When my friend Kirsten Lotter arrived on a Saturday afternoon last spring, we were looking forward to a relaxing weekend. Kirsten had hauled her Arabian/Saddlebred mare Stella Luna BF the nearly 800 miles from her place in Manor, Texas, to the ranch that my husband Kenny and I had built near Pie Town, New Mexico.

A seasoned endurance horse and traveler, Luna unloaded like a pro and quickly settled into her one-acre paddock, encircled by fencing topped off with electrified tape. In fact, she took a shine to her neighbor, my Quarter Horse Benny.

I was eager to show Kirsten around the property. In the morning, we would take a leisurely trail ride through the foothills of Alegres Mountain. No doubt we would compare notes on tack, training and equine nutrition—in other words, engaging in nonstop horse talk—along the way. 

The scene was lovely as the sun set and the horses contentedly munched their hay. On one side of the paddock fence stood the handsome red dun Benny, and on the other the lithe chestnut Luna, wearing a lightweight black sheet. The last thing Kirsten and I contemplated was the possibility of Luna escaping.

But escape she did. Sometime during the night Luna got out of her paddock and went through the four-strand, smooth-wire fenceline on our property’s perimeter. What, we wondered, could have spooked her? The most likely suspects were elk, which she wouldn’t have known in Texas. Huge elk herds roam our surrounding property, and they aren’t shy about cleaning up any leftover hay!

Where’s Luna?

With a bucket of feed and a halter, Kirsten set off on foot, certain she would find Luna peacefully grazing just over the next hill. But her initial efforts, and subsequent sweeps of nearby fields on foot and via four-wheeler, yielded no sign of the mare.

Our neighbors Rich and Lana reported hearing hoofbeats in the night and, sure enough, we found what looked like Luna’s prints (composite shoes in front, barefoot in back) near their cabin about a half-mile away. But we quickly lost the trail.

Still full of hope for an early sighting, we mobilized mounted searchers. Most loose horses are found within a mile or two of their starting point. But there was still no sign of Luna, and precious time was slipping by. We cast a wider net: small aircraft pilots were contacted, drones sought, tracking dogs considered. In addition to notifying the sheriff’s office, we called a Navajo tracker friend. We even consulted animal communicators.

By Monday afternoon, however, there still was no sign of Luna. After a morning search again proved fruitless, a tearful but resolute Kirsten confronted the possibility of heading back to Texas with an empty trailer. “By the afternoon of the second day, I had serious thoughts that I might never see Luna alive again,” she says.

In the wake of Luna’s disappearance, Kirsten was wracked with guilt and worry. Was the mare trapped by her blanket in a downed tree? Had she kept running in a desperate attempt to go “home” or find safety? An extremely sensitive (and fit!) mare, Luna was likely frightened and confused. Deeply bonded with Kirsten, Luna was no doubt missing Kirsten as much as Kirsten was missing her.

A breakthrough

Finally, on Monday evening, our search took us to a nearby property owned by a rancher named George. There we discovered a downed fence not far from our property. We called George and asked him to check on his cattle herd. Within minutes he called back, his voice crackling over the speakerphone: “Yes, I have a horse here. When do you want to pick her up?”

Kirsten, Kenny and I sprang into ac-tion and were on our way to George’s Walkabout Ranch, a three-mile drive on our local dirt roads, within minutes. Once there, we nearly shouted with joy. There in the fading light was Luna, still wearing her black sheet. She stood quietly, watching our approach.

As Kirsten walked toward Luna, I stood transfixed, as if witnessing the climactic conclusion of an epic movie. I wept as I took photos.

Luna’s legs were scraped, but she was walking soundly. She’d lost a bit of weight and was somewhat dehydrated, but all in all, she looked good. Back at our ranch, we put her in the round pen, where she would be safe and secure.

The next morning Kirsten (a nurse by profession) expertly cleaned, treated and wrapped Luna’s left front leg, which had sustained the deepest cut. On recommendation of my veterinarian, Kirsten started her on antibiotics, electrolytes and a gut-soothing agent.

A Long Recovery

Once home, Luna remained on edge, as if something in her environment could leap out at any time. It took at least a week for the mare to do more than nibble on her hay—as a result, “she was offered small amounts of a senior feed mash multiple times a day since she would eat nothing else,” recalls Kirsten. “She was mentally shut down for a week or so until my other horse got home and they were reunited.”

Kirsten gave her mare the summer off, then she started her reconditioning with relaxed, walking rides on local trails. Kirsten recounts, “I’m now way more empathetic to her needs. I no longer hesitate to get off and hand walk when a situation is just too scary for her. She just seems so happy; her attitude is so good. She is more engaged in life. I am beyond grateful that she is home, alive and sound.”

Five months after the great escape, Kristen and Luna competed in the Quitaque Climb endurance ride in Quitaque (pronounced “kitty-kay”), Texas. Luna was, according to Kirsten, a rock star all weekend—finishing fourth on the 50-miler on the first day, and easily completing day two, a 30-miler.

Reflecting on her experience in New Mexico, Kristen says, “Luna is just not the same horse. She is so much braver and more in tune with what’s going on. I am so lucky to have her. And to have a second chance.”