Two weeks

Two weeks from today will be one year without my horse.  He's been on my mind a lot lately.  I'm remembering last fall and the sight of the trees changing colours, losing their leaves, the grass fading all brings back the sadness of those last days.  I have no regrets.  Not about helping him go, nor about the time we had together.  No regrets about buying him.  He taught me a lot in our years together.  I'm glad we had that time.

The Next Phase

It's been really hot and humid here in the past few weeks. While the tack room is much cooler, it does tend to hold the dampness in the summer and with that dampness comes the inevitable fuzz of mold growing on the unused tack. My QH's bridle being one of those unused items. I have decided that my two year old will inherit the bridle, but it's going to be a few years before his head is big enough to be anywhere near fitting. Since it was too hot to be any fun for riding, I spent some time today cleaning and conditioning bits of tack, including that bridle.

I have also finally started on the little "Who Was He?" scrapbook. Oddly enough the last pages, those photos from his final morning with the poem I wrote for him, were the first I did. After that came random photos from the pile paired with memories of him that seem to fit with the pictures. For example I had a photo of us going through knee deep water and I remembered that water never bothered him. In our first year I rode him into the pond in his field one day, and even though the mud was a bit sticky and he had to heave to get his feet out, he wasn't the least bit worried about it. The time I asked him to walk through a deep puddle that was covered by floating chunks of snowy ice gave him pause as they all moved when he did, but once he'd had the chance to look and I encouraged him, he did cautiously continue through the water. This isn't meant to be a "story of our life" book, but rather a collection of anecdotes showing his character and the little things that defined him.

One page, one or two photos, one memory at a time. I'm ready for this step now. Perhaps I will be ready to put his shadowbox together soon too.

The Little Things

It's the little things I miss the most. The way he'd pop his head up and look when he heard my voice, or his very distinctive whinny. Little incidents that showed his character.

Recently I remembered being out in the field with him one spring - memory says it was the first or second spring we were together, but I couldn't find it in my journal entries. I had taken a shedding blade out to do some spring cleaning on the boys. My QH was very nosey about the shedding blade and kept turning his head to see what I was doing. I held the blade out to him and he sniffed it and then gently took hold and lifted it out of my hand. After waving it around a bit he dropped it and turned his head back to me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but the gist was an offended "Hey! Pick that up and give it back to me!"... and he did just that!

Fresh Reminders of What Has Passed

It snowed here about three weeks ago. The snow stayed on the ground, fluffy and deep enough to provide some cushion over the frozen earth. There's something special about the first few snowfalls that come before the first thaw. Hacking in the snow, or during a snowfall is just about the most fun that can be had with a horse. After the first falls there's no need to worry about hidden ice until the thaw comes. There aren't any layers of crusty snow and ice to scrape the horses' legs. Just a bouncy trotting horse spraying snow into the air as he asks for a gallop.

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My boy hadn't asked for a gallop for a long time, but we did a lot of hacking in the snow over his last few years. It was great exercise for his stifles. With the first snow came the reminder that I will never take him out for a hack in the snow again. He won't reach out as we pass a snow laden cedar and bend back a branch that will fling it's load all over me as it snaps back when he lets it go. We won't head out into the glow of a moonlit snowscape, or wander through a forest of bare limbed trees as snow gently falls.

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First snow hack without my boy. First Christmas without my boy. I miss him still. These firsts bring back the loss, but without the tearing intensity of the first days after he was gone. It's a bittersweet sadness as the first snow, first hack, first Christmas without him remind me of the times we had together.

The Spirit That Was My Horse

It's been a month now. The hole is filling with memories of life and I find myself drawing him back by telling people what he used to do, what he was like. Some of us were talking about our horses reactions when we go out in the field - variations on walking or turning away until we get close and then turning to us as if surprised to see us there. My boy used to watch for me at night and his distinctive whinny would come out of the darkness when he saw me take my other horse back out to a different field. As if to remind me not to forget to come down and bring him up for his dinner.

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I remember more details. Things to remember for next time, for sure as I loved him I will be making the decision again for other horses. His issue caused him well hidden pain for a very long time, even before we identified the problem. His subconcious, instincts told him that a lame horse was vulnerable and I used to call him my quarter horse, three quarter chicken because he was such a chicken. I wanted him to know that this pain and the fear it caused did not define who he was. The pain and fear must be left behind. He should take his great courage and generosity for these defined the spirit that was my horse.

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I still miss him dearly, but the great gaping sense of loss has eased and I now remember him in life before death.

You Were Well Loved.

It seems like yesterday. It seems like forever

That we met, that we have been together.

The times that we shared, the lessons we learned

From one, from the other, that shape who we are now,

We carry forward on our separate ways into the future.

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I can no more force enduring life upon you

Than I can ask you to endure a life of pain

Because I am not ready to see you go.

I am not ready. I will never be ready.

And so I give you the last gift I have to give.

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With human logic and power of reasoning

I can see the time to help you go is now.

I can help you pass in peace with dignity

Sending my wishes that your next wheel

Brings good fortune denied upon this turn.

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And when you stand before our maker

Present my heartfelt thanks for the time we shared, you and I.

When you speak of the life you just lived

Stand tall, stand proud and know with certainty

You were well loved. You will be missed.