On Tuesday, we said goodbye to Blink—our beloved therapy horse, our friend, and the heart of Speaking of Horses. We're asking for your help to replenish funds depleted by his care and to keep serving the children who need us.

The Horse Who Changed Everything-

Blink was supposed to be a therapy horse—and he was, brilliantly. But somewhere along the way, he became so much more. He became the reason children found their voices. He became the friend who waited patiently while kids learned to trust again. He became the living proof that healing happens when you're loved unconditionally.

Blink had this way of knowing. When a child arrived anxious or overwhelmed, he would slow down even more than usual (and he was already the slowest horse at the farm.) When a child needed to talk, he would stand perfectly still for hours, asking nothing except to feel their hands brush his coat. He didn't care if you were shy or scared or different. He just loved you. Completely. Honestly.

The kids adored him. They would run to the fence when they saw him. They would whisper secrets in his ear. One little girl who hadn't spoken in months said her first word while grooming Blink's mane. Not to a therapist. Not in a clinical setting. She said it to him, because he made her feel safe enough to try.

That was Blink.

The Summer Everything Changed-

In July, we moved to a new barn. Blink had always been solid—the kind of horse who maintained his weight and his calm no matter what. But after the move, he started to lose weight. Slowly at first. We thought it was the stress of the new environment, the change of routine.

We watched him more carefully. We adjusted his feed. We loved on him harder, knowing transitions could be difficult.

Then the abscesses came.

Both front feet developed severe abscesses that wouldn't drain on their own. Blink went lame and we could see him struggling. The vet came out and took X-rays, and that's when we learned the abscesses were eating away at his coffin bone. He needed aggressive treatment. Antibiotics. Pain management. We gave him everything we had and after his final diagnosis realized the abscesses were a result of a weak immune system.

The abscesses cleared, but they'd aggravated his navicular disease. He received joint injections including both corticosteroids and Arthramid. We increased his feed from a handful of Triple Crown Balancer to nine pounds of Triple Crown Senior Gold every single day. Surely this would help him recover.

His weight still didn't improve.

We tested for Cushings disease. Negative. We called the vet back to check his teeth even though they'd just been done in June because he was slightly dropping his hay. His teeth were fine. But something was wrong. We could feel it. This wasn't the strong, steady horse we knew.

Our vet asked if she could run a CBC—a complete blood count—just to understand what was happening.

The results came back: terminal liver cancer.

The Cost of Saying Goodbye-

The diagnostic process took thousands of dollars. Veterinary visits. X-rays. Bloodwork. Medications. Injections. Treatments. Every single expense was necessary, and every single one was worth it, because Blink was worth fighting for.

But there were no treatment options and hanging on would slowly steal his quality of life. We knew that every moment mattered now. So we decided to let him go while he could still stand with dignity, while he was still surrounded by love, while the children could still have their goodbyes.

On Tuesday, we said goodbye to our friend.

Why We're Reaching Out Now-

Speaking of Horses operates with three therapy horses. They are the foundation of everything we do. Now we're down to two.

Our emergency fund—the safety net we rely on for unexpected medical crises, facility needs, and the unpredictable challenges that come with running an organization—has been depleted by Blink's care. We don't regret a single dollar spent. But we're now vulnerable. If one of our remaining horses gets sick or injured, if something breaks down at the facility, if an emergency arises, we don't have the cushion we desperately need.

And beyond the immediate financial crisis, we're grieving. Our hearts are breaking. The children are still asking when they'll see Blink again, and we're learning how to tell them that he's gone but his love isn't. That he changed their lives. That he showed them their own strength.

The mission-

Speaking of Horses serves children with severe disabilities from families who couldn't otherwise afford speech therapy. We accept Medicaid. We accept insurance. We accept families who have nothing but hope. We serve children who haven't spoken their first words, children who struggle to connect, children who the world has made to feel like they don't matter.

Blink believed every single one of them mattered. He spent years showing them that.

Now we need your help to:

-Replenish our emergency fund so we're prepared for the unexpected and can continue serving children without fear of financial crisis

-Rebuild our capacity as we grieve the loss of one of our three therapy horses

-Keep our program running while we navigate this heartbreaking transition

-Honor Blink's memory by ensuring his legacy of healing continues

-Eventually welcome a new therapy horse when we're ready, so we can help even more children find their voices

What Blink Gave Us-

Blink gave us something priceless: proof that love heals. That presence matters. That a gentle soul can change lives simply by showing up and caring.

He gave children confidence. He gave families hope. He gave us a mission we believe in with our whole hearts.

Now we're asking you to help us keep that mission alive.

If you can donate, please do. If you can't, please share this story. Either way, thank you for honoring Blink. Thank you for believing that the work we do matters. Thank you for understanding that sometimes the most powerful therapy happens on the back of a horse who loves you unconditionally.

With a grief-stricken but determined heart,

Ada and the Speaking of Horses Team

Blink: 2007 – 2025. Therapy Horse. Friend. Teacher. Healer. He was exactly what we needed.