We sat in the shade of the gum trees watching the horses come back from their one hour ride at the Mango Hill Riding School. It was high summer and the midday temperature had reached 35c. We three friends were all keen riders and our friendships stretched back through the years. My physiotherapist had encouraged me to get back on a horse. To strengthen my little-used muscles; lying in a hospital bed for three months had made me physically very weak and of course I had lost my left leg.

Previously, I had taken Lady out for my ride and was most impressed with her behaviour. The sun was high in the sky and she had been sent out with a rider time after time. She stood, saddled, and sweating in the noonday sun.

"Surely he's not going to send her out again?" I whispered to my friends.

"Looks like he is," Sandy sighed.

"Oh, no he's not, not if I have anything to do with it!" I was mad as hell and after picking up my crutches, I swung my myself towards the shed where the black-hearted bastard stood sipping on a rum and coke.

"Hey! How much do you want for that mare?" I was shaking with anger but determined to put a stop to the mare being used and abused by the creep that owned her and eight other horses that he hired out to all sorts of riders.

He looked down at the ground and then spoke to the young man called Mark who helped him get around. Rusty was partially sighted, and I was to find out much later - a jailbird from wayback.

"She's my best earner, that mare will go all day," Rusty spat in the dust.

"She's dead on her feet, how much do you want for the mare?" I persisted.

Rusty had a reputation that had preceded him and it was well known that he was all about money.

"How much are you offering?" He sniggered.

"I'll give you $200.00 cash." I said

"Make it $400.00 and you've got a deal."

She's a broken-down old nag and you want $400.00 for her?" I stood my ground.

The lust for money got the better of him and I ended up paying $300.00 cash. This was only the beginning of a bad acquaintance with this horrible little Cretan who knew I was disabled and thought he could play on my sympathies because he was nearly blind - how wrong he was.

A friend owned a horse-trailer and she was able to load Lady with no problems. The poor, dear, mare could hardly stand, she was mal-nourished and having only grazed on grass, full of worms. Working horses need more than grass.

Lady was an ugly bag of bones when I bought her; my vet gave her a thorough examination, filed her teeth and her hooves. In summation, he said that she was around fourteen years old and she would never have another foal.

Geoff (my vet) prescribed a 'hot' diet to start her on the road to recovery. Molasses mixed in her food would soon bring a shine to her dun-colored coat. After six months she was perky and her ribs covered - she had a silky-black mane and tail that matched her calico coloured hide.

Within three months, Lady was carrying me around our training track; one of my friends was a riding teacher and she said that I would need to use a dressage whip on Lady.

"You'll need a whip on your left side, she won't turn for you because you can't kick her on that side," said Tricia.

"No way, this mare will ever see a whip; she responds to my hands - watch her," I pulled on the left rein and Lady turned easily for me.

I had given great thought to the rest of the horses that Rusty owned. I talked it over with my friends and made him an offer for the rest of the horses.

"No, I'm not going to sell them. I want to build a good-looking riding course and put some money into sprucing up the place. I can get you some good saddle-horses from a guy on the coast?" He shuffled his feet in the dust, never wearing shoes, saying he could feel his way around barefoot.

Not knowing too much about Rusty and his dirty dealing, I fell flat on my face by saying that I would consider his offer and drive him up to the property that held the horses I needed to look at. I wanted to begin a riding school for disabled people.

We went to see the horses and I bought seven from the fellow selling them. In hindsight, he looked a rough, ill-bred man, lots of horsemen seem to look that way.
"I can get you saddles and bridles too, I know a fellow that will give me good prices," said Rusty.

Another stupid mistake on my part; turned out the eight saddles and bridles were stolen.
Of course I didn't know that when I bought them. Rusty only dealt in cash.

I wrote a cheque for $2,000 and Rusty said he would give it to Kevin, the guy who sold me the horses. A week later Kevin rang me and asked where his money was?
We talked about it and he knew Rusty had pocketed the cheque. Kevin contacted the police.

One morning I received a call from our local police to say I had to go to court over the cheque. Rusty had wiped out Kevin's name and paid himself the $2,000. Finally, after Kevin and I had testified, Rusty was sent to jail for fraud. He was to serve six months.

When he came out of jail he was fuming; looking to get back at Kevin and me for shopping him over the cheque.

One night, Rusty and his boy-helper arrived at my front door, both drunk and cursing. He wanted to come inside and I was too scared to move - my friend passed a few tins of rum & coke out to him (this seemed to cool the situation down somewhat.) I had a loaded .22 rifle at the front door in case of trouble. I hoped I wouldn't have to fire a shot over their heads.

"You stay away from me, otherwise there will be big trouble," I called out to him.

"You got nothing on me lady, besides you are in it up to your neck."

