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a back rider.
My many thanks to Debbie Welch, Mark Albaugh, Jason Kuykendall, my wife Julie and others, who responded to my pleas for someone to call 911. Within seconds Debbie and Julie ran to the car phone to call 911. Mark and my-eon Jason were trying to keep ihe from trying to get up, when someone said, “I don’t think you want to buy that horse.”
At this point there are a million thoughts that race through your mind. It’s broken? Whats broken? Your body! I could almost say I saw that horse smile. Faint voices sounded all around me as Mark and Jason tried to keep me as still as possible until the rescue unit arrived.
Images, like how many types of clover are in front of me in the ring, are my underwear clean, should I cut the grass tomorrow, went through my mind. Meanwhile, Debbie had set the clock in motion when she gave the information to 911 and the Flint JJill Volunteer Rescue Squad.
The “real team” was oh'die way. Ordinary people we, see day to day, out cutting grass or up at Settles shooting the breeze, who sometimes casually wave when passing on the road, the real team thqt^is called on any time of day'-or night. Real people who have taken countless hours of training in order to help people like you and me when we "-call them. .
You know we live in the age of movies and videos and it seems that in the movies the impossible can always be achieved. A flick of the remote or of the channel and you see such fictional heros. Now I was looking for the team, the Flint Hill Volunteer Fire and Rescue Company.
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