Last night when I went to feed, my heart (and the 30 pounds of hay I carried) hit the ground. The second my eyes made contact with my Hanoverian, Marathon, the reptilian part of my brain knew something was very wrong.

Marathon stood at his gate, pawing and nervous. I scanned his body, starting with his legs and moving to his belly, back, and neck, finding nothing wrong. With Marathon accounted for I moved my gaze to the adjoining paddock. By then, the rest of my brain kicked in, and I realized my Quarter Horse, Jack, was gone. Vanished

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