours of photography with strangers who petted him on the head like he was some large plush toy. He wanted to be nice, but deep in his heart he knew he belonged with his fellow horses on the beach, not with all of these tourists! They leaned up against his flanks, smiling as the Bahamian man snapped a picture and took the handful of bills or coins they thrust at him. Children that were barely taller than the horse’s knees wrapped their sweaty arms around his legs and ran their sticky hands throughout his brilliant white hair. (He was known as a gray, but his beautiful coat was the color of freshly fallen snow.)

He had no choice but to be patient and endure, ignoring the ache of his mouth being tender from where the Bahamian man used a horribly tight bit to ride him in the ocean. This was another thing the horse hated; the Bahamian man made him go into the big sea. In fact, a photo of this man riding the horse became a popular postcard for the tourists to buy. The man was leaning back as the horse galloped through the ocean, pulling at the tight rope around his neck. Sea spray flew into the clear air as he threw his head back, his wet dreadlocks flying all over the place. Each time the poor animal was forced into the monstrous sea, his heart would begin to pound with fear, a loathing for the man gnawing at his gut.

Endure; endure, he told himself as he stared at the bright, silver stars at night. It will all be over soon. At night the man didn’t want the horse to accidentally strangle himself on the rope around his neck, so he tied a very tight piece of snaky wire around his left hind leg. As he tried to get comfortable each night, the wire dug deeper and deeper into his flesh. It stung when he tried to lick it, and moving around only made it worse. He needed help. A few tourists, with their good intentions, had tried to notify the Humane Society about the photos of his excruciatingly tight bit and the horrible rope, but they were really too busy to help him.

The Bahamian man was impatient. He wanted more money, and this meant more horses. By this time, the white stallion had been broken in and often carried people on his back. He snapped at the man, and became grumpy when he was ridden, but that was because he hated working with his tight bit and tender leg. The Bahamian man loaded up his truck, and prepared to take the horse back down to the beach so he could round up more of the other wild ponies. He didn’t own a proper horse trailer and didn’t have the money to buy one, so he put a large wooden box on top of a boat trailer so he could contain the horse. The tipsy, moving shack made the stallion very uneasy, and he trembled as it swayed beneath his poorly-trimmed hooves. The air grew stuffy very fast because of the poor ventilation. He felt quite uneasy, and the ominous feeling that something was going to go wrong filled his body. At last, around a sharp curve, the boat trailer tipped over with the horse inside.

Broken splinters of wood, debris, and scratched-up metal rattled around with the stallion in the box like a small tornado confined in a tiny space. A huge chunk of very sharp wood sliced neatly through his “good” hind leg, and he began to panic as the pain tore through him and he felt warm blood trickle through his hair.

CRASH! The Bahamian man tore his way through the wreckage, cursing. He pulled the terrified horse out of the mess, stepping over bits of wood and boat trailer that remained. Once on steady ground by the side of the road, in a patch of tall and sandy-colored grass at the base of several palm trees, the man looked the shaking horse over. He came across the cut on his back leg, which was very deep. The horse winced and drew up his head sharply as the man gingerly touched it. “What good are you with an injury like this?” He groaned. “I can’t ride a lame horse!” He took the horrid rope that was around the beach pony’s neck, and tied it tightly to one of the gently waving palm trees nearby. The Bahamian man kicked some of the large wood chunks away from the tires of his truck, and leaped in without so much as a “good-bye”. The horse watched as he sped off and around the hill. It was the last time the stallion ever saw him.

For the Bahamian man’s departure, the horse was grateful. This meant no more torture. But what was he to do now? He stood and waited patiently, watching the sky grow a darker and darker shade of slate gray. He lifted his sore back legs periodically as they throbbed with pain, trying to keep as little pressure on each one as he could.

The hunger was practically unbearable. When morning came and the sun peeked out from behind the long, dark cliffs separating the stallion’s dark world from the sky, he was very weak. His mouth was very dry, and he longed for a long drink of cool water. He even began to miss the ocean, which was out of view from where he stood. He pawed anxiously at the sandy earth.

When the sun went down that evening, he cried out, pulling at the rope and struggling to free himself. He fell into a light and restless sleep, and the next two days passed with an intense hunger and thirst driving him crazy! His wounds hurt, his pride hurt, his stomach hurt…everything HURT!

By this time, a tourist driving past in a humming golf cart had reported seeing the suffering, miserable, and lonely-looking pony standing under the palm trees to the Humane Society. An animal lover named Linda Myello learned of the poor fellow’s situation, and took him in. Mistrustful and quite scared, the little horse took a while to warm up to her. He studied the cats that she had rescued as they lounged around in the sun, taking long naps and licking their paws. He was grateful for the clean water and the fresh green grass given to him. Linda would go out and chop down the large grass stalks with her machete every day. Then, he would eat to his heart’s content. Although she tended to his wounds with loving care as the rescued puppies and dogs ran about his legs (no longer spooking him), his old injury from the wire needed veterinary attention. It was very swollen and infected, and it was painful for him to walk on.

As time passed, the pony, now named Flash, adapted to his feeding and TLC routine. When he became hungry and Linda was a little late for feeding him, he would scramble onto her deck as best as he could with his hurt leg to announce that he wanted his delicious grass! He enjoyed watching the feral cats become lovable pets, and the sick dogs make quick recoveries. But when was he going to be treated?

