We had quite a storm last Friday evening. Rain fell sideways accompanied by hail, and a microburst of wind that took trees down in some parts of town.

Downed Cottonwood

The pasture where Pepper lives is one of those places.

A big cottonwood and a Russian olive were uprooted and toppled to the ground. And a small loafing shed was completely destroyed.


The next day when we went out to feed and check on our girl we couldn’t find her. She wasn’t with the other horses, which was predictable. But she wasn’t with Chickadee either, which was a surprise.

Not in the shed either.

I was having visions of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz swept out of Kansas in a tornado, wondering how Pepper would do with flying monkeys, munchkins, wizards and witches.


But then we saw her. contentedly munching green grass in a separate pasture, completely alone. (She’s that brown blob in the middle of the pasture.)

Remember the white taped off fence?

Somehow Pepper got through that fence.

We had some fun discussions about how she might have accomplished such a feat.

  • The storm took the fence down and she found the opening and walked through. (We walked the entire fenceline and had to toss this theory out.)

  • Somehow she got her old arthritic legs working and jumped the fence, graceful as an Olympian.

  • She got down on her belly and crawled under the fence.

  • She used her magical powers to simply transport herself into the empty pasture.

What we think really may have happened is this:

Smart girl that she is, Pepper used her neck to lift the lower string of tape and then she simply walked through. She may have done this before the storm, or the storm may have given her extra incentive to flee to what she perceived as a safer place.


I expect it was quite a panic when the storm hit. Unfortunately, several horses were cut up from tree limbs and getting caught in barb wire.

 But not Miss P.

She is as smart and creative as ever. So what if she’s thirty-one? Doesn’t matter a bit.

In fact, it probably helps. She’s lived in the pasture for most of her life and not much fazes her.

She’s a seasoned pasture horse.

 So perhaps the moral is this: Age has nothing to do with intelligence and/or creativity.

Yes, I like that!