Brighter Days

Friday, January 11, was another sad morning on the farm. As you recall, our "midget" cow Jill has had a hard life for a cow. She fell into a spring of freezing water in 15 degree weather just hours after being born and was orphaned seven months from that day. Not only did she lose her mama, Georgia, but also was shunned by the other cows from that day forward. For some reason, the other cows have been incessant bullies to her, disallowing her to eat hay with them and of course never any grain. I took it upon myself to care for Jill in special ways. She is always allowed to dine separately in the barn, with lots of grooming and tender-loving-care while nibbling on her grain. She was so timid of Danny and me, perhaps because of the times during her fragile first week of life when we would kidnap her from the pasture and take her to the warm, cozy barnstall on the four-wheeler. However, she has come around and is like a pet to me. She is my only "mooer", and it's such a cute, weak moo. I can call and she will respond with her little bellow. Danny and I are not certain if she realizes the hard knocks of life she's been dealt, but we do, and with our soft hearts, we have a special place for our little Jilly.


I recall during the summer making the statement that Jill would bring a calf before our prize cow Daisy. Daisy is Caroline's, and has nursed for about the two years of her life. She has overgrown her mama and is so gentle, but Danny thought she would calve first with her maturity. In December, I started to notice that Jill's rearend was beginning to bulge and swell, and so was her milk bag. It took about four weeks for her to deliver from this point, with her rump swelling more each day. We had many bitter cold nights during that period of time so Danny and I locked Jill in the barn so she could have a warm place in case she went into labor. With her small size, we fretted that she would have difficulty delivering a calf.


January 10 was a warm night for us, in the 40s. We decided, unaware of the torrential downpours of rain that lied ahead, to leave her out for she was pretty restless in the barn on nights that weren't so cold. At sometime during the early morn, Jill delivered a big, healthy bull calf...with no problems! She did not go to the top of the mountain as Caroline does, but decided to have the calf in the safety of the barnyard. Her plan backfired. Somehow, her pretty newborn got through the fence and across the road in a completely different pasture! Unfortunately, Jill could not get to her little one and the rainfall took its toll on the calf. Jill was so distressed when I came to the barn that morning, knowing that she couldn't figure out how to get across the road.


I could tell things were not right while walking to the barn and hearing Jill mooing more than usual, but the main clue was our dog Jebo. Passing by a window getting dressed to feed, I had noticed Jebo in the lower pasture sitting very alert by something of which I could not discern. Once Jebo saw me and the other dogs, who were lounging on the porch, coming to the barn, he started barking and doing circles to get my attention. He would not let any other dogs come into the pasture. The closer I got, the bigger the knot in my stomach got. I suddenly realized what the brown lump was Jebo was guarding so fiercely.


I ran down to the calf and saw that he was still alive! Hope! I fell to my knees to check him over for wounds, seeing a few scratches but nothing major. Then I asked aloud, "Why does this keep happening to us?" I scooped the calf, about 70 pounds, and ran him to the barn. With the rain, the mud was horrible. I changed into my rubber boots because I had to wrangle Jill into the barn to see if the two could reunite. She was NOT wanting to go into the barn, but with much persistence, in the mud almost up to my knees, I got her in. Jebo was still in guard-mode, not letting any other dog into the barn. He was such an angel, licking the calf and cleaning him, and thus helping me get Jill interested in her calf.

Although Jill tried to revive the calf and encourage him to stand, he simply did not have the energy. I decided I should try to nurse him with a bottle and some calf starter I had on hand. I could get him to suck only a little, wary of the thought that I would have to continue this provision of nourishment if the calf survived, but still hoping Jill's baby would live. This ordeal began promptly at 8:00am. I dried the calf with towels, rubbed him continuously with my hands, positioned myself around him on the hay with Jebo cuddling on the other side, and tried to get him to take the nipple of the bottle. By 12:30, the calf took his last breath. It was amazing to see how his eyes were drawn to his mama, how he let out a big "moo" to her minutes before his passing. I felt privileged to be a witness to this act of nature while simultaneously bitter because it was yet another loss for Arnold Acres. The sting of the loss hurt worse because of my soft-spot for Jill and the longing for her to feel loved and needed.

