Girly Girl

Hey Girly Girl, come on it’s time to eat. Hey, here I am, I’m right here – I speak these words softly to my over thirty year old blind pony. She pushes slightly on the gate waiting for me to open it. Then she heads straight out the gate and into the barn, sniffing for which stall her feed is in. She gets it right 90% of the time. She rarely bangs her head on anything, no lead rope required. She starts to eat and knows that her friend Apolo will be right beside her, in the stall next to her. She is comforted by his presence and will neigh and nicker looking for him if she thinks he isn’t there.

This was my Girl, my Corkie, in her old age. Content and as sure of herself and her surroundings as she had ever been. Happy to have a large paddock with shade trees and a pony friend, whom I called her “seeing eye pony.” She loved standing under the willow trees for shade when it was hot, she laid down a lot, very comfortable in her safety there. She had a “parrot mouth” with sticky out teeth – literally “long in the tooth” – but that didn’t put an edge to her appetite. By the thirties, she was skinny but still had a full coat of deep fluffy fur. In the winter you could barely see her hooves for all the fur she had. Old age didn’t slow her down AT ALL. Until it did.

I met Corkie back in 2000/2001. I can’t remember exactly. And why none of us at Windmill Stables in Richardson ever thought to have her age verified then I don’t know. But we took the word of the man who sold her to us that she was around 6. She was not the POA gelding that he had said he was bringing us. She was a dappled chocolate color and clearly a mare, smaller than he led on and in no way a POA (Pony of the Americas). He said he called her either Corkie or Peanut. Well it’s not going to be Peanut I said. So Corkie it was.

I don’t recall ever teaching Corkie anything. We set her to work right away, and being only 12 hands high, she could only teach the smallest riders. She didn’t / wouldn’t lunge, and for reasons unknown to me now, we never bothered to teach her. You could put a kid on and walk her around all day and she wouldn’t bat an eye. But the instant you tried to trot or canter she’d throw her shoulder down and duck her head and there you were on your butt with sand in your seat and mouth. She was quick, you had to be paying attention. She could do anything if you could get the hang of her though. Once you had her respect, she respected you. And she would not try to dump you after that moment. She always knew whether you were ready for her or not. You might be dumped once, twice, or twelve times in a day but once you figured out how to get deep in your heels and your seat and strong in your abs she was golden.

She jumped. Almost always in perfect form. She did automatic flying lead changes. She cantered around in a great rhythm and never bolted, took off, ran away or bucked as far as I can recall. She was never the one I was nervous to put a kid on. In fact I enjoyed it as much as she did. How long will it take this one to learn, girly girl? If you were afraid of her you didn’t stand a chance. But I’d like to point out that SO MANY of her riders are instructors, themselves, today. They were the scrappy ones, the undeterred and the ones with grit and determination. They were the ones Corkie loved the best. I have many, many favorite Corkie moments and I can see her now winning the 2′ division at so many shows, cantering her way into all our hearts. I remember clearly the day we didn’t have a rider for her, leaving for a show and her, looking out the stall window at us like “why are you going without me?”

I may have slightly rose colored glasses on, because she 100% babysat my little one as a two and three year old. And when she started learning to trot and go over tiny crossrails, Corkie dutifully dumped her off a time or two (or three, or a lot!) until my small child learned that she better get tougher, or quit. She didn’t quit. Then, as my baby girl outgrew Corkie’s limited elderly abilities, she would simply put a halter on her and canter her up and down the paddock, bareback. She would bathe her and groom her and wash her tail and … ahem… trim her mane and forelock (Lord help me, I didn’t scream – just sighed in resignation that the pony was no longer going anywhere so it didn’t matter). Look Mommy! She called to me, look how beautiful her (layered) tail is! Oh boy, Baby Girl, it’s beautiful but please A) don’t do it again and B) never do that to your own hair!

To all my kids that loved her… I will spare you the details of her final day with us. But she was never alone, Baby Girl and I were never far away. We sat in the stall with her, we walked her and we cuddled her. We told her she was the best pony in the world and then some. I didn’t cry until the final moments, when I realized that I couldn’t save her, that it was time and I had to let her go. I took Baby Girl inside the house and Tony stayed with her. She went easily, he said, went right to sleep. She was ready. And I just know my Dad was there, waiting to guide her to Heaven. Now every year on his birthday I will remember both of them. My Dad who loved my “nags” and my Girly Girl, who was the pony in the center of my heart for so long.

Many of you will have memories that I’ve long forgotten. Please do share, even the naughty Corkie ones! I would love to hear them.

I have so many, many pictures to share. I will share most of of them separately in a Facebook post. I will share a picture of her gravestone when it is made. She might have gone easily into the next world, but she will not go easily out of my heart or mind.

GodSpeed Corkie Girl. You were so loved.