Thursday, April 16, 2009

For The Love of a Horse

Many horse owners start out owning a horse innocently enough. We end up owning a horse because we fall in love. Whether it is a certain horse you see when you are visiting a friends farm, watching your child taking a lesson, or a horse that has been abandoned by a previous owner that looks at you with beseeching eyes, having not previously owned a horse, you jump into horse ownership with good intentions and both feet.
This is how my family came to own not just one but three horses. My daughter started taking riding lessons when she was not yet 5 years old. I, for one, really thought that she would take her lesson package of ten lessons and be done with horses, develop a new interest and we would not longer have to deal with 1200 pound animals. This was my plan, but not my daughter's. Now, at 13 year of age, my daughter not only continues with her lessons, but her love and understanding of horses has grown.
The first horse that was given to my daughter was an older rescued horse. Because we knew little about horse ownership, we did not know the questions to ask prior to committing ourselves to caring for this horse. We saw a horse in need and a way to obtain the best gift we thought we could give to our daughter for her ninth birthday. This was especially true as my daughter had been riding this mare for sometime prior to our decision to give the mare to her as a gift, and a relationship between child and horse had already been forged. Cinnamon, as my daughter later renamed this mare, tested my young daughter's fortitude. My daughter was bucked off of this mare more times that I care to now remember. However, my daughter loved this cranky mare unconditionally and, each she hit the arena dirt, she would square her shoulders, brush the dirt from the seat of her pants, wipe grim from her face, and with a determined look on her childish face, my daughter would mount her mare again. This type of determined riding went on for about six months. I believe Cinnamon finally figured out that no matter how many times she buck my daughter off, my daughter was not giving up on her, would not beat her, but would just mount up again for another go around the arena. Eventually, a strong bond built between Cinnamon and my daughter and they spent almost three years together learning how to ride and how to be ridden.
One cold morning two days after Christmas in 2007, I woke up in the very early hours of the morning. I was hearing something but I did not know what. There was a rhythmic thumping coming from the barn. My heart sank, I knew with dread in my heart that Cinnamon was in trouble, I just did not know how bad it would turn out to be. Still dressed in my pajamas, I woke the entire household and, putting on my heavy coat against the frost of the early morning hour, I rushed out to the barn. Cinnamon was down! My daughter was with me, her brother, father, and our family friend. I had my daughter put a halter on Cinnamon and my daughter, with cold hands and a scared look on her face, started walking this mare she loved so very much up and down the driveway. It was so dark outside that all I could see of my daughter and her horse was the plume of their breaths caught, occasionally, in the beam of the flash light I had pushed hurriedly into my daughter's hand.
I ran back to the house and to get my cell phone as I knew we needed the vet and we needed them now! I can remember how sick I felt inside and how sad. My daughter was so devoted to this mare, had lavished love on her during the three years despite her imperfect conformation and cantankerous Cinnamon had been. I can remember seeing my daughter grooming Cinnamon and telling her secrets, feeding her treats, and kissing Cinnamon's soft muzzle. Over the three years, Cinnamon never really grew to like me though she tolerated me and nickered when at me to be feed. Cinnamon only showed her softer side to my daughter, letting my daughter lay up on her back during warm summer days, content just to wander quietly in the arena with my daughter's chubby, small arms reaching around her neck, tugging gently, giving love and receiving it in turn.
That awful morning when it was so dark now stars could be seen in the night sky, when it was so cold my daughter's cheeks were red within minutes, was the last morning my daughter had with her first horse. It is a tender memory, bittersweet and filled with both happy smiles and painful tears. Cinnamon was humanely euthanized after we found that she had a severe colic. There was nothing more we could do for Cinnamon. We said out goodbyes and cried for many, many days.
We still have Cinnamon, as strange as this might seem to non-horse owners. Cinnamon's ashes now reside in a closet in our home, 45 pounds of her along with her shoes. I cannot seem to talk my daughter into finding a suitable gravesite on our acerage in which to bury Cinnamon. There is a comfort for my daughter, I believe, in knowing that her first horse is still nearby, not just in memory but in a somewhat tangable form. It is for the love of this horse that many lessons were learned, both for Cinnamon and my daughter.