I think I took the loss harder than Jill, perhaps because she is a cow. But I felt that I had failed her, that it was my sense of duty to protect both her and her newborn. I looked at the positive outcomes of the situation - that Jill was able to have a normal sized calf without difficulty, and that our bull produced normal cows. Remember, the last calf born by RedRock was a grossly abnormal stillborn while Jill's calf was a beautiful, normal bull. Jill hung out in the spot that she gave birth for a day or two, and eventually moved on, acting as if nothing ever happened. On the other hand, Danny and I loathed the fact that the little calf we should've seen running around the barnyard was buried up on the hill.

As usual, we regrouped from our loss and about four weeks later, on Monday, February 20, a little calf was finally born alive and well on Arnold Acres! Caroline, whom I had noticed was filling with milk and swelling in the back, gave birth to a heifer. When Caroline and Jill did not come to the barn for their morning rations, I suspected something was up. I hiked to the place where Caroline had Daisy, for I had seen Jill coming down a trail the cows usually did not travel upon. Sure enough, a little heifer was nursing away on Caroline. Remembering Caroline's protective sense of her newborns, I respectfully returned to the barn to finish feeding the horses. To Danny's dismay, I have been compelled to call the calf "Hillary"; I found it appropriate to call the little cow by that name since she was born on President's Day and we historically have our first female (heifer) vying for President in the 2008 election! Meanwhile, Danny's brother, Peter, who had visited for the weekend and unfortunately had lost his kids' yellow lab puppy that he had brought with him, was at the house making calls regarding the missing dog. I did not want to show the extreme joy I felt for finally having a success on the farm in respect of his despair, so I quietly made calls to Danny and my parents in our bedroom, but boy was I excited! Sadly Peter's dog was not found on Monday, but after alerting the neighborhood, the pup was returned to us on Tuesday morning by one of our friends. Two exciting and happy stories for Arnold Acres, a sign of brighter days!

By the way, back on July 31, the morning after a full moon, I walked into the barn a bit early to feed, around 7am. To my astonishment, there was a pig lying in the barn! I thought someone had played a practical joke, but after assessing the situation, I realized the pig was badly wounded. I concluded it had to be a mountain lion, for the right side of the pig was skinned. On his other side, he had parallel scratch marks about the depth of a 1/4 inch, leading me to believe it was a cat-like creature inflicting the wounds. I wrapped the injured animal in a towel to keep flies off. Miracously, the pig was not bleeding and drank water that I provided. The horses would not even enter the barn that morning, either smelling the pig or being spooked from its predator. I called Danny to tell him of my discovery and Big Dave overheard Danny's exclamation about a pig in the barn. Big Dave was aware that our neighbors' son on Elk River had lost a pig the day before, the same day that Danny's cousins who were visiting the family farm had casually mentioned sighting a pig swimming down the river. Somehow, this pig traveled the opposite direction, was severely attacked by a wild animal, and ended up in our barn. After learning the owners of the pig, I contacted them and the mother of the boy came to help me retrieve the pig. Five and one-half hours from the discovery, we had cornered the pig and I secured him in a bucket for his journey back home. Good riddance! I did NOT want to doctor this smelly creature. The ironic turn to this story is that Peter's puppy chose this family to come to at 4am on Tuesday morning! The father stated he heard the puppy crying on the porch early in the morning and from talking to us, identified it as the puppy we had lost. I guess "one good deed does deserve another"!

The Geldings

We had our first ride on the new horses on March 5, 2007, allowing them a month to acclimate to their new home. Worth, of course, was with us on Crazy Alice; our friend Mike joined along on Sunday. It was a chilly day with a blustery wind and we decided to ride into Tennessee. After a frisky start in our pasture, the horses settled down as we crossed over Buck Mountain. The day was perfect to test their demeanor, which proved to be satisfactory. The trail goes along some pretty high ridges where the wind is always worse, but the horses handled themselves quite well.

After our first ride, Danny decided to call his horse “Cadillac” because he was such a smooth ride. (I can’t help but call him “Punkin” because of his over-sized head and orangish color.) It took me a while to settle on “Dooly” for mine, representing the county in Georgia from which I came.
A perk to my new job is that I am always home when Danny has a rare day off. He had been wanting to go to an equipment sale in Tennessee and decided to do so on March 8. Worth and I decided we would enjoy the blue sky and go for one of our solo rides, usually discussing some of our struggles in life. We went again on the same trail to Tennessee and had a splendid time. A few days and rides later, I decided to enjoy yet another amazing blue sky and take Dooly for a short ride. On March 13, I experienced my first horse wreck!

