On August 9, 2024, my family and I finally got home to Westfield after four hours of driving down every backroad we knew—to find our house intact, our dogs safe, and only our basement filled with water. I was lucky to have internet and spent the evening looking at social media and came across a post about my neighbor down the river in Potter Brook. Their miniature horses were both washed away during the flood, and only one had been recovered. Timmy the mini horse was missing, and I was heartbroken. As a former racehorse trainer and lifelong ‘horse-crazy’ girl, I could not imagine losing a beloved horse in this way.

The next morning my husband, a public works employee, was called in to help with the crisis in Westfield Borough. I set off into town to get my mother-in-law out of the third floor of Riverside Manor. I spent the next few hours escorting seniors down the stairs and giving them rides to First Baptist Church for food and some relief from the heat. After a long morning, I headed home to let my dogs out, grab something to eat, and connect to the internet to check in with family, as cell service was out for my carrier.

My dog was barking incessantly outside while I was trying to throw together some sort of sandwich. It’s unlike him to be that persistent, so I went outside to call him in, and when I followed his gaze I saw a little horse in the tree line eating grass. I put the dogs in the house, grabbed a leash, and headed down Route 49 on foot to get to the other side of the river. Worried about spooking the little guy, I approached him slowly. Luckily, Timmy was happy to see me and let me fashion a makeshift halter out of the dog leash.

We trucked up the hill, slipping and sliding in the mud, pushing through undergrowth. Once we reached the road, we became stuck behind the guardrail, unable to go around due to a downed tree. I stood there with this little horse, thinking about how I would get him and myself out of this mess with no cell service and no great ideas. A few cars and trucks went by, seemingly unfazed by the woman and horse trapped on the side of the road. Finally, a pickup truck stopped, and a couple got out, asking if I needed help.

Jeff and Cheryl Furrow of Wellsboro had come to the Valley to help, and as luck would have it they had a chainsaw! I held onto Timmy, talking gently to him, worried that the sound would scare him, but, again, he proved to be made of tougher stuff. Once around the guardrail, we walked him down the road to my house. I put him in the yard, took a picture, and went inside to post online that he had been recovered.

Shortly afterwards, two young women arrived to bring Timmy home. They intended to walk him the mile and a half, but he was exhausted. He’d just spent the night swimming for his life. Could I get him in my Honda CR-V, I wondered? I’d gotten to know Timmy at this point. He was a sensible horse. I felt sure he’d appreciate the ride. I backed my car up the hillside and coaxed him up to the hatch. With a few heaves and a big lift, we had Timmy in the car and were on our way.

Margery McCutcheon, Timmy’s owner, who later became a friend, called her grandchildren to the door and took a picture for her husband, who was desperately trying to get home from his long-haul trucking route. She said, “Duane will never believe this!” In the middle of this enthusiastic reception, Timmy slowly hopped out of the car and very calmly returned to his yard to munch on a pile of hay with his friend.

Timmy remained humble after his rise to local fame. He remains with his family in Potter Brook as they continue to rebuild their lives.