Wildflowers Press

How do you say goodbye?  How do you reconcile a life cut short?  And for something so unexplainable as a swollen hock.  I mean, that’s all it was. The swelling popped up months ago – maybe nearly 8 months ago.  We thought he’d been playing rough in the pasture with his buddy Max.  We took him to be evaluated at LSU – x-rays, scans, biopsies,etc.  We pulled fluid from it – came out clear or at least not infected.  And over the past few months, some days it seemed better – smaller.  Other days – it flared.  Today it flared hot and angry, keeping him from walking.  

And today we said goodbye.  Thankfully TJ doped him up so he wasn’t in pain.  In fact he looked so good, I questioned everything.  Then I’d look at his cantaloup hock and swollen back legs.  No question.  But we were able to love on him, groom him, feed him carrots and horse treats.  And then we said good bye.  

Ollie was a Danish Warmblood – 17 plus hands, maybe 15 years old.  He had a sweet Arabian shaped head – almost too small for his large body. He had kind eyes and loved treats and loved a good grooming.  He had a smooth, rolling canter and was generous with inexperienced riders or riders with their minds elsewhere.  

We bought Ollie a few years ago when John wanted to see if he could be more competitive in the horse show ring.  His usual mount – Imax – was a sassy teenager with attitude and suffered a cannon bone injury that wouldn’t allow him to advance to higher level jumps.  John and Imax have always had a love-hate relationship.  More love than hate, but some days…They pick fights with each other and although Max has taught John a lot – he hasn’t been an easy ride.  Ollie came recommended as the horse to bring John to the next level without all the drama of Imax.  

As with anything in life, the road took an unexpected turn.  We discovered months after purchasing Ollie that he had an auto-immune disease where his muscles couldn’t absorb nutrients from grass or his feed.  He needed to be walked daily – and not just turned-out.  Ollie was lazy and grazed happily munching grass – but it wasn’t enough movement to help with his nutrient absorption.   And then he and Max had a party in the field one night and they both turned up lame the next morning.  

We love our horses.  We have spent hours and a fortune keeping them healthy and taking them to horse shows.  These two aren’t our first ones.  Dandy was our first – a spunky Quarter horse we owned for close to 20 years and Sugar Pie – a downhill thoroughbred, for at least 10.  Those two taught everyone in our family how to sit a horse, how to trot – posting up and down and how to canter.  Our kids learned responsibility in caring for these animals.  They mucked stalls, bathed, groomed, tacked up and rode.  Horses have taught them important life lessons.  I’m grateful to these gentle giants for their patience, showing us how to be better humans.

Now we’re down to one – Imax – our grey warmblood who grew up in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.  I’m sad for John as he thinks this will be the last horse we’ll ever own – and it’s a horse he can’t ride competitively.  Imax may be best suited to trail rides – and that’s fine.  He loves retirement.  It’s just a hard thing to accept after all the years of lessons, horse tack and grooming gear.  It’s become a way of life.  Even the most non-horsey of our family – our 18 year-old son Sam, spent his senior internship in Lexington working with race horses.  And he was good at it – thanks to a horsy childhood.  Yes, our kids were literally raised in a barn.     

I spent this morning with my face nuzzled in Ollie’s neck – breathing him in – a mixture of sweat, musky horse, manure and salt.  He let me groom him one last time – curry combing away dried sweat, flaked with dirt.  I rubbed down his legs gently and brushed his mane.  I told him he couldn’t go out of this world not looking his best.  He gorged on carrots and treats and let me hug him tightly, holding him close.  I hadn’t ridden Ollie in nearly a year because of his hock injury.  But I’ll never forget his gentle rolling canter and his expectant face, ears up, snorting when I’d bring him carrots.  He was a true gentleman, in the wash rack or with the farrier.  

Thank you Ollie…You were a great teacher and friend.  You’ll be missed.  I hope you’re up there with Sugar Pie and Dandy galloping freely or grazing on sweet rye grass. We love you.