As David Woodward lay bleeding and fighting to survive on that January night almost 6 years ago, there was no one around who could help him. He said a prayer that somehow, he could make it through the night.

In a stall a few feet away, was his horse, Hobby. And — as in just about any barn — there was at least one mouse. And somewhere, someone must have been listening to Woodward’s prayer.

Hobby owed his life to the farrier. Several years earlier, when a vet had recommended that the horse be put down, Woodward saved his life, and now, he had to depend on the horse to return the favor.

“Hobby, you’ll have to help me stay awake tonight, fellow,” he remembers calling out to the horse. “Can you manage that?”

Hobby, of course, didn’t answer. But again and again during the long, cold hours, as Woodward would feel himself slipping away, the horse seemed to sense it as well. Whenever the darkness closed in, Hobby would stomp on the floor or bang his head against the stall door, bringing Woodward back to consciousness.

At some point during the night, Woodward realized a tiny mouse had come out of the straw and was exploring the area around his head. He could still move the fingers of his left hand, and he began to flick pieces of straw at the mouse. It would skip away, then return to steal the piece of straw. All through the night, the…