Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Crying Over Fruit

To start with I should probably say that I think about horses about as often as my newly-wed sister thinks of babies. If you have read her blog or even spent 5 min. with her you would know that is a lot.

I've had horses on the brain for a long time. I remeber when I was and itty-bitty kid begging dad to walk me up the road so that I could pet the horses. Just a little ways from our home in Illinios there was a big field behind a dipalidated barbed wire fence that was the home to a pair of horses. We would frequently bring them apples and carrots. With his fingers in his mouth my dad would make the loudest wistle in the whole universe and with out fail those two horses would come running to get their snack.

I didn't know much about horses, but I loved to watch them make their way toward us, i knew I loved the way their tickly wiskers and velvety noises ticked my open palm when they would take the goodies out of my out reached hand. I liked to pull the bits of grass and burrs out of thier tangled manes and scratch the brilliant white stars on their foreheads. I also loved the way they smelled.

During that age I was also a girl scout, when ever we'd get the flyers in the mail for the various camps I remeber asking mom on more than one occasion to let me go to hores camp. Unfortunatly it was quite expensive and that wish would never be relized.

But my horse crazy didn't end there. I probably had more plastic horses than I had barbie dolls. I recall many barbie play sessions with my younger sister where her barbie family lived in the gigantic barbie mansion while mine lived in the lop of my horse barn and they where very happy. This arrangment was not because Kayla's barbies would not share the house, my barbies just like living in the attic of the barn.

Perhaps on odd arrangmet but I've had dreams like that. Me in my future life, having a big spread of maniquired green grass pastures and one big barn. I would live in the loft in a giant studio style living space, me and a couple of crazy dogs. There would be a large front facing window where the light of the rising sun could just pour in, and also proffer me an equisite veiw of my patures and my horses at play. *leh sigh* Paradise.

The horse crazy is a sickness and I've got it pretty bad. When I got my fisrt opritunity to really handle horses extensivly and to actually learn to ride I went a little crazy and pretty much made up for my previous 19 years of horse poverty disscovering a different sort of poverty in the process.

I had a horse and I loved him, but I had no money, I had dropped out of collage, I had debts piling and a practically sold my soul to the guy who ran the barn where my horse was being boarded. For the sake of my lovely, amazing, wonderful horse, I contuniue to sacrifice at the expense of my own well being.

While having him gone feels like something of a relife of this burden that I have shouldered for so very long. I feel that both Fame and me will be better off in the long run, and that selling him was the right choice. BUT I STILL HAVE THE SICKNESS!

I can't drive by a pasture of horses with out turning to look or identifiing the breeds of horse. I have a shirt that I wore down to the barn that I haven't washed yet just because I miss that smell. I still dream about the kind of horses I will own in the future, and I cry over friut.

On sunday evening I made an apple crisp for my family. This required much peeling and slicing, and after I had cut up the apples I took one look at that bag of apple peelings and cores and was sad. Fame would have loved to have those. Ordinarlly I would have collected those up and given them to my apple loving horse. After devouring them he would have made a point to check each of my pokets to be sure I wasn't keeping anything, and make weird faces at me until I produced more goodies. I sure am going to miss that goober.

Friday, March 26, 2010

The Hardest Part is Letting Go

Sometimes the hardest part is letting go. Most animal owners know that a time will come when you will have to say goodbye. It is an undeniable truth and the price you pay to allow a creature with a life expectancy much shorter than your own into your heart. Farewell will come, but that knowledge does not make is any easier.

No, Fame is not dead but in a few hours someone is bring a trailer and he is going to what hopefully is going to be a new permanent home. I will watch that trailer pull away with a big piece of my broken heart.

I have known for a while that I would have to sell him, and was in denial about ever having to sell him for longer still. I have had animals die while in my ownership and while heartbreaking it is a natural conclusion. In addition you can trust God to look after them until you get up there.

To sell is a little different. He may not be dead, but the hardest part is not knowing. Every time he got hurt or sick I was there and stuck with him doggedly until he okay. I spent a night, slept in the barn, when he had a particularly scary bout of colic. I've spent money to make sure he has been fed, shod, and vetted even when I have had no money to feed myself. I have given up much for the opportunity to have the title of "Horse Mom".

I think back, and I think about all the rash, rebellious, choices I made that got me into horses in the first place, the choices that took me down this precarious path. I may have been stupid about a lot of it. But I cannot regret the lessons learned and being able to share my heart with one of these amazing and wonderful animals. He is my first horse but defiantly not my last. I will have horses again even if it takes years!

I know that the situation he'll be going to was sent by God. Fame is gonna be a therapy horse, working with disabled kids or kids from traumatic backgrounds. Mostly they'll do work with him on the ground or in hand. Lots of brushing and lots of goodies, all things he loves. Plus the girl that runs their program used to own him. I know that he'll be loved and looked after. I could not ask for a better outcome. While sad I know the timing couldn't be more perfect.