The Meantime …

A lot of distractions in my life at the moment.

At the end of May my partner of 12 years and I are finally tying the knot.

So, obviously, my thoughts are rather filled with last-minute wedding preparations.

I’m not concerned with perfection. I figure as long as we have a marriage license and the guests are well fed it’s all good.

It’s an outdoor wedding on a lovely equestrian property so, naturally, I’d like the weather to cooperate (the current long-term forecast calls for thundershowers in the days leading up to it … ), and for everyone to be happy and enjoy this long awaited day of celebration.

Since we’re counting down now, the focus is on the final nitty, gritty details. I feel rather calm about it all, though it’s turned into a somewhat larger affair than either of us had envisioned. Still, life unfolds as it should and that’s why I have no worries as we proceed to the big day.

In the meantime, Bear still requires my ongoing attention, which helps to keep me grounded during this busy time of preparation and transition.

Cue the image …

A couple of weeks ago, on a day of chilling rains and heavy cloud cover when I was feeling somewhat under the weather myself, I decided to spend a little “spa time” with Bear and tackle his winter-weary look.

I like to keep my boy nice and tidy, but in the cold winter months his mane tends to get neglected. It’s just too cold in the barn on most days to do anything more than put a brush through it.

So, I passed a pleasant hour, or thereabouts, carefully tending to Bear’s long black locks.

His mane and tail hair grows about an inch a month, perhaps a little more. It’s easy to cut that amount from the length of his tail on a monthly basis, but trimming his mane is a little more complicated. It needs to grow out a little so there’s something to work with. After a cold winter we’re easily talking four month’s growth.

I used to “pull” his mane. In simple terms this means taking a metal comb, wrapping a small section of hair from underneath the mane around it and then pulling the section out by the roots. This is done a section at a time. For many horses this is not a big deal, but Bear was never partial to it. He especially objected when I tried to work in the area at the top of his neck behind his ears. He would lean away and make it difficult for me to reach the hair at all, never mind work with it.

Frankly, I didn’t like making his life miserable this way, and the idea of pulling hair out by the roots never sat well with me anyway, so it wasn’t long before I decided to take a different route. I invested (to the tune of about $6 from the local tack shop) in a thinning comb.

This comb has a quasi-razor built in so that I can simply shear the mane hair to the length I want, and then thin it by running the comb carefully through the thicker areas of hair. As a final touch I tweak the lengths with the tip of the scissors just to ensure a natural looking evenness. Bear doesn’t mind this at all.

Why not just cut straight across the entire length of the mane with the scissors and be done with it? Well, that’s known as a hack job. No horse’s mane grows exactly straight.

To complete the look I use the scissors to tidy up his whiskers around his muzzle, but not too much. He needs those for detection ~ water, food, flies, solid objects. Whiskers help keep him safe from injury.

In the end, Bear’s spa time leaves him looking exceptionally handsome. Needless to say his cooperation is generously rewarded with a handful of his beloved carrots.

The next step is a bath to release the last of winter’s grime and hair from his newly sprung summer coat … but this won’t happen until after the wedding …

In the meantime, as Bear insists I live in the moment when I’m with him, there’s no better way to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground while our wedding plans unfold.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

A Dangerous Game

I love my horse.

Shakespeare is friend, teacher and therapist all bundled up in own big, brown, furry package, and a dream come true.

Occasionally, however, he’s an opinionated, demanding, obstinate [insert expletive here]. I don’t like when he leads me doe-eyed up the garden path and then unleashes his evil twin. It’s not nice.

And so we begin …

*

… Who knows what evil lurks …

When I arrived at the barn on Tuesday morning I was feeling good. Temps were hovering around zero; the sun was shining and I was looking forward to spending time with Bear and having a coaching — our first in more than 10 days.

At the paddock gate I called for Bear who was lingering at the far end of the two-acre pasture. Hearing my voice, he sauntered over all relaxed, and evidently happy, following a morning spent lolling in the sunshine and eating hay with his buddy, Sam.

As I groomed him I chanced to look through the barn window and across the driveway to the arena. Snow on the roof and the milder temps portended the risk of falling ice, the downside of a sunny day in February. However, with my half-hour lesson scheduled for 11:30 I figured it was early enough in the day for this not to matter. Early afternoon seems to be the tipping point for ice melt.

Besides, Bear was mellow yellow. He’d been ridden the two previous days, so was in good shape to handle a bit of extra stimulation. As a precaution, however, I turned him loose in the arena before getting on him. Just as I thought, he was fine — no drama. Ice toppled from the roof in a gentle cascade at one point and, while he flinched, he held his ground.

