In 1984 when I first moved to Connecticut as a 19 year old, I fell hard for a farrier and a filly. Not long after, the farrier flew the coop, and that was a good thing. The filly stayed with me, though, and she has remained on the edges of my life ever since. I bought her with a saddle that no longer fit my needs and money I had saved which should have gone toward my education, although this mare GAVE me an education. We were both green… she was not yet broke and I was broke but not yet knowledgeable in training a young horse. We learned together and we did just fine without fancy trainers or an expensive lesson program. Many an hour was spent on the trails, with some ring work to fine tune the rough edges… although ringwork has never been a passion for either one of us.
As the years rolled on and my family grew, I rode deeper in to the horse world and wanted a more athletic horse that would help me expand my horizons. I wasn’t ready to let go of Kid, so I found someone through a mutual friend who would lease her on my little farm. H and I became great friends, and she soon came to love Kid as her own. Eventually, she bought Kid outright and has loved and cared for her ever since. This has not always been an easy feat… Kid was a MARE. And if you are a horse person, you know what I’m talking about. She was the little girl with the curl.
Sadly, at the age of 28, Kid’s medical issues have taken their toll, and H had to make the very difficult decision to let her go peacefully, rather than suffer a winter of discomfort. She was laid to rest yesterday on the farm she has called home for the past few years. H has written a tribute to Kid, and I’ve posted it below the photos….
H- thank you for giving Kid a wonderful second half.
Sometimes you have to let go of a dream…and it is not done easily, or lightly. Especially when that dream weighed upwards of 1,000 lbs. and carried you down sunlit trails, through rushing streams and over any number of immoveable objects along the way. With the slightest squeeze on a rein, the light tap of a heel on a flank, off you’d go for the day’s ride. You and your constant companion, your loyal friend…your horse.
In my case it was an Appaloosa mare named Kid – a proud, headstrong girl with a mind of her own. She would argue with me over which trail to take for the ride home (she was always right), and let me know if there was a snake or, heaven forbid, a cow within 50 yards. She would go over or through anything – even if she was afraid – as long as I told her it was OK. She was brave and curious on the trail, stopping in her tracks if she thought there was a monster in the bushes…then slowly creeping toward the scarey thing because she just HAD to know what it was. She would bang her nose on her feed bucket at dinner time, and tell me when she’d had enough brushing and primping (not a girlie girl, that one.) In many ways she was more like a cat than a horse, allowing me to get close and pet her when she was in the mood. But when she’d had enough…I was told.
And getting her to respect my authority and my space, well, that was an ongoing challenge. Every day we’d have the same discussion. Me: “No, you cannot step on me or push into me. Your space is THERE, my space is HERE. You move YOUR feet. I don’t move mine for you.” Her: “Oh, really? Are you sure I can’t push you…just a little?” Me: “Not an inch, not a chance, not today, not tomorrow.” Her: “Seriously? I just thought maybe…oh well, all right (as she lowered her defiant head down and let out a sigh) HER: “I guess you’re the boss (today, anyway.)” And so it went, day after day with this independent, strong- willed, proud creature who would do anything I asked that was physically possible….but I had to win her over every single time.
But she had her gentle side, too. She would carry a child with the utmost care, or slow down if she felt you were becoming unbalanced. That’s not to say that she didn’t have a buck in her…oh, yeah, she could give you the ride of your life. I remember a wonderful trainer asking her to canter and she just kept trying to get him off her back (he was kind and gentle – she was just testing and being lazy.) I heard him say “Give me whatcha got, Grandma”…and boy, did she. She was eighteen at the time.
And now she is 28, and feeling old and tired and just not her feisty self. I have watched her health slowly decline, piece by piece, with her dignity and pride being chipped away. I did my best to keep up with each change, making adjustments in her feed, exercise and care to keep her well, happy and comfortable. And she kept going strong for many years, working and playing with me, and enjoying life. Until too many uncomfortable things started to pile up and her expression slowly began to change. Finally, one day she looked at me with tired eyes and didn’t want to move from the spot she was standing in. And when she did walk, it was with deliberate, painful steps…and then I knew. No more tests, medications, or supplement concoctions to make her comfortable. We were past all that, and she’d had enough.
So I made that saddest of all calls to my equine vet, who knew Kid well. I told her all the reasons why I thought it was time to let her go, and she understood right away. I felt guilty, sick and grief-stricken, and when I put down the phone I wanted to call back and cancel. But this was not about me.
I was with Kid every day from the time I made that phone call…walking her if she was up to it, letting her stand in the sun when she needed a rest, and giving her pieces of her favorite treats. When the final day came I brushed her one last time, and hugged her neck, which she allowed me to do without an objection, just this once. I chose a photo of the two of us to bury with her, and on the back of it I wrote her a note:
“Good Bye my strong, proud, wild girl. I loved you so. Rest well and be free from pain. I’ll always be with you, and you will always be in my heart. You lived life on your own terms. Good Girl, Kid. Good Girl.”
