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.

Five Months Later

Tomorrow is my horse's birthday. He would have been nineteen and we would have had one more summer together had he lived to see it. Four years ago, in consultation with the vet, we switched to pain management for my horse. There was nothing else that could be done. Driving home that day I knew, somehow, that he would not reach his twentieth birthday.

In the last couple of days I have spent hours going through the digital photos I've taken in the last few years. There are so many photos, and so few really good ones. I want only the best or those that spark specific memories for the memory album I'm creating. Now I have to go through the older photographs. Unfortunately I will probably have to scan those old pictures as it is just about impossible to get film printed properly now - these days the negatives are scanned before the scan is projected onto the photo paper. They all seem to turn out like bad digital photos.

There is a recurring image of my horse, one taken again and again over the years. The way he would look at me when I went out to the field, ears up, eyes bright, poll slightly below wither level - this look is my horse to me. The most familiar image to be treasured.

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.

Dawnfire

This morning I looked into the field and saw one of the other chestnuts at the hay feeder. He was standing broadside to me, had the same colour blanket that my old horse did, and his head mostly in the hay. The early morning sun slanted across the field and fired a wide golden highlight along the crest of his neck. For a moment, just a moment he looked like my horse as that golden highlight looked like my horse's mane the way it was always neatly arranged along the left side of his neck. I knew it wasn't my horse, but the shape and colour just vividly brought my horse back to mind instantly.

Remembering and Healing

After my first horse was euthanized I took his bridle home and dragged it about from residence to residence for several years before I finally figured out what to do with it. I always knew exactly where it was - it was never left in a box. I knew I wanted the bridle on display but it took me a long time before I worked out how to manage it. I ended up putting it in a shadow box with a laminate mounted photo, a lock of mane, a feather I'd found out hacking one day, a horse shoe and a couple of engraved plates - one with his name and dates, the other with the final verse of the poem I'd written for him.

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I know I want to make a shadow box for this horse too. I have his tail and his halter. I will get a plate with his name, registration number and dates done. The photo is, as it was the first time, the most difficult task of all. Going through all the photos I can find to see which would be the best choice to put into the box. It brings back many memories of the days we shared and I think about some of the photos I really liked and go looking for them. Maybe that one? No, it's not quite right - the pose, or perhaps a cluttered background. Do I want a head shot or a full body picture? I chose a full body shot of my first horse - one that I took the day before the vet came. He was a difficult horse to photograph, but I got better at taking good pictures of him over time.

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My second horse was quite photogenic and I have lots of good photos of him. Very few photos good or bad from our competitions - somehow the show photographer was always at another ring whenever we were on. I haven't yet found the photo I want, but I have time. There is no hurry to get the shadow box finished as it is a part of the healing process.

Waiting for Time

It's not over for me. My horse is free of the pain that has been his close companion for the past years, but I'm still walking carefully around the edges of the hole in my heart and keep falling into it at unexpected moments. Tears burn the raw skin on my face. I don't know how many times I fell into that hole today.

I managed to walk past the place he went down several times without noticing, but the last time I went and stopped near the scars his hooves made in the grass, remembered and allowed the tears to come.

Compulsively checking his field for him has been a part of my mornings for the last months - today I looked away.

I find myself managing to get on with things and lose myself in tasks. I even managed to ride without slipping into the hole. Then I start thinking of things I need to do, and I come round to thanking those who helped me yesterday and before I know it the tears are falling again.

I have no doubt that I let him go at the right time. There are no more questions about it. Now is waiting for time to heal. For time to let the hole fill with memories and bury the raw wound of yesterday. For time that will allow the first memories to be of his life and not of his death.

I've Been Here Before

I suddenly realized this week that there is no one in my horse life just now who knew my first horse in person. If I were to say his name in conversation no one would realize who I was talking about without the caveat "my first horse". I find this sad in a way.

I had to make the decision to not run my first horse through another winter too. The second time around isn't any easier, but the experience of then is affecting my now. I am taking silly pictures and video clips of my second horse. I am making time to spend time with him even if all I do is groom, or take him out to graze somewhere the grass is still plentiful.

Making time for nothing much is important for both of us.

Memories New and Old

I took my horse for a hack around the fields yesterday. We've been getting a lot of rain lately and yesterday we had a mix of sun and cloud for part of the day. I had just brought him in to groom and feed, but once he was clean I couldn't resist hopping aboard and going for a meander around the property.

We're past the formality of saddle and bridle these days. I throw a thick saddle blanket on his back to cushion his spine (and my butt!) and tie the end of the lead rope round to form reins and off we go. He's more than happy with the arrangement as he can grab mouthfuls of alfalfa as we wander around the hayfields. For the most part he's good about waiting for me to invite him to nibble, but he's an opportunist too and looks for those moments when I'm distracted to make a dive for that particularly delicious looking stalk of alfalfa.

I did ask him to go for a little trot, okay - more of a jog these days. Sadly he's feeling sore, and was a little bit lame at the trot. But he didn't mind walking - and munching - his way around the property. I can really feel the changes in his movement and body carriage when I ride him now. It's kind of sad - I still remember when he was in his prime, muscled up and fit. He was an impressive chunk of a horse then and got lots of compliments from strangers at horse shows.

Today I stood in the hayfield for over an hour with him and watched him mow a strip through the nice green growth. He barely lifted his nose above grass level in all that time. As I stood there with him I remembered standing like that with him in other times and places. One of the best memories is of ten days we spent onsite at a national show. There was a warmup ring out back where many people warmed up, or had lessons or training sessions on their non-showing days. We spent many hours out there with him grazing and me watching the riders. We were out so much he was content to snooze when I finally did take him back to his stall in the tent.

I'm finding it a relief to have the vet appointment set. Now I don't have to think about it, and I'm free to enjoy my time with him and remember the good times we've had along this long journey together - even as I create a few new ones to hold for the coming days.