So, we were good.

I got on. We started our warm-up walk. Ice fell now and then. No big deal. Coach arrived and as things were going well I asked to extend the lesson to an hour.

“Sure!”

Great!

Bear and I went into our trot warm up. Coach worked his magic. He is the best kind of teacher for me. Technical, intuitive, patient and keenly interested in our progress. My skill set has been reinvented since I started working with him three years ago. Miraculous would be the word for it, especially since I’ve also been negotiating the pot holes of adrenal fatigue during this time. A couple of rounds of golf for Christmas hardly seems enough of a thank you for the difference this man has made in my life with Bear.

Still, I think he gets satisfaction from seeing the progress Bear and I are making. He likes Bear; sees he has talent and that he’s smart, and he wants me to ride him well and have fun with him safely.

So, yesterday Coach put us through our paces, the focus — connection.

Bear is savvy enough to know that connection means hard work — engaging the hind end; rounding through his back; being in the moment with me every step of the way. It’s challenging — for both of us — but we are at a point in our development where a consistent connection is integral to our progress and, on a day when ice is toppling off the roof at an ever-increasing rate, vital to our safety.

A good connection means that when Bear goes off the rails, for whatever reason, I can make the correction within a step or two instead of floundering through ten. He feels the weight of a secure connection to the bit through the reins and his body through my seat and legs and is confident I can get him through the spooky stuff. In turn I feel confident I can get him through it too.

At the trot we did this to brilliant effect.

Then it was time for canter work.

Canter, in general, has proven more of a challenge. My big-strided horse covers a lot of ground and synching our rhythm has been difficult, especially in recent years while I’ve been battling anxiety. During the past several weeks, however, things have started falling into place. With a lovely round of canter on Monday under my belt I was optimistic for our chances. Surely we could command a repeat performance, especially with Bear appearing so relaxed.

Perhaps you can imagine where this is going …

About the time we started the canter work, just after noon, the sky started to fall. One great crash of ice and my seemingly placid Bear lost his grip on reality.

Enter Mr. Hyde.

I was surprised. He’d been such a good boy and had suddenly turned into a brat!

“He’s not afraid of the ice — his timing is off,” said Coach noting the cool expression in Bear’s eyes, “He’s toying with you. We’re asking more of him now and he’s using the falling ice as an excuse to throw you off your game. … Who’s going to win?”

Enter Mrs. Hyde.

As conditions around us became more volatile, I confined our work to a 20 metre circle. Coach stood in the middle and called out a continuous stream of instructions to help me weather the storm of Shakespeare’s tempest and set him right.

Bear’s claws came out — first in the form of a mighty four-foot-off-the-ground twisting buck (the first of several free chiropractic adjustments ), followed by a scoot, a spook and then, the final straw — an abrupt stop and propulsion backwards.

Going backwards is difficult for a horse. Bear was making my life difficult by making his life difficult, when all I wanted was for him to go forward into a nice, sympathetic connection.

He was determined to test my determination.

Fine!

“You want to go backwards buddy … have at it!” I put my leg on and kept him going backwards (which is what he’d told me he wanted) until we almost backed into the kickboards. Then I tapped him sharply behind my leg with the whip to remind him who pays the bills (I always use the whip sparingly) and, while maintaining the connection he was so anxious to avoid, pressed him into the forward canter I wanted.

He was not happy about it, and tested me some more, but Bear’s bloodymindedness only made me more determined. There was no way he was getting away with this obnoxious behaviour.

The whole experience was exhausting both mentally and physically, but in the end Mr. Hyde receded into the shadow of Bear’s psyche and once again my boy was putty in my hands all achieved, I hasten to add, with a commitment to the integrity of the process and the help of a good coach.

I’m proud of this accomplishment even if marginally annoyed that he’d lulled me into a false sense of security in the first place. This experience has left me with the profound sense that if I can manage the importunate demands of a 1,200 lb horse flying off the handle, I should be able to handle pretty much anything.

As a horse mom it’s my responsibility to see that Bear engages appropriately with the world around him. Establishing boundaries and laying down the law in a horse-friendly way is part of that responsibility. Bear’s a honey but, like the testy child, he took advantage of my good nature, dragging me into a dangerous game in the process. It was a game in which I simply had to outsmart him. It was a game I had no choice but to win.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

Good Vibrations

My cellphone rang almost as soon as I’d posted my last blog entry. Okay, it vibrated.