No veterinarians worked on the island of Eleuthera, but Flash’s old wound was now crippling him. Vets from Florida treated the horses that did live on Eleuthera, but they couldn’t really do much for him. Somehow, Flash would have to be taken to Nassau, a larger city in the Bahamas that was more likely to have experienced equine vets. It was too far away for him to swim, and because of his injuries and intense loathing of the ocean, it would be out of the question. So, it was decided that he would be transported on the Bahamas Fast Ferry to Nassau, in a real horse trailer instead of a wooden box. Getting him into the trailer was nearly impossible! From his experience, he feared that it would crash again, throwing him about and cutting his leg. He pulled the opposite way at the lead attached to his halter, digging his hooves in the soft dirt. But Linda held out a fat, juicy carrot and, like magic, Flash stepped into the trailer.

The churning of the waves rocked even the gigantic ferry as it made its way to Nassau. Flash had an ill feeling in his stomach, both from nervousness and mild seasickness, but he was okay once he was on steady ground again.

For five months, Flash stayed on the island with a man named Bruce Raine, who owned two donkeys. Flash got along with them all right, but they were much different from the horses he had been friends with at the beach. Sometimes they got annoyed with him and tried to give him a kick! Although he received good treatment, he was still lame with his swollen, festering leg. Thankfully, he didn’t have to suffer with a tight bit or a rough rope around his neck all the time.

Finally, it looked as if he was going to have new owners. People came to look at him, and he would show off, flipping his mane around. He looked noticeably like a Connemara pony; small features, a gray coat, and small size. He wished he could draw even more attention to himself by romping around, but his infected leg would not allow it. It kept him prisoner.

By lucky chance, a Nassau resident was going to have two horses transported to Florida by plane, and Bruce and Linda knew that it was the only way he could be treated–to go to the U.S.

Everything seemed to be going well until the Bahamian Ministry of Agriculture decided that he had to be assessed before going to the States. The government even decided that Linda would have to pay his former owner; the very one who had forced him to go in the ocean, thrust tight bits in his mouth, and abandoned the injured pony by the side of the road. He went to the Agriculture Minister’s garden (after another struggle to be shoved into the horse trailer) to be looked over. The elderly man ran his hands down the pony’s forelegs, across his back, and over his jaws and cheekbone. He looked at his teeth, (found out that he was fourteen in the process) and deemed him fit to go.

Flash didn’t really think much of the air transport, except that it was scary and cramped and he hated it! His thoughts kept returning to earlier that morning, when photographers had snapped his picture for the Nassau news. He preferred to have a quiet reputation, but that was quite impossible.

Once in Florida, he was happy to be on steady ground. But his journey wasn’t over yet. He was put in a small quarantine cell for a whole week! The floor was cold, hard cement, and the fence around him was a chain-link one, casting eerie shadows over his thin body as he paced around. Once he was deemed healthy, he was loaded up in the dreaded horse van again, and spent twenty long, hard hours on the road before arriving in Fauquier County, VA, a much different place than the Bahamas.

The air was crisp and cold, unlike the warm, wet breeze found on Eleuthera. The grass was thick like some sort of strange, moist carpet. It felt very different on his hooves than the pinkish sand and dry sea grass from his home. He stood in a strange posture to take pressure off of his wounded leg.

Strangers came to take him away. But they were nice strangers. They weren’t the careless tourists who came to ride him on the beach and through the ocean against his will.

His new home was a wonderful green pasture, and the best part was–new horse friends! His new horse companions, Dude and Dudley, sniffed the new arrival curiously. Flash was afraid at first, but got comfortable after meeting two new animals, rescue dogs Poppy and Merlin.

He didn’t see or smell the ocean anywhere. Normally his environment smelled of sun-warmed sand, salty sea breeze, and palm trees. Now, he smelled wood, hay, and dew on the leaves–new scents that made him feel more at ease, knowing that the monster he hated so much, the ocean, was nowhere around to hurt him.

After a while, he proved to be gentle and loveable. Little kids visited him in the pasture to feed him by hand, delighted at the feeling of his velvety yet slobbery nose and mouth as he ever so gently took the treats.

During a snowstorm, a very interesting and fun experience for him, Flash ran around as best as he could with his condition, trying to kick at the white stuff everywhere. It was icy cold, a new white world he could explore. The Bahamian man and sunburned tourists were nowhere in sight. He was at peace.

But Flash’s saga was not over yet. The infection in his puffy leg could have spread and made him very sick. So he had to take a trip to the equine hospital to have an operation that would hopefully make him better.

He was quite apprehensive when he saw all of the shiny equipment. Anything new frightened him. But he tried very best to stay well behaved as a tube was inserted in his neck and he was anesthetized.

The procedure worked wonders. The pony’s leg was getting less and less swollen, and the infection was disappearing, as the surgery had allowed a fresh blood supply to clean out and circulate in the permanently scarred limb. After patiently enduring the agonizing treatment of doctoring and wrapping up his leg as he watched the golden hay dance in the sweet-smelling shafts of light that entered the comfort of the barn, Flash was ready to do what he was born to do—run! After all, he had new buddies to play with. He enjoyed spending his lazy days playing tag with them, running through the grass, almost fully recovered now.

Presently, Flash has a new job. It doesn’t require him to trudge through the scary ocean while sweaty tourists cling to his outrageously tight bit. His new assignment is to keep disabled children happy, as he loves them. It’s an easy job that is gentle on his leg, and most importantly, puts his talents to use.

Note to Readers: Although some aspects of Flash's life before being rescued were simply guesses on my part, his history, although not very detailed, was obtained by me from his owner, Mrs. Hendrix. Today, Flash is happy and healthy, living on a large farm in Casanova with two other horses, two dogs, and a cat, along with a family that loves him. His leg continues to heal.