“I Lay in the Straw and Remember Nothing but Love”

In the quiet hours before the barn stirs, I sleep.

You’ll find me flat out in the straw. My legs stretched out, my breath slow and easy. My lips twitch with dreams I don’t need to outrun. The fan hums above my head like a lullaby, and a shaft of morning light spills through the window between my stall and Lovey’s.

If you met me today, you’d see an old Thoroughbred mare with soft eyes and a gentle sway to her back. You’d see trimmed hooves, clean water, a full belly. You’d see a stall pawed into a perfect mound—my own creation, every night. A nest. A ritual. A place to surrender and be held.

You’d never guess what I’ve survived.

My name is Spendid Bride. And yes, that is the official spelling! I’m 27 years old. And I am safe.

My best friend Lovey lives in the stall beside mine. She’s an Arabian—a little smaller, a little spicier, and when she yells, you’d swear the rafters shake. She only gets like that when I sneak off for a wander. It’s sweet, really. We’ve been through enough to be possessive about peace.

Lovey and I were rescued together. On Leap Day, February 29, 2020. I suppose that makes our second chance feel fated.

Before that day, we were dying.

We were two walking skeletons in a kill pen. Horses screamed, crashed, reared around us. The metal gates rang like alarms. The ground was slick and panic-soaked. I could no longer stand without pain. My hind legs—once strong—had buckled from a life of being forced to pull. My tail was rope-burned and raw. And someone had spray-painted a green X across my haunch like a cruel expiration date.

I shut down. I stopped moving.

But Lovey stood over me. She never left my side. When I couldn’t keep my head up, she leaned into me with her body. That’s the only reason I’m here. She didn’t let me go.

And then… Unbridled came.

The trailer they brought smelled like hay. Not ammonia. Not fear. The people didn’t shout. They whispered. They asked. Not once did they make me do anything I couldn’t.

They called me Bride. And from that moment on, I began to belong.

At Unbridled, Lovey and I are housed in the main Sanctuary Stable. We share a big window where we allo-groom and doze nose-to-nose. Some nights, we stay up late talking in our own language—small snorts, breath puffs, the comfort of presence.

I love school visits. Children, and teachers too, press their cheeks to my neck and whisper secrets. I never tell. I just listen. I love warm mash, alfalfa nibbles, the sound of Susan’s boots approaching. I love knowing someone will check on the stiffness in my hocks each morning. That the fan will turn on when it’s hot. That winter won’t find us cold.

People think stalls are cages. That real freedom means a big field and no fences.

But I lived that “freedom.” I lived forgotten. Unfed. Unwanted.

This stall is my Sanctuary. This schedule is safety. This love is liberty.

My name is Spendid Bride. I was born in Florida on February 8, 1998. I raced once. I was whipped many times. Then used. Discarded. Left to die.

Now, I rest beside the one who saved me.

I drift into dreams on a bed I built myself. The air is warm. The fear is gone. The past no longer tugs at me.

I am not what was done to me.

I am what was saved in me.

And I’m asking you: help protect this peace—for Lovey and me, and all the ones still waiting.