A horse is a horse of course, of course…
Until today I had a whole lifetime of horses. Since I was a young girl I’ve always ridden… had some wonderful times on horseback. In my twenties I owned a rather beautiful bay thoroughbred and between he and I we competed in dressage events and horseshows and had the odd success and some memorable times. In my thirties, I owned a handsome chestnut quarterhorse and found that no amount of strength was enough to control his exuberance.
But in the last twenty years, I’ve been partnered with a stunning Apaloosa called Spot
Spot
who taught me a lot about equine intelligence. An unusual beast, he played pick-up-sticks like a dog, he could bow like a circus horse and he could shy at shadows that were inevitably his own. He had an expansive nature… one that bonded with the most unlikely creature… a merino ram called Rambo who in full throat sounded like an old man burping. He and Rambo shared buckets of feed, shade, paddocks, water and me. They called to each other when separated and Spot’s last ever cry was to his best mate.
Rambo sneaking up to share spot's feed.
Spot taught me what it felt like after a day’s hard riding: where it hurt, what horse sweat smelt like, what my own body does when sitting on him and he decides to shake himself. He taught me what it feels like to canter up a hill with a horse bucking on every second stride. What joy unsurpassed it is when we galloped along the shoreline, spray flying up and his hooves beating a tattoo on the sand. We rode together in endurance events in which, despite his long back and delicate legs, he excelled, passing every single vet check. We competed at shows, where with his remarkable patterning, his elegant legs and his arched neck he won ribbon after ribbon.
But our best times where when we rode alone, just he and I, in the Australian bush with the chirrup of bush birds around, the creak of a leather saddle, the jingle of the bit because he’d often chew it and I always knew he would be thinking of jogging or shying at that very moment… just to give me a scare. But then there would be the crack of twigs, the squeak of branches and the brushing together of the dry eucalypt leaves and all would be right with the world.
I’ll miss his smell, that glorious smell of horse that is precious only to the horse-lover. I’ll miss the tufty touch of his winter coat and the way my hands would glide over his silken summer coat. I’ll miss the way his mane would grow ever upward like a Mohican’s haircut and how I was obliged to shave it to make him seem less clownish. I shall miss his dolphin eyes which used to turn and follow me wherever I was when working near him. I’ll miss the way he’d kick out with the off hind leg when I walked behind… he hated being approached from the off side hind. But more than anything I shall miss that very low wicker when he saw me coming.
To Spot…
Left me in tears.
From one horse-heart to another: the flickering ears and swish of a tail that say “I know where you are.”
Its nice to know there’s someone who can understand…
This is a very sweet remembrance that transcends the pain you must be feeling. I’m happy for you that you can write so beautifully through tears. It’s the sign of a great heart.
Thanks Pat… Grief… not the best emotion there is.
Thank you Pat. Grief’s something one just has to let find its own end.
That was lovely. I, also, got teary eyed while reading your wonderful tribute to Spot. I love horses and have since I was a child. I was lucky enough to take lessons for a few years when I was a teenager. It was such a great experience, riding all over the countryside on the property of an old Long Island estate, sometimes hearing the sound of a horn, hounds barking, galloping hooves and experiencing the vibrations beneath the ground. I had an excellent instructor, who was a well seasoned equestrian and very strict:) Wonderful memories! Thanks for sharing your heartfelt memories of Spot with us.
Eileen, thank you for your support. I love your description of the Hunt. Very visual. We’re lucky, aren’t we, to have had such experiences?
Oh, lady Mesmered, I grieve with you. I do not know horses, but I know those who do, so I can tell this is a prime example of the close bond that can exist between human and another species.
People who have not shared this kind of magic will dismiss such a loss with the sentiment that this was ‘’just an animal’’. But there are few things more wonderful in life than sharing an understanding with a creature that is both so unlike us, and yet alike in so many ways. It is an access to a different, yet just as valid type of awareness, that wishes to connect with us in its turn, and we mourn when we no longer have that particular dear consciousness with us.
In memory of Spot indeed, and all the beloved others who have graced and enhanced our lives.
Oh Giselle. I am utterly bereft. Both my husband and I are doing it tough.
There’s been firsts that hurt. Driving it to the farm and unconsciously looking for him, seeing all his rugs hung out to air prior to being packed for the RSPCA, throwing away things I don’t need now. Hard.
It gets better though…
Oh, my dear, you have brought tears to my eyes. A beautiful set of memories, well-written to mark the passing of someone dear. I was inconsolable when my cat died and, like many others who have already commented, I get that our companions, whatever their shapes are all dear friends and people to us, not ‘just animals’.
So, tonight I’ll raise a drink to Spot and I’ll think of him and of you. xx
Clare, I’ve lost my Dad and I also lost my oldest friend in the last ten years and my dearest dog as well. With humans you can grieve in an acceptable way and people understand, but with pets its a slightly different thing.
In Dad’s and Sue’s case, we had time to say goodbye and the leave-taking was understood, but I had barely any time to assimilate it all with Spot and he was so utterly ill, did he understand anyway? I hope so. It gets easier each day and even better that each day has been filled with blazing winter sun and blue skies (despite the volcanic ash high up in the jetstream) and air that cleanses.
Aww. Brought a tear to my eye. Rest well, Spot.
Si, I’m heartsore.
Oh I’s so sorry Prue. I feel your pain. It’s like a big hole in your heart. Sending you hugs…
Thank you Nikalee. Hole in the heart is exactly what it is.
My condolences on your loss, mesmered. Until you meet again at the Rainbow Bridge.
My deepest sympathy–Spot sounds like he was a truly beautiful friend. It’s never easy to say goodbye to a friend, and the four-legged and furred and hoofed varieties are no different. When I lost my cat very few people understood how that could be so difficult, but he was, truly, my oldest friend. I’ve had many animals in my life, but you get very few dear comrades–just like with people.
Beautiful memories–thank you for sharing Spot with us.