08/24/2026
In Loving Memory of Church : 2012–2026
14-year-old Buckskin Quarter Horse Gelding
Some horses come into our lives quietly. Others leave memories so deep that we know we will carry them forever.
Church was one of those horses.
Church came to Bearfoot Ranch after being dealt a difficult hand from the very beginning. Handsome, muscular, athletic and strikingly beautiful, he had once been purchased with hopes of becoming a barrel horse. But Church carried something hidden beneath that beautiful exterior—Hyperkalemic Periodic Paralysis, or HYPP, a genetic disease that can cause painful muscle tremors, weakness, paralysis and, in severe cases, sudden death.In the video, you'll see him having a HYPP episode where his chest and neck muscles are having tremors.
His diagnosis changed the course of his life.
Eventually, that course brought him to us.
From the beginning, Church asked for very little. He was gentle. Patient. Kind. He trusted us through medications, treatments, hoof soakings, bandage changes, radiographs, veterinary visits and countless examinations. Our volunteers learned how to recognize his HYPP episodes and where his emergency medications were kept. We learned his signs, his good days and his difficult ones.
And Church learned that he was safe.
Then came the battle with his feet.
In December 2024, Church became increasingly lame, and radiographs revealed a serious infection involving the coffin bone in his right front hoof. Weeks of antibiotics weren't enough. On January 14, 2025, Church underwent surgery to remove the infected bone and surrounding tissue.
Our community rallied around him, helping us raise the money he needed for surgery. We prayed. We worried. We waited.
And Church fought.
He came home with a hole in the bottom of his hoof that required meticulous daily cleaning and packing, a protective metal plate bolted to his shoe, and months of careful rehabilitation ahead of him. Through all of it, he stood quietly while we cared for him, almost as though he understood that everyone around him was trying to help.
He was, as we said so many times, the best boy.
Over the months that followed, we pursued every reasonable avenue we could to give Church a comfortable life. Earlier this year, we took him to Tuskegee University College of Veterinary Medicine for extensive testing, including radiographs, nerve blocks and a venogram to evaluate blood flow to his hoof.
When the testing showed good blood flow, we finally had something we had desperately wanted for a very long time:
Hope.
But sometimes love, medicine, determination and hope still aren't enough.
Despite veterinary care, specialized farrier care, supplements, medications and everything his body needed to grow a healthy hoof, Church simply could not do it. The damage and recurring infections progressed. White Line Disease reached the coronet band—the very area responsible for producing new hoof growth.
The infections and abscesses became increasingly painful.
Because his front feet hurt, Church didn't want to move. Because he didn't move, his HYPP became harder to manage and painful muscle cramping became another part of his struggle. As he shifted his weight away from the most painful hoof, the opposite hoof began showing signs of compromise as well.
His body was telling us what our hearts did not want to hear.
We have asked ourselves every question people ask when they love an animal this much.
*Did we do enough?
*Could we have done something differently?
*Was there one more treatment?
*One more specialist?
*One more thing we could try?
But ultimately, those questions weren't the ones that mattered.
The question that mattered was:
Was Church still enjoying his life, or were we asking him to endure it because we weren't ready to lose him?
Church had fought long enough.
When the days with pain began to outnumber the days without it, our responsibility changed. We could no longer ask him to keep fighting simply because saying goodbye would break our hearts.
So we became his advocate one final time.
We gave him peace.
Church's story could easily be remembered as a sad one—a horse born with a genetic disease who later endured devastating problems with his feet. But that isn't how we will remember him.
We will remember the beautiful buckskin who stood patiently while we cared for him.
*The gentle soul who trusted his people.
*The horse whose HYPP emergency kit was always ready because so many volunteers knew exactly what to do if he needed them.
*The boy an entire community prayed for, donated to and cheered on.
*The horse who received chance after chance because people believed his life mattered.
Church didn't know that people followed his updates or donated toward his surgery. He didn't know how many prayers were said for him or how many people celebrated every piece of good news.
He simply knew that when he hurt, someone came.
When he was afraid, someone stayed.
When he needed help, someone tried.
And when there was nothing left we could do to make him well, someone loved him enough to let him go.
That is rescue, too.
Rescue isn't always about saving a life forever. Sometimes it means giving an animal every possible chance. Sometimes it means fighting beside them for months or years. And sometimes, the final promise we keep is that they will never have to suffer simply because we aren't ready to say goodbye.
And even after Church is gone, his work here isn't finished.
Church will continue to educate, just as he educated all of us throughout his life.
We have made the deeply personal decision to donate his legs for veterinary and farriery study. The study of cadaver limbs provides an invaluable opportunity to examine the intricate structures hidden within the hoof and leg—bones, tendons, blood vessels and soft tissues—in ways that simply cannot be done with a living horse.
For Church, this opportunity is especially meaningful.
There is still so much to learn about horses living with HYPP and how the disease may affect them throughout their lives. Church also endured an extraordinarily complicated journey involving his hoof, coffin bone, recurring infections and White Line Disease. If studying his legs can provide even one piece of information that helps veterinarians, farriers or students better understand these conditions, then Church will continue helping horses long after his own battle has ended.
There is something incredibly comforting about that.
The legs that carried our beautiful boy through fourteen years of life—the same legs and feet we fought so desperately to heal—may now help teach someone how to save another horse.
Church's final gift will be knowledge.
Perhaps a veterinary student will learn something from him. Perhaps a farrier will better understand what is happening beneath the hoof capsule. Perhaps something discovered through Church will someday help another owner make a difficult treatment decision for an HYPP horse.
We may never know exactly how far his gift reaches.
But if there is anything Church can still teach us—anything his story, his body and everything he endured can contribute to helping another horse—we want that opportunity to mean something.
Even in death, Church will still be helping horses.
Church came to Bearfoot Ranch for a reason.
Today, we believe it more than ever.
Maybe his purpose wasn't to become a barrel horse or even a lesson horse. Maybe Church's purpose was simply to teach us about perseverance, compassion, advocacy and the kind of love that puts an animal's needs before our own hearts.
And perhaps his purpose reaches even further than we realized.
His life taught us. Now his legacy will teach others.
We would have given anything for more time.
But more than that, we wanted Church to be free from pain.
Run freely now, sweet boy. No sore feet. No infections. No muscle cramps. No medications. No emergency kits. No more fighting.
Just green pastures, strong legs and four perfect hooves carrying you wherever you want to go.
*Thank you for trusting us, Church.
*Thank you for fighting as long as you did.
*Thank you to every veterinarian, farrier, volunteer, donor and friend who fought alongside us and loved this very special horse.
*And thank you, Church, for reminding us that sometimes the greatest act of love isn't holding on.
It's knowing when to let go.
Every day we had you was a blessing.
Every day we remember you will be, too.
Rest easy, Church.
You were loved beyond measure.
2012–2026
Bearfoot Ranch
www.bearfootranch.org
