My own worst nightmare

I wasnt planning on writing a blog tonight. . i was just reading through them to get an idea. Of course, I read Ashley's blog about horses. I'm like Ashley, I competed and ended up riding other people's "problem children" when they didn't want to. I always got the "let Erin ride it. She's a gutsy and experienced rider. She'll deal with it." Whether its a mule, or a 18 hand monster of a warmblood, my sisters own "problem child", or the 20 yr old gelding who thinks he's 2. Yup, I've ridden them all. I did all this until i came to bozeman with no horse. Anyway. . . Her story brings back horrors and nightmares and memories of horses dying, getting injured, etc. Whenever she said "if you know horses" or something of that sort, I would relate.

I have a 16 hand grey Thoroughbred (TB) mare named Gracie. And though she is TB, she's built like a TANK. Big shoulder, short-ish neck for a TB, thickly muscled, and FAST. I always get asked if she's a Warmblood. I reply "No, she's not that dumb". (horsey joke for those of you who know warmbloods.) She is quite possibly the soul purpose of my life thus far. And though she is not my "problem" child as Ashley puts it, she is my "drama" queen. Snooty, bitchy, but perfectly adorable, and dumb as a door nail on a regular basis. That is. . . until you get her in the saddle. Or rather, since she hates flat work, until i get her in my jumping saddle and bridle. She is quite honestly the smartest, thinks-for-herself horse Ive met. If if screw up on a jump course, she can get out of the tightest or longest stride I have stupidly set her up for. And MANY times, my red or blue ribbon DEFINATELY was not my doing. But when we are working in sync, we can do anything. Jump the moon, jump the next 20 or 30 fences, whatever. We have become so close, that at shows, I always feed her grain by hand. 1) because she will spill it and get nothing of the vitamins i put in there, and 2) it helps me end my day, it relaxes me. As i feed her, I admire her. Her soft soft white and freckled coat, her two whirls on her forhead, her dark brown piercing eyes. I lean up agains the side of her temporary stall, and hold the bucket just rightly so, so that she can dive right in while I brace it against my hip and stomach. I listen to her chewing, which to me is repetative, and mind numbingly relaxing. I cant go to bed without hearing her pacing in her stall (which drives me nuts, but at least i dont have to clean up poop in the morning.) I love her. I would do anything to keep her with me.

As I was reading Ashley's blog, the end chilled me to the bone. I've seen those disasters happen, I know the utter despair and heart wrenching sadness of seeing a loved horse die in front of you. In the show ring, not 30 feet from me, I and about 1000 other people watched first hand, as a stupid rider got her horse, who should not have been showing at all due to a neck surgery, killed. He got his legs tangled in the jump poles between the standards, and didnt have the neck strenth to pull himself up. He landed on his neck, and snapped it, dying instantly and landing on the girl. His name was Romeo.

And yet, it wasn't the thought of seeing Romeo die, but it was looking at Grace standing right behind me, her head bowed and leaning against me in exhaustion from the last 3 days. We had just went and finished our first 3 day event ever together, and the only thougth that entered my mind was that that tragic event could of happened to us. And still could. I think of losing her, and then I jump to thoughts of it being MY FAULT. I balled. We all did. I couldn't bear to lose my companion. I love her as if she were my own. As if we were one. I have the deepest sympathy for Ashley, and I almost cried reading her blog. Not from memories, but by what could have been or could be.

And maybe there in lies the dark side of life. Not by what has been, but by looking back, and thinking of what could be.