Rumors had it that a woman was hoarding wild animals and was obsessed with domesticating them. One of those animals was a zebra, which got my attention.
I found the lady’s address. The house was in a nice, upper-class neighborhood outside Nashville and at first glance the two-story red brick simply blended in with all the rest. But what I discovered in her side yard hurt my heart. There was a zebra in a surprisingly small pen along with a burro. And for some unexplainable reason, a cougar was in a cage in the center of the pen. So, basically a zebra was living with a natural predator in his bedroom.
Through an incredible trip to Kenya, I had absolutely fallen in love with zebras. As a visual artist and horse lover, I couldn’t think of anything more spectacular than a striped horse. But this poor zebra looked nothing like the magnificent creatures I had seen in Africa, running across the plains in herds of black and white stripes. This zebra seemed lifeless and did not even lift his head to see me when I entered his space, which was very odd animal behavior. He clearly needed to be rescued.
This was going to be a little tricky because the zebra was not for sale, and I was a perfect stranger who showed up uninvited. The woman and I got to talking and I quickly saw evidence of her affliction. She was determined to train her wild animals to behave like well-behaved pets. In fact, the cougars who lived in the house were expected to use a litter box and she was quite aggravated with the ones who had not yet caught on. She had apparently hired several cowboys to break her zebra to ride, but they had been unsuccessful. I later learned this is practically impossible due to the way a zebra is wired, which may be why we do not see people in Africa using them for transportation. Not to mention, a zebra is not the size of a full-grown horse, so putting a man on his back was rather cruel in my opinion, and I could only imagine what the breaking process looked like. The whole thing made me sick.
Recognizing her weak spot, I pretended to empathize with her failed attempts to “break” the stubborn zebra and convinced her to give me a try - but there was one condition. I wanted to buy him from her. After some negotiating, she finally agreed on a condition of her own. I also had to take the burro that had lived with him for two years, but she was free. Deal.
When I unloaded the two into their new spacious field on my horse farm, I couldn’t wait to see them run across the wide-open space and enjoy their newfound freedom. But what actually happened was quite different. For two whole weeks, they remained in the same small imaginary space to which they were accustomed. Slowly but surely over the following weeks, they increased their voluntary confinement until they finally realized they could run and kick as much as they liked. The first time I saw them do this it nearly made me cry. They were finally free. It was as if they literally came back to life.
Along with their new lives, I gave them both new names. Zeus became Zelvis (Elvis with a Z) and the burro, who had no name, became Katie.
Zelvis was king and had quite the personality. I always described him as gentle, but not tame. I had to basically trick him into doing what I wanted him to do - there was no making him. He must be convinced it was his idea. And only once, just for kicks, I climbed on his back to see what would happen and he got his own kicks. I was on the ground in a split second, but somehow landed on my feet, thank goodness. Katie was just there, always in the background somewhere.
After a number of years on my horse boarding farm, surrounded by lots and lots of horses, we moved Zelvis and Katie to the mountain where we live now. We only brought two horses with us, along with Zelvis and Katie. This did not go well.
Zelvis hated the move. He became unruly, angry, and uncharacteristically out of control. He was strong as an ox, in fact, he could push on a fence board with his chest until it snapped like a pencil. Every single day he found a new way to escape and many mornings we woke up not knowing where he was. I had fears of Zelvis becoming a rug for some heartless hunter in the area. There was one day he dove under a fence that ran through a pond, to get to the other side, and another day he pawed at the ground until he dug a hole deep enough to crawl through like a soldier in the trenches. Every day was the same challenge but in a different form from the day before.
This change in behavior was hard to understand. I suspected perhaps he was accustomed to being surrounded by thirty horses and now he only saw two across the fence. Did he think all those horses were his herd? Was he frantic to find them? I finally decided the solution may be to allow him to live in the same field with my two mares, so we tried putting them together. Bad, bad idea.
It was like a scene out of National Geographic. Zelvis focused on Lacey, one of my mares, and went after her like a wild animal. It is a wonder he didn’t break her back because every time she kicked at him, Zelvis ran under her and flipped her over. It was vicious, violent, and quite scary. Separating them was no small task and thankfully Lacey was somehow unhurt, although quite shaken.
After struggling with Zelvis day after day for what seemed like an eternity, it broke my heart, but I finally decided we needed to find another home for him. We could not continue living like this. Fortunately, the people who bought our horse farm were excited to have Zelvis, which was my first choice anyway.
Loading Zelvis into a horse trailer was not easy. I had to trick him into thinking Lacey was in the trailer by sticking her head in the window at the far end, and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Once I slammed the door behind him and he realized he had been duped, he stomped his feet all the way back to my old farm, which was almost a two-hour drive. When I unloaded him, he took a quick look around, realized he was back at home, and calmly began eating grass as if nothing ever happened. But then I had to turn around and go get Katie. Surely, she would be losing her mind without Zelvis. After all, they had been together for nearly ten years by this time.
When I drove back home to pick up Katie, I could not believe what I found. Katie was running around, literally kicking her heels in the air, as if it was the best day of her life. She ran up to me and laid her big, ole head on my shoulder, which felt like it must have weighed fifty pounds. It was as if she was saying, “can you please hold this thing for a while? I need a break.” She had never done this before, and in fact, I realized she and I rarely had any interaction because Zelvis always pushed her away. Was it possible she was glad he was gone? Was she abused and I never knew it?
I watched Katie and it was very clear she was the happiest I had ever seen her. I thought back on all the times I saw Zelvis bully her, and I was ashamed that I never paid much attention. He really didn’t allow her to have any other relationships. Poor Katie. The abuse was right under my nose the whole time, but Zelvis overshadowed her in so many ways, I never noticed she needed rescuing. I apologized to Katie, told her she could stay with us, and the next couple of weeks confirmed it was the right decision.
In no time, Katie was a new woman. Her hair, which had always been too rough and course to touch, became soft and smooth as velvet. Her ears relaxed a little and were no longer stuck on high alert. She loved touching my face with her nose to say hello. She had learned from Zelvis how to escape through the fence, so she let herself out when we rode our horses on the trails, and she ran along behind us with our dogs. She always made us laugh because she looked like a woman running in high heels. When we returned, she gingerly put herself back through the fence where she belonged. Katie was loving life - perhaps for the very first time.
Katie was the one that held no value, the one with no name, and the one always in the background. But once she was no longer under the control of another, no longer mistreated, allowed to interact with others, and free to be herself in a safe environment, she discovered who she was and loved what she found. I’ll have to admit, I found her even more beautiful than a striped horse. It was evident her days were filled with joy rather than dreadful control.
There are many times when a woman walks in the door at Blue Monarch with aspirations of reuniting with a certain man in her life, even though her description of him will sound less than desirable. She may have fantasies that he will recover while she recovers, and they will get back together and live happily ever after. Every time I hear this, I have to hold back from laughing. For weeks or even months, she will probably still operate in that same tiny space she is accustomed to, and it may take some time to adjust to her newfound freedom and safety. But little does she know, there will come a day when she will look at the beautiful woman in the mirror, face a future that excites her, and suddenly realize Mr. Wonderful is no longer good enough for her and never was wonderful.
Sometimes there are even court documents that state a woman can have no contact with a specific man in her life. But we love it best when she decides on her own that she deserves better anyway. That’s much more binding than any court document because it’s a contract she has made with herself in her heart. And if her journey is like so many women we serve, that contract will also be with God. After all, he’s the one who made her and in his eyes she is perfect - and priceless. May she settle for no man who does not believe the same.
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