I am strong; I know this. How many people would not consider themselves to be survivors? Being a survivor, to me, isn’t about avoiding tears…it has been about loving. I admit that allowing the tears to flow is often challenging because let’s face it, no one likes feeling sad. So I usually try to analyze the sadness and that sometimes helps me cope and release it.
I have been fighting the urge to cry all day today, as I put on the happy face at work. “Deal with it later” is what I reminded myself. Well, now is later.
About five years back, while at the stable that my family’s horses were, I noticed a sad horse. A horse in pain. His eyes were glazed over and he seemed to walk without any spirit, hanging his head down. Something was wrong. I asked my mom about the horse and she told me that his name was Studmuffin. The woman who owned him had many horses and even though she referred to them as “family”, clearly they needed care that they were not getting.
Every week, I would visit Muffin, bringing him carrots and brushing him. It didn’t take long before Muffin’s eyes would come to life when he heard me call his name. I would spend hours with him, connecting with him. We would talk. Well, I would talk and he would listen, but he would always respond by brushing his muzzle against me gently or nodding his head drastically as if to agree with whatever I was saying. He started to come to life.
His owner knew that I was taking to him and she didn’t seem to care either way. He was old and not much good to her. Then my mom got a place with her own barn and moved her horses there. I still went to visit Studmuffin every week. Then, out of a blue, after several months, his owner told me that I could take him to my mother’s place for the winter…I was thrilled! And Muffin was soon in his glory. He could truly be a horse again…no more standing in a wet stall for days on end because he was out playing and grazing with his new friends daily. His legs hurt because he used to cut cattle, so I tended to them. His teeth were bad so I got them fixed. His nutrition improved and soon he was running and bucking, acting like a young thing.
I’d ride him, but it was more like us having fun together because he wasn’t “worked”. He’d take bites out of apples that were in my mouth and we’d even play tag in the arena. We both knew that at any moment, it could all end…and that moment did come. I got a call one day from his owner, who told me that she was picking Muffin up and taking him back that day. I didn’t even get to talk to him first…I prayed he’d understand.
As soon as I could, I went to his prison, sobbing. He looked confused as I entered his dark, wet stall. I explained to him that I couldn’t change it, and that I tried everything to talk her out of taking him back. I hugged him and cried.
I continued to see him every week, usually more than once, my dear friend who had virtually no one who cared if he was alive but me, and then she moved him to her house, without warning…he was gone. “What if he thinks I forgot him? What if he doesn’t understand?” I hung his halter from my shoulder and continued to weep.
I found out that he wasn’t stuck in a dark stall at his new home, he was outside a lot…that was a relief. I even went to the church that backed up to his pasture a few times to see him. He heard my voice and flung his head in the air as if wondering if my voice was his imagination. When he spotted me, he came over eager for a visit. I cried. I missed my buddy.
I had also lost four people in four months and was leaving town for a while…and ended up living hours away. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year but asked about him in case my mom had heard anything. Apparently someone had called Animal Control on his owner once because he wasn’t cared for properly, so I guess his owner started paying more attention…for a while anyway.
My mom called me yesterday and told me that my buddy had died. I had spent months grieving our separation when he was taken away and I fought with myself about my anger. And now, tears come again, so easily, so suddenly and so plentiful.
Why do I cry? I hadn’t seen him in so long…he might have even forgotten me, although I doubt it. I cry because I still love him, and I got some peace thinking that he was enjoying luscious grass in a pasture somewhere. Now I know that if he is, it is a pasture in Heaven.
Studmuffin saved me as much as I saved him. He helped me handle ordeals I had with miscarriages and then a failing marriage. He gave me my life back in many ways because with him, I could feel joy. With him, I could give love openly and all I got back was love.
Studmuffin was (and is) one of my angels. He came into my life just when I needed it and even though I would have preferred our encounters continue for much longer, maybe we parted when we truly didn’t need each other any longer.
We have many angels while we walk on our paths; some have four legs and shed, while others stand upright and speak English. I am so thankful to have been blessed with the joy and support that I received from my buddy for almost two years, that I only wish I could have done more for him. But I know that he knows because he really seemed to know my thoughts all the time. I have missed him every day, and so I cry. I am sad that the next time I want to go to say hi, I will only be able to imagine his excitement at my return.
Thank you friend,
J.