Mac, the horse trader, had his farmhands ride Dooly several times prior to when we picked the horses up to bring home. He reported that he liked to “kick out” when starting to lope. I asked Danny what that meant, and he said that he probably liked to buck a little and resist the run. I more clearly understood the term that day! We were on our way back from a pleasant ride when Dooly illustrated his lovely habit. I was trying to make him walk up the road to his barn mates, but he had another idea in mind. We were rounding the first uphill curve when he simultaneously kicked out his back legs, therefore tossing me into the ditch. I thought I fell off because the saddle was loose, so I tightened it and remounted. Four more steps uphill and he started to run again, and kick out again. I jerked the left rein hard, trying to cut him to the left. His response to that maneuver was not to stop but to twist his body as he kicked his back legs. The twisting motion in conjunction with the kicking resulted in a catapult toss of me over his head onto our freshly scraped gravel road. My fall was broken by my face and right forearm. When I came to my senses, I realized Dooly had fled uphill to the barn, leaving me a nice walk home. It was one of the first times I walked our road without having to stop for breath. I was furious, stomping most of the way, arriving to see him standing at the barn gate. I gave him a few slaps of the reins, but not many for I was uncertain if he realized why I was punishing him. I tied him to a tree with his saddle still on as I cleaned myself up and tended to my scratches.
The soreness and bruises set in within hours. After work, Worth came by to check on me after hearing the news of my first crash. With a giggle, he said I’d be okay. My ribs were very bruised for a couple weeks, diminishing a few of my chores with my limited mobility. Luckily, I happened to have purple eyeshadow to make my eyes match making my bruise less noticeable. The road rash on my face faded quickly but the pain in my right hand took time to subside.
I confessed to one person, my brother, about my accident, trying to keep it from my mother who tends to worry more than necessary about me. She discovered my secret on Easter Sunday. While eating a fine brotherhood breakfast at the sunrise service, a friend of the family who has horses came up to me exclaiming that my face sure did heal well after she’d heard it took the brunt of my horse wreck! My mom was not very pleased with her little girl. News apparently travels through cotton fields as quickly as it does down Elk River!

A couple weeks after the wreck, I felt up to riding again. We were going back on the same trail yet again, when Dooly kicked me all the way up our pasture. All the guys got a good laugh as I held on with all my might. After a few more kicks, I traded horses with Danny so he could teach Dooly some manners. I started riding him again a couple months later, so far so good. I still see his legs kick out when he’s sprinting across the pasture, but I am determined to break him of the habit one day.

Transitions

It has been close to a year since my last entry regarding the progress, or lack thereof, of our livestock. In February 2007, I left my job as Case Manager to stay at home and tend to the farm. While I was nervous about the financial adjustment we would have to make without my small yet consistent income, I was so excited for my new and more fitting role in life. I would have the opportunity to tend to our home, our marriage, and our farm. I felt a sense of pride to help ease some of the chores Danny was sharing with me and make his life easier.

Another milestone in February was the arrival of our two new horses! Sunday stayed in the barn for most of the months of December and January. She was lonely and had no desire to graze about, even in the sunshine. While it was sad to see her constant grief, it was good for her physically because she gained much needed weight. In late January, Danny and I went to a horse barn in Tennessee, recommended by our friend Jamie, to see what was for sale. The price of horses was down so we felt we should take advantage of it and purchase a new horse. We decided to get a gelding to have temperament nicer than the mares to which we were accustomed. I wanted a young horse with lots of physical stamina, for I love to run while riding.
After looking at each horse, I came across a 4-year old, registered quarter horse gelding. The farmhands would get the horses of interest out and ride each in the round pen, as well as allowing Danny and me to have a test ride. The stalls at this barn were tall and dark and the horse had been in his stall for a couple weeks, so we were quite impressed at the calmness when he was brought out and saddled. He never budged! Shadow would have been crazy coming out of a dark stall! He was dark red, never my favorite color, with two white stockings on his hind legs. He was muscular and built much like Shadow; his mane even fell to the left side, just as hers did. I rode him in the round pen and realized that this was the first time I had ridden a horse that Danny did not know the history of prior to my mounting. We decided he would be a good choice, for he fit all the criteria I had listed, although it didn’t matter to me whether the horse was registered or not.

Meanwhile, Danny was attracted to a big bay gelding, with a body build similar to Sunday’s. He had high withers and a long body, but a big head. His mane and forelocks had been clipped implying that he was a pretty calm horse. We never even got him out for the test ride! About ten years old, we decided perhaps having two younger horses would be a good idea so we could save Sunday for special rides. The horse trader, Mac, cut us a deal on buying two horses and we arranged to pick them up in the following week or two.