(I’ve turned the ringer off as I don’t care to hear every ping and horn blow that emanates from incoming messages. … Of course, this means I’ve missed a few phone calls … )

They were good vibrations, to be sure. Bear was being an absolute star in his new surroundings. Christine’s note read:

“Bear was fantastic and settled sooooo well no need to lunge he was nice and melo.” (Don’t you love cellphone slang.) “[Coach] is really happy with him! Tomorrow should be really great and Sunday in our lesson even better.”

Feeling my heart swell with pride, I texted my well wishes and relaxed. Everything was going to be alright. My boy was fine … and I would be too.

Then yesterday I witnessed this for myself.

It was Bear’s chance to shine in the clinic.

Christine rode him beautifully, so confident and sympathetic in her manner. In response, Bear’s ears were pricked forward and attentive. He was forward and enjoying his leaps and bounds over the jumps. It was obvious he was thoroughly enjoying his experience. He’s such a scopey horse … powerful, athletic and with a reasonable enough mind that he can tackle happily pretty much anything asked of him under the right leadership. Christine demonstrates the appropriate leadership.

So, yesterday morning, while I toasted my tootsies in the viewing lounge and took pictures through the window, Christine put Bear through his paces.

He warmed up well on the flat and then over fences. The clinician focused on what Christine could do to get the best from Bear and Christine made it work. Bear was totally responsive and jumped like a charm. I felt proud all over again. Don’t they look fabulous? Pretty good for a dressage horse, don’t you think? He loved being a jumper for a day.

When all was said and done, Bear and Christine had a great experience. I’m so happy for them both.

And I’m happy for me and the way I, as Bear’s mom, handled him being out of my control for 48 hours.

First of all, his happy personality and good behaviour while in the care of another off property confirms, yet again, that I’ve done my job as his steward. It tells me he has matured well.

It also tells me that my personal evolution during the six-plus years Bear has been in my life has been a positive growth experience for me too. He reflects to me the grounded, happy person I have become.

Who could ask for more? …

Bear gets to hang out in the paddock and be a pasture ornament for the next couple of days. On Wednesday it’s back to our old routine. He’ll need to shift into dressage gear once again and be patient with his (old) mom as I return to the saddle after a five-week hiatus and get my mind and muscles back into riding mode.

What a prospect.

Still, I’m looking forward to finding our rhythm again and creating our own good vibrations. Our training ended on a good note before I left for Australia … so I’m hopeful.

But that’s a story for another day …

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

I Wish The Silly Phone Would Ring …

It’s been more than a month since my last post on this blog. This has everything to do with the fact we’ve been away to Australia (by way of Hawaii) for a family wedding and I’ve had, by choice, no access to a computer to do blog posts. When I go away it is AWAY!

While we were travelling my young friend, C, horse-sat for me.

Bear is familiar with C and trusts her so I always know when I’m away that he’s in good hands and will be just fine.

And he has been just fine. So much so, in fact, that C texted asking if she could take my boy to a hunter clinic at a beautiful farm about an hour from home, over-nighting him for two nights and riding him in the clinic on Sunday morning. She would spend the first couple of days orienting him to his new surroundings. As we already know, Bear does not like surprises.

After giving it some thought I decided “Why the heck not?” C’s been taking good care of him. The training has been going well and it’ll be good for him to get off property. The last time I took him to another barn for some coaching was more than a year ago.

How time flies.

So, for her Christmas present I’m paying for C to ride Bear in a clinic featuring one of Canada’s top hunter/jumper riders, Ryan Roy.

As you already know, if you’ve been following this blog at all, Bear’s primary discipline with me is classical dressage. For fun, occasionally, C will put him through his jumping paces for me. C is 22 years old and her passion for riding over fences is intact. I lost mine several years ago following a freak accident.

But never mind about that right now.

At present, C is getting Bear and her horse, Riley, settled into their temporary digs. My cellphone is poised by the computer as I type this and I await word on how Bear’s enjoying this new adventure. I don’t want to appear to be an over-bearing mother so am resisting the urge to call or text, but the waiting is pretty close to crazy making.

Still, I am confident that both he and C will have fun and enjoy this experience together. On Sunday morning I’ll watch them be put through their paces for an hour, a proud horse mom with camera in hand and heart on her sleeve.

This is the first time I’ve let Bear out of my sight off property.

Hmmmm … I’m guessing