20 February 2016
A Temporary Good Bye
It's a funny thing how a horse can change your life. Even a seasoned horse owner of over 35 years, can find that one special horse that makes all others fade away; the one that challenges without fear and wins without glory. Good horses will come and go in a lifetime, but that one? She will remain even after bones turn to dust, a partner that went beyond a horse and rider team, the one that never failed when called upon.
The day that horse died I asked my best friend to take me to the barn to see Reese, my once in a lifetime horse. I didn’t trust my own ability to drive the three miles to the barn from my house. Those three miles felt like a million, and for some reason I felt that I could make the trip less painful if I could just it rush it a bit. I am not a good passenger in a car, so I tried to calm my mind with thoughts of Reese’s short time with me. From the moment I saw her photo on an auction Facebook page, I knew she was special.
She did not belong in an auction. Her conformation was as near to perfect as a horse could be, her feet were nicely trimmed and shod, her ears clipped. She was full of shine and wisdom. I was surprised she had not sold the night before, yet, here she stood in the ‘last chance’ pen. She spent her 30-day ‘QT” process with calm inquisitiveness. Even though caregivers at the QT barn a searched for a microchip to see if we could find out who she was and where she surely belonged, there was no microchip. However, through networking on Facebook I received a message: “I know the horse you bought!”
Reese’s name was “Rachel” she was from a Connecticut family stable that was being dispersed due to the elder family members’ declining health. Younger family members without the same interest in horses saw dollar signs on the hoof. Horses were shipped to auction without the knowledge of the patriarchs of a once thriving horse stable. The last trainer on staff was not aware of the plans, and was only told that the horses were sold “to good homes.” These were highly trained, quality bloodline horse stock. All would be sent to slaughter if not purchased at the auction.
I was lucky to have Reese in my life and I loved her the minute I saw her online. In short order, she arrived at her new home in North Carolina and our partnership and friendship grew. It was the same barn that I now approached with my heart in my throat. The first thing I noticed was the silence. A normally ‘vocal barn’ was quiet. I heard no greeting whinnies or nickers for a peppermint. My other horses watched from their stalls as I entered the barn and the barn cats sat outside the doorway to Reese’s stall as if attending to a good friend’s final farewell. To see my beautiful shiny girl lying in her stall was too much to grasp. She still wore her pink halter and her lead rope was stretched out on her side as if she had just laid down for a good nap in the coolness of her stall. Her eyes were open still clear and liquid even though she had died over 3 hours earlier.
As I knelt down next to her and I felt a strange calmness. I looked at her face and saw some of the bruising and swelling around her eyes and I brushed some shavings off her face and finally just rested my head where her heart was. I don't know how long I spent with my body next to her and my head on her heart. I told her how much I loved her and I was sorry that I had not been there when she died. I told her I would never, ever forget her, nor would I allow anyone else to ever, ever forget her either. As I looked at her face one last time, her eyes were now closed and she seemed at peace. I would not let her short time with me be in vain.
Later that day the backhoe arrived to bury her next to my favorite red mare, under the gum tree at the back of the barn. Unable to bear watching her being lowered into her resting place, I stood with my other three horses in the back pasture, my back turned toward the hole in the earth being prepared for my “heart horse.” Once the digging was completed, all was quiet except for the hushed voices of friends. The horses seemed agitated and unsettled, all at once whinnying and calling. The three of them made quite a ruckus with their calling and prancing along the fence line facing the barn. Then as quickly as their activity started-- it stopped. They stood in total silence with their ears pricked toward the barn, nostrils flared, alert and waiting. Then they heard what they had been waiting for: an answering whinny from the barn. However, the only horse in the barn was Reese--and she was not alive. I thought I was losing my mind. I looked at my friend as she said, “I could have sworn I just heard a horse whinny from the barn “and then I knew. Reese was leaving us. She had said her goodbyes and told the others she was okay, and I know she made sure I could hear her too.
How can you replace that kind of horse? The one that never allowed you to take a false step. The one that never wavered in her trust in you, even if you questioned your trust in her. When physical weakness was no match for confident strength, I rode on, even if parts of me were numb, because she carried my heart. Never a stumble or a startle, never balk or shy, she was as bold as needed, and soft as allowed.
I learned a lot from Reese and the short time we had together. I learned that my horses, as much as I love them, may not be loved the same by those I trust to care for them when I am either dead or unable to make decisions about their welfare. Mine are not the horses of money and training, but each is loved and brings much joy to my life. I thought it was MY luck to have owned such a wonderful horse for even a short time. But, the truth is it was Reese’s luck to live out her last days where she was loved, rather than where fate might have sent her from that auction yard. I wondered about Reese's previous owners that obviously loved her. They probably believed she had been sold to " good home" --which thankfully, she was! But that might not have been the situation if I had not looked at Facebook that day. I might not have known that she was an extraordinarily trained Quarter Horse from fine reining and cattle lines. She could spin like a top! She could sidepass, back up a whole quarter of a mile if you asked, she was just amazing! All those thoughts really hit home after Reese passed. I would have loved her if she was a grade mare with no training, but knowing her abilities allowed me to give Reese a second career for a short while as an emotional therapy horse for a woman's and children's group. And an educational partner in humane educational sessions.
Reese teaching about care and humane treatment
Because of Reese, I have made provisions for my horses in the event that I can no longer care for them. I have made sure that they will be cared for and will not be sent “to a good home.” Because my horses are older, I may outlive them, but any horse that I own will be microchipped, and branded. I will leave behind a letter of instruction for the care of my horse for the time between my death and when my will is probated.
As I looked into the process of providing care for my horses after my death, I realized just how complicated it is to navigate the legal estate planning process, which differs in each state. In the very near future, I will be sharing with you my journey through the process for planning for the care of my horses in my absence. In the meantime, I urge each of you, in memory of Reese and all other great horses that perhaps found themselves auctioned off, euthanized or worse after their owner’s death or incapacity--PLAN and PROVIDE. Start by microchipping your horses, write out a letter of instruction EVEN if you have already provided care for your horse in a will or a living trust and research the estate rules in the state or country in which you live.
Each day, I try to carry with me Reese’s quiet strength, and her never questioning spirit. I try to live in the moment of now, and not tomorrow. Some days are still worse than the others, but I try to make today the best day it will ever be, because by tomorrow it will be gone forever. I learned courage from that one great horse. I learned not to doubt, but to trust. And I learned that every moment is lost if not celebrated. I celebrate her life, and trust that she has made me strong enough to carry her heart.