On February 4, 2007, we brought home the two new members of the family, much to Sunday’s joy! It snowed that day and with our two-wheel drive truck, we were forced to walk the horses up our road to their new home. Seeing my new horse against the white snow made me realize how beautiful of a red color he was, actually matching the color of our barn and fence. Sunday seemed to enjoy her own transition from living with mares to having a couple guys she could boss around. Soon after their arrival, she was grazing again and running through the pasture, full of life. It was exciting to see her spirit rejuvenated and to imagine all the rides that we had before us.

The timing of my conversion from case manager to farm girl was perfect, for Caroline was due to have her second calf in early spring. As usual, in addition to the morning and evening feedings, I had been hiking each day to the top corner of the property to check on Caroline during the day and ensure that she was not having any calving problems. On Wednesday morning, March 28, 2007, the cows were not at the barn, an absolute sign that something was going on. I quickly fed the horses and then headed up the trail to check on my mean mama. Of course, Caroline had chosen one of the highest points on the property. It was around 8:30am when I arrived at the top to see Caroline going into labor. She was sitting down and standing up repeatedly. In order to keep her attention off me, I hid, with Scout, in a thicket of briars to watch the birth. I whispered to Scout that we would finally have something exciting and happy to write about in my livestock story! A bonus to my story would be that in the stillness of the morn, we saw a big buck run through the trees and over the fence, an oddity since we rarely see wildlife. After 45 minutes of shivering in the briar patch and anticipating the arrival of the new little one, Caroline gave birth.
I immediately realized something was peculiar about the calf. Even from a distance, I could tell it was unusually small. Caroline licked and cleaned this calf, constantly nudging it and trying to make it stand up. I watched in reverence of Caroline’s basic instincts with her newborn. My stubborn mind would not allow my heart to succumb to the feeling that she would not be able to rouse this little one. Following the course of nature, Caroline expelled and cleaned her afterbirth. Once the placenta and birth site was cleaned, Caroline tried once more, but unsuccessfully, to revive her calf. After her last attempt, she turned her back on her dead calf and headed to the barn, never again looking back.

I joined the herd on their journey down to the barn, feeding them grain and hay as usual. When Caroline was occupied with her food, I got an empty feed sack from the barn and hiked back up to the stillborn calf. I didn’t want any dogs or other creatures, especially the cows, associating with this dead animal.

I was amazed at what I saw when I went to collect the calf. It was a creature like I had never seen, severely deformed and underdeveloped. I could determine that the calf would have been a heifer, but what a bovine disaster this was! She had legs only eight inches long, a nose that never developed, and a protruding lower jaw that enabled her underdeveloped snout to collapse into, making the calf look similar to a pit-bull puppy. I was so angry that this could happen. How could it happen, after Caroline had a first-born as beautiful as Daisy? We were finally supposed to have a happy story! I cried and screamed and stomped around, then conceded to placing the tiny calf into the feed sack for Danny to see when he arrived home.

Caroline coped just fine, showing confusion for only one day and quickly returning to her mean self! There was no transitioning for the cows, remaining a herd of four. Danny and I took the loss sadly, wondering if we could have done something to prevent the deformity, if our bull was not the stud we thought him to be, etc. I had the theory that Caroline’s fast dashes down the mountain to come eat played a significant part in the calf’s development; Danny had the theory that Daisy’s incessant, and RedRock’s at times, nursing contributed to the immaturity. Another incident to draw Danny and me closer, we leaned on each other and grew together from the experience, crediting occasional bad luck in the cow business and the cruel act of nature as the reasoning for the incident.

