If you’ve ever seen two stallions fight over a mare, you’ve got a decent idea of what Stormy’s relationship with my husband looks like.
It’s not subtle.
Stormy has loved me fiercely from the beginning. I raised him from birth — his mom, his playmate, his teacher. He’s followed me like a shadow, challenged me like a sibling, and trusted me with his whole heart. That kind of bond runs deep.
So when another man — even if it’s my husband — swings a leg over his back, it’s not always graceful. It’s a lot of posturing, just enough drama to keep things interesting, and the kind of ride that leaves you sore in places you didn’t know could be sore.
Stormy steps on his toes. Flips his head. Prances just enough to jostle his teeth loose. And my husband, in return, rolls his eyes and mutters things under his breath that can’t be repeated here.
But love-hate relationships sometimes lead to the strongest partnerships — and Blodgett Canyon put theirs to the test.
I couldn’t join the trail project that weekend, so my husband rode in my place. Stormy wasn’t thrilled, but he went to work like he always does. They made it through the weekend — until the final stretch out of the canyon.
That’s when Stormy stepped off the trail to avoid a rough patch and dropped his back end into what turned out to be a hidden hole. No warning. Just gone.
Most horses would have panicked. Most riders too. But my husband stayed as still as he could — and Stormy, sensing that stillness, paused. Thought. Then launched himself out with sheer shoulder strength and determination.
They both stayed upright. Somehow.
Later, they investigated the hole. It looked bottomless. One wrong move, one flinch, and they might not have made it out at all.
But the bad luck wasn’t over.
At the trailhead, we discovered two popped trailer tires — both victims of scattered nails from someone’s abandoned pallet fire. We pulled five pounds of rusted nails from the gravel while waiting for the rest of the crew.
Then came the final blow: a nail buried in Stormy’s front foot.
It wasn’t clear where he’d picked it up — on the trail or in the mess of the lot — but X-rays showed it had narrowly missed the bone. Relief, yes, but the road ahead would be long. He limped. He hurt. And it took three full months of daily wrapping, soaking, and medicated goo before he was truly healed.
But here’s what stuck with me most: even with that nail in his foot, Stormy carried my husband home. Not because he had to. But because somewhere, beneath all the rivalry and sass, he knew the job wasn’t done.
Maybe he still sees my husband as the other stallion in the pasture. But that day, he stood shoulder to shoulder with him — not in competition, but in shared purpose.
Lesson from Stormy #43:
Even when there’s fire between them, two strong hearts can still work in sync. Loyalty doesn’t always look quiet — sometimes it stomps, snorts, and prances — but when the trail turns rough, love is what gets you home.