I know what heartbreak is. And I know horses. And those two things always go together. Whether you are a rider, trainer, professional, amateur, kid, instructor or just a backyard pony lover there will come a time when heartbreak and horses meet up.
Maybe your horse colics, maybe he must be euthanized, maybe not. Either way, seeing the pain in his eyes and seeing his head low with no welcoming nickers coming your way, you will experience heartbreak. I had a foal once, his name was Bo. He was a super little palomino cutie and he was going to be the last pony I was going to break. From the moment I picked Bo up in the trailer I knew he was going to be special. I had him for five months. One night a summer storm came and I found Bo on the ground the next morning, basically unresponsive. We could not save him. That might have been the last time I cried over a horse. Somewhere along the way our hearts just can’t take any more, and we find a way to shut down our emotions. Oh, the tears come out in other ways and at other times, but in that moment, in that place, there is no way I’m going to cry. My heart will be breaking, shattering, and I will not shed a tear.
The craziest thing I remember about Bo is that he never made a sound. Not from the day I met him. He was a foal, one month shy of his first birthday when he died, and yet…. he never made a single sound. No nicker, no grunts, no whinnies, no neighs. Nothing. I still wonder about that. Not even when he was lying on the ground, in so much pain he couldn’t stand. There was only one answer then. We couldn’t even get him in a trailer. There was no way to save him.
Before Bo, on another day, a client’s horse went insane over a cow that was loose beyond our property. She completely freaked out. Ended up slamming her head into a post in the paddock. Broke her pelvis, maybe her neck. She couldn’t get up, couldn’t move. It was raining and as I stood with the Dad of the little girl that owned her, I cried for that loss. She had only owned her for four months. She was a beautiful soul, this horse. Which matched the free spirit of her little girl. It was a damn shame.
There was the time I had to sell my step-daughter’s pony. Sometimes in the horse business we have to make incredibly tough choices. As he left in the trailer I was beside myself with grief. He nickered as they drove away and I buried my head in my husband’s chest. I knew I would never get him back. When a client’s horse left for Colorado and I understood that I would never see him again, a little part of me went with him. When I heard that a filly I had sold to a western riding lady had coliced and died six months after she purchased her from me – a filly I adored – I went into a deep despair for awhile. I was angry. And sad. And completely heartbroken. When my husband’s horse foundered and had to be put down, he didn’t cry. So I cried for him.
So many horses have come and gone in my life. Horses I have loved, that I’ve fought for, won on, cheered on and trusted with my life. They haven’t all belonged to me. When my own horse, Jaxon, died at 29 years old, out in a retirement pasture, I bawled. When a former student’s horse that was in the same retirement pasture died years later I bawled again. Recently I heard of another old lesson horse that had been retired there had also passed away of old age. I didn’t cry this time. I was super sad, but happy that he’d had a long time to relax in his retirement. He was an excellent horse. Some of you may remember old Benny. He died at Thanksgiving.
There are too many sad stories. Too many tales to tell. The problem with horses is that they really get under your skin. And they are fragile. They are not as tough as we’d like them to be. Small stomachs that are sensitive to just about everything, they have no ability to throw up and a penchant to eat things they shouldn’t. They find the one thing in the pasture that could injure them and impale themselves on it. They slip and strain a tendon. They roll and get cast in their stall. They work themselves into an anxiety induced frenzy at a horseshow. Or in a trailer. Or somehow break a leg in a paddock that doesn’t even have a tree. They can’t handle weather changes. They need bubble wrap and padded stalls. Can’t be left out with a halter on in case they hang themselves up. They do stupid things. Like climbing on gates and walls.
And then there’s the horse you see in a paddock as you drive by… farm equipment and machinery everywhere. Goats and weeds. Rusted water troughs and broken gates. And you wonder why THESE horses don’t get hurt when yours do just by looking sideways at them? It’s a mystery for sure.
I have been doing this professionally for twenty three years. I have seen so much. Been part of so much. Loved and lost so much. Watched my child cry and grieve over her broken pony and come out stronger on the other side. Been side by side with clients, with parents of little girls who had excruciating decisions to make. Held a friend’s hand. Drank with her and shushed her when she vowed to never love another horse.
I’ve been down in the shavings, or in the dirt or mud. I’ve had rain and snow and sleet on my face walking a horse with colic in the middle of the night while my two year old slept alone in the house. Driven a truck and trailer that weren’t mine through a rain storm to get the pony to the emergency vet. Held a horse’s leg together on my knees while he bled through copious towels until the vet could arrive to stitch him together.
I will not cry. But I will grieve just the same. Inside my heart is broken any time something happens that I could not stop, could not prevent, cannot fix. I will do everything I can to ease the pain of the horse (or pony) and whoever loves it. My heart aches as much as anyone’s, my pain internal. I will not give up, I believe in miracles. I have seen them happen. I will carry on. When horses and heartbreak meet I will do everything I can to create a happy ending. I might not show my pain but it is there, carried along in my heart with every horse I’ve ever loved. Every client I’ve ever cared for. Every little kid I’ve ever taught and some I haven’t. I’ve learned to save the tears and emotion for another day.
Because I am a horsewoman. And always will be.