Adaptation

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since Georgia’s demise and Shadow’s tragic death. I hope these are the last stories I’m compelled to write for a while over the loss of my precious animals. But I’ve grown and learned from the experience with each animal, and each time the frailty of life has slapped me in my face.
I pass over Elk River every day to come home and I often think of how life is so much like a river. Some days the river is crystal clear and peacefully moving toward it’s destination; other days the river is raging, muddy, and out of control, yet still racing toward it’s final home. At times, the river has so much mist and fog around it that you can barely see it, yet you know it is still there and certain it is flowing to the same place as always. And again, at times, the river is so low from lack of rain that it seems to barely trickle down it’s path. The force of the water can make the course of the river change, moving rocks and trees to new locations. While we can control various aspects of our lives, it is still like a river. No one can control the velocity and ferociousness of the current when it is raging; we just have to wait for it to subside and return to normal. And no matter how long the fog or the rage lasts, we are certain that things will return to it’s homeostasis, the normal balance needed to survive. The norm may have been altered a bit because of the change in the course of direction, but the final destination is always the same. People and animals have come and gone throughout the span of the Earth, just as water continually flows over the same rocks that have been here for ages. Sometimes we just drift through life with things crystal clear and peaceful; sometimes we can’t see where we are going or handle how fast things seem to be moving, feeling battered by the rocks or the trees that are being moved from their comfortable spots. Other times we feel like we have suffered a drought and barely have enough energy to keep going, but we all know that the rain will come and make us normal again. We may have to deal with a new rock or tree in our space, but we adapt, just as the river keeps flowing.
So, my river has raged and trickled since September 7, and many times I have let the fog make me lose sight of it because of various reasons. I’ve had two big rocks in my basin quickly forced to their final destination, with holes remaining in the spaces they used to occupy. But I will adapt and continue flowing in my own existence, taking the memories of how quickly my comfortable and clear river raged and changed course at this time in my life, and anxious to see the future paths my river may take, certain it will always take me home.

The Mourning After

There was a sense of mourning by the other horses, especially Sunday, who hung her head low and now barely comes out of the barn. The barnyard is so quiet. There is no horse hanging her head out the window as I return home from work; there is no horse whinnying as my boots click up the road. Even Jebo, Worth’s dog that came from Scout’s one and only litter, seemed to mourn after my girl. When we brought her home to bury her, Jebo jumped up on the trailer and stayed by her side until we lowered her into her grave. Even after the last scoop of dirt, Jebo remained on her grave for over an hour. He had a unique sense and appreciation of the horse’s death that the other dogs did not demonstrate, and I thought that was pretty cool.

Shadow. If you look up the definition in a dictionary, you’ll find “inseparable companion”, along with “protection” as well as “foreshadowing”. Each term is fitting to the personality of this precious horse. She was her mother’s inseparable companion and protector. I’ve heard people say that perhaps she was killed to prevent a future accident with me or someone else, indicating the foreshadowing aspect of her name. Only the Lord knows why she was taken so harshly from me. I just thank Him for the opportunity to have a few hours alone with her a few days before her death, and the urge He gave to me to kiss her and love her one more time the last night I saw her. He knew eight years ago when Danny said that “she may be a good little horse for Rhonda one day” that she would inevitably break my heart. I don’t know what makes one a cowgirl…staying on during a ride like the last one she gave me, or just having your heart broken over a horse. I wonder if I’m worthy of that white cowgirl suit with white leather boots now.

It’s the bright, blue-skied days that make me miss her the most. The days where I long to be on her back exploring the beauty of the area in which I live. The days where I look out to the pasture to see her grazing, keeping an eye on me at the house. The void of her absence fills my heart and it is so hard to shake. We plan to get other horses, but she was my first love and can never be matched or replaced. I will cherish my time and memories with her, for that is all I have left. And although the pain of losing her is still immense, I know time will make it better. I would rather deal with this heartache than to never have had the chance to love and be loved by her. We were friends, dependent upon each other for many reasons. She was a gift to me I am so very thankful for, a precious part of my life that I will carry through my journey to the end.

The Moon

I was quite sore on Monday from my expedition with Shadow, telling people at work about my exciting ride. I always felt like a little girl when I talked about my horse, perhaps because the little girl who asked for a white cowgirl suit with white leather boots each Christmas is still inside. That evening, as I was feeding, I stood with Shadow for a while in the barn. I stroked her mane and kissed her nose as usual, and told her how pretty she was, especially her strong legs. As I was walking out, I turned back to look at all the animals and Shadow was looking at me. I walked back in and climbed over the gate to give her one more kiss and hug, and to tell her once again how much I loved her. Then I walked home with the joy and comfort in my heart that she and the other animals bring me.

When I came in the house, I added a few logs to the fire because it was one of the most frigid weeks we’d had since spring. I noticed the moon rising over the trees along the ridge behind the barn. I was pulled to the presence of the moon, feeling a sense of awe at the size and brightness of the object. When Danny came in from work, I asked him if he’d seen the moon. Of course he had, it was hard to notice that evening. We discussed how weird things happen on full moons, with both people and animals. The next morning, as I followed my routine in feeding the cats and stoking the fire, I commented to Bo and Luke how bright the moon was shining into the kitchen. Quickly after, the eerie feeling the moon had brought me the night before began to make sense to me.

