When Scott and Jackie Nelson first saw Coconut the horse, they couldn’t believe she was a Melbourne, Florida native.
Over three million people have marveled at how unique she is, and that’s because they had to record her beauty at the age of two days old to show the rest of the world.
At the age of two, the couple, who run a ranch named Down Under Colour and breed horses, took her outside for the first time on camera.
According to a YouTube description, Coconut is also referred to as a War Horse and has incredibly uncommon markings. The chief or the medicine man, a traditional and spiritual leader, would ride this horse, which was revered in Native American culture.
They must have one blue eye with liner surrounding it and a shield on their chest in order to qualify as a War Horse.
In Indian mythology, this eye is referred to as a Sky Eye. This one blue sky eye will convey the spirits of the Chief and Medicine Man to their gods if they perish in combat. That explains why she is so unique. Watch Coconut in the video below.
If the beauty of this unique foal also struck you, please share this tale.◰
I Took a Photo for a Family of Strangers, and a Week Later, I Got a Message from Them That Made My Blood Run Cold
I took a photo of a happy family in the park, thinking nothing of it. A week later, I received a chilling message: “IF YOU ONLY KNEW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO OUR FAMILY.” My mind spiraled, questioning what I could have possibly triggered. Another message followed, and the truth shattered me in ways I never imagined.
That day had been ordinary. The sun was warm, kids laughed, and couples strolled hand in hand. I had been walking alone, still carrying the weight of my grief over Tom. Then I noticed the family on the bench, their happiness a painful reminder of the life I lost.
The father asked me to take their picture, and I obliged. Their smiles were perfect. The mother thanked me, exchanging numbers just in case. I left, not thinking much of it, but that brief moment would soon return to haunt me.
Days later, sitting on my patio, I received the first message. Panic set in as I wondered what I had done. Did I capture something I shouldn’t have? Was I responsible for some unseen tragedy? My mind raced with questions.
Then came the second message: “You took our picture on August 8th. My wife passed away yesterday, and that is the last photo we have as a family.”
The world stopped. The woman’s face, her warm smile, her love for her children—it was all gone, just like that. The guilt hit hard. I envied her happiness, and now it was forever lost. I wept for her, for the family, for myself. But in my grief, I realized that in taking their photo, I had given them a precious final memory.
It was a bittersweet reminder that even in dark times, we can create moments of light for others. And sometimes, those small acts can mean more than we ever know.
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