"What do you mean?" I was trying to keep my reply calm.

"Those saddles and bridles I got for you were lifted from houses," Rusty roared with laughter and then said "nothing you can do about it now."

They drove off spinning their wheels past our home. As long as he stayed away from me, I could cope. Guilt was getting the better of me over the saddles and bridles. I decided to go to the police and tell them the story.

A ruddy-faced sergeant started to laugh half-way through my confession of receiving stolen goods.

"We know all about that person-of-interest, my dear. You didn't know you had paid for stolen goods did you?"

"Well, no I didn't know anything about the weasel, I just paid over $2,000 cash for saddles and bridles." I was stunned that the police had Rusty under scrutiny.

"We have a sting set up for next week - does he trust you?" Sergeant Crest asked me.

"I think he thinks that I am a stupid female and will fall for his underhand dealings!" My face was beetroot-red with anger at my own stupidity.

"How would you like to help us nail him?"

"You bet I would," I smiled.

"Because we're in the middle of a bad drought, most of the hay is being brought in by rail. We are expecting a shipment of hay next Tuesday. Rusty has been talking to the local produce merchant and knows when the hay will arrive - he will get there early and sign for it in the merchant's name. Clever, eh?"

"Oh, yes, very clever," I grinned at Crest. "What's the plan, sergeant?"

"We change the merchant's name to yours and you turn up at the rail head as the train unloads - we will be waiting for him to sign the waybill for the hay. You can ask him what he thinks he is doing signing for your hay, of course you will wear a wire and we will be listening."

It was a cold and miserable Tuesday as I waited in my car for the train to pull into Caboolture station. The sun was struggling to light the day and light rain had started to fall.
Rusty's beat-up Ford, tray-back, truck crept along the gravel towards the loading dock - young Mark was driving. I slid down in my car just in case Mark spied me.

The radio I was wearing crackled into life with the sergeant's voice; "can you hear me OK?" I gave him the thumbs up and continued to watch the train unload its hay. My Hay!

Finally, fifty bales sat on the dock waiting to be signed for. Rusty walked forward...Mark pulled on Rusty's arm alerting him to trouble.

"Fancy seeing you here?" Rusty shuffled his feet - a nervous habit.

"Er, I've got some hay to sign for," he knew he was in strife.

I knew the police were listening to the conversation and I felt safer for their presence.

"Oh, so do I," I said with a grin.

The railway worker walked towards us and said "who's going to sign for this bleeding' hay? Rain's getting heavier and soon your hay will spoil."

Rusty produced a fake invoice in the name of our local produce merchant.

"There you go, I'll sign it," he said.

As soon as he had made his mark on the fake invoice, he was surrounded by the local police.

"You're nicked! Receiving stolen goods," Crest puffed out his chest and smiled at me.
I was only there as back-up in case Rusty had put my name on the fake invoice.

Rusty went back to jail for another twelve months for signing for and receiving stolen goods. I wondered about the horses on his property and so I got in touch with the Animal Welfare. They came out to check on the horses, spoke to Mark and he agreed that the horses would fare better in the Animal Welfare pound - at least they would be fed.

Finally, now I could get on with the setting up of horse riding for disabled kids. The horses that I had bought from Kevin were suitable, bar one. She was a pretty Appaloosa mare that had a bad habit of rolling with you on board! I even sent her to a school - to no avail. So, Lady would have to take her place and I rode Lady on the weekends, for my own pleasure.

I loved Lady so much, I think the feeling was mutual. When I approached her and talked to her, she would rest her head on my shoulder. Now, you can't get any closer to a horse than that.

We set up camp for the kids on a Wednesday - a kind farmer had let us use a paddock that was fenced. Word got around the Special Schools and soon I had so many physically challenged children wanting to touch and smell the horses. Lady walked around like the boss of the wash and everyone loved her gentle nature.

After a year, Riding for the Disabled took over the management of running the school and moved the horses to a well-established site. I was struggling trying to feed the horses and in one way glad of their offer. Of course there was one special mare that stayed with me.

As time went by, Lady went into retirement. She would still willingly carry me around but I decided that it was time for her to be retired for good.
A mother approached me from the school - she had a cerebral palsy child.

"Would you consider selling Lady to me, for Sally?" She had tears in her eyes.

"No, sorry, she's not for sale. I have watched Sally with Lady and they are great mates. I won't sell her, she is yours to take home when you can get a horse float," we both had tears in our eyes as we hugged each other.

And so, Lady lived out her time on a beautiful property with Sally - she passed over five years on and was buried on the property in the Blackall Ranges with a view of the sea.

I believe animals have souls and the good Lord gave us animals to make our life more bearable. It is our duty to care for them and love them as they love us.