The phone rang around 6:45am. We assumed it was one of Danny’s guys calling about work. How I wish it was, but instead it was the dispatcher’s office calling to tell us that one of our horses had been killed on Buck Mountain Road. No, that couldn’t be right, not our horses. Our horses are in the barn, as usual, waiting on their grain. I ran half-dressed, as I was getting ready for work, to the barn only to find that it was empty, and my stomach immediately tied itself into a knot. Danny could tell by the look on my face that they were not in their usual spots. We decided that I would go on to identify the horse while he finished feeding the other animals. On the way, our friend Dave called me to let me know that it was Shadow that was killed, although I knew in my heart and gut all along that it would be my dear horse. I started imagining the worst possible scenario so the reality wouldn’t shock me as bad. It didn’t help, because I physically felt my heart break when I saw my horse lying on the side of the road, lifeless and broken.

It was the first time I’d ever seen her lie down because she was always so alert and frisky. She was full of life and spirit, and a Chevrolet truck had taken it away in just a matter of seconds. All the dreams I had with this horse quickly vanished, as I ran to the ditch to do nothing other than just sit next to her and pet her nose and cry over the loss of my first horse. Friends quickly arrived to help us handle the situation, leading the other horses home and providing the necessary equipment to load her on a trailer and take my baby home. Apparently, all four horses had gone up to the corner ridge of the property, a place they only traveled to if we were on their backs. Whomever went through the gate last, probably on a four-wheeler, had left it open. The horses made their way down the mountain out on the road, where the accident occurred. Why they were there will remain a mystery, although I speculate something wild spooked the horses and made them run up the mountain and off our property. The horses had not been out in over two years, so I see no reason as to why they were that morning, unless something forced them to do so.

Regardless of the reason, Shadow was hit by a young man we hear was late for work and didn’t bother to allow his windshield to thaw. Danny and I had talked the next day after my ride about putting Shadow and the little colt we had off another mare in the lower pasture across the road. Shadow took up time with this little guy, “showing him the ropes”. He adored her, so we felt they’d be good in a separate pasture while he was weaned off his mother. We decided we would do it the upcoming weekend when we had more time. Just two days after deciding to put Shadow in the lower pasture, we did just that, except it was without her little buddy, the colt that had grown to adore her. We laid her to rest in the lower pasture on December 5 around noon. Ironically, it was the same hole we had dug for our cow, Georgia, which mysteriously died in September. We did not bury her because we opted to have an autopsy done to determine her cause of death. But, in my heart, both of my precious animals will always be remembered in that spot.

Our Last Ride

I have several pictures and lots of memories of various rides with Shadow. However, I took my first ride alone with her on a warm December day in 2006. It was a Saturday that Danny had things he needed to do that didn’t require my help. The sky was an intense blue and I was itching to ride. Danny and I felt it was time that I take Shadow out alone, since she and I seemed to do okay together. I liked the idea, because I hated having to rely on others joining me to ride. Shadow seemed content with the idea as well, and the two of us went off on our first, and last, ride together.

She was a bit stubborn at times, but no more than I was. We rode the trails around our and the Fowler property. I talked her ears off during the entire ride. We talked about trusting each other and the future we had ahead of us. I told her how I couldn’t believe that I finally had a horse and was riding her so frequently. She was everything I’d ever dreamt of having and I loved her dearly. I loved stroking her mane and kissing her nose in the evening when I fed. She was full of life and spirit, and she was a sparkle in my eye.

I am probably to blame for getting her excited, but we began running toward the end of our trip on that last ride. We were going to go, I thought, down by the river below the cabin. When Shadow recognized the power lines that passed through her pasture, she had different plans. Shadow had this habit of raring up and doing a half-circle spin to direct you the way she wanted to go. After three times of that, I’d had enough. Plus, she’s a lot stronger than I am, and I didn’t think I could overpower her. I’ve never claimed to be a tough cowgirl, I just love horses. I dismounted just before I punched her in her nose and walked her to the cabin, tying her up while we discussed a few things. I immensely apologized several times for the punch, and I believe she forgave me quickly. After speaking with Danny on my cell phone, Worth rode his little Filly, Alice, over to the cabin to ride with me home. Shadow showed off on the steep upward trail home…pushing and driving up the hill with no problem, while Alice stumbled behind. I was amazed at the strength and stamina of this horse, bragging on her the next day to Danny. Worth eventually made it to the top and decided to take one of the steeper trails home. Alice began trotting down the path, gradually increasing speed. Shadow took off after. Remember, she was not fond of going down steep hills, and showed her disgust by bucking down the hill. I’m not so sure how I held on; I thought most of the way down that I was going to get tossed, preparing myself for the fall. My feet came out of the stirrups near the beginning, never to return. Shadow, bucking and jumping down the trail, sped after Alice, who kept gaining speed. I kept yelling to Shadow to slow down, but she was frenzied and paid no attention to me. During my fretting and preparation to break my fall, I saw Worth fly through the air with his head landing next to a boulder. I commented that his amazing guardian angel had spared him yet again. When we arrived next to Worth, I came to my senses and realized that I had lost my left contact, my right
glove, and my cell phone clip had been broken, while in the front upper pocket of my jacket. What a ride it was…one I will never forget.

Bonding

I don’t recall when I felt the bond occur between Shadow and me. With my inexperience around horses, I remember being quite skeptical of this horse after seeing her behavior with Danny. However, after feeding and spending time daily with Shadow, we became fast friends. Her routine began to depend on mine; she learned my behaviors as cautiously as I learned hers. Our relationship was reciprocal in many ways. She depended on me for sustenance and I even believe affection. I loved to hug her neck and kiss her soft nose, and she didn’t seem to mind. She had trust that I would be there each day, as I had trust that she would not kill me when I rode her.

Shadow developed into a beauty. She was sleek, shiny, and built like a rock; no hill proved too tough for her to climb, although those who rode her knew that she preferred going up much better than down. Her chest bulged and her rump was perfectly round. I used to tell her in the barn that she was so beautiful she could be a model on a horse calendar!

Her personality developed as well. She was the horse that would pick her head up upon hearing my voice…the horse waiting with her head out of the barn as I returned home from work in the evening. Shadow always heard my boots clicking down the road, often accompanying the noise with an anticipatory whinny of being fed the much-loved sweet feed. If her mother was not with her, since she was older and took longer to come to the barn after being called for supper, Shadow exemplified the sense of protection from her name. She would refuse to eat until she went to get her mother and bring her to the barn. Shadow would come to my call to let me know she was aware, but would run off to escort her mother in for the meal.

At times, Danny and I would get really frustrated with Shadow and the way she would ride. She was unpredictable and moody, but for the most part, she didn’t mind me riding her. She seemed to prefer me over others, probably because I was so gentle and submissive with her, or maybe I imagined that she preferred me. I don’t think Shadow like to be handled roughly, and I tried to respect that. Everyone said I was too gentle with her. I studied this horse to determine her peculiarities, trying to heed to her unspoken requests, while respecting and trusting her. I learned little quirky things about her, like certain things she was skeptical of and noises or sights that would scare her. She hated to be near the road, and the sound of Velcro on my saddlebags would startle her each time, probably due to her exceptional sense of hearing. She was afraid of tire marks on the road, and she abhorred running or walking on a steep downhill grade. She preferred to follow other horses, and I learned with a nice scar on my forearm that she didn’t like blazing a trail. While not necessarily a good thing, Shadow was always concerned about other horses, having to devote her attention to them when riding or hanging out. She had a nurturing sense about her, to take care of those in her presence.

I began riding Shadow in the summer of 2005, just merely eighteen months before her death. While she made others nervous, I only felt scared on her once or twice. Her rides were thrilling, but she never did anything to hurt me. I think Shadow was a bit scared at times, too, because I recall several instances where I would feel her shake under the saddle. I always tried to comfort her and encourage her to trust me. I reminded her of how I loved her and would never let anything hurt her.

With our busy schedules, we don’t ride as often as I’d like. But just seeing this first horse of mine in the pasture was a comfort and a dream come true. I used to beg Daddy for a horse when I was little. He always told me that horses did not make money; they cost money, and tear up fences. Our horses usually cared nothing about what was on the other side of our fence, but I understood what he meant about costing money. Horses can be expensive just to look at, but she was worth every penny. Every morning, Shadow would be in the barnyard waiting on Danny’s morning feeding, and I often would open my window and say hello. Shadow always returned my hellos with a gracious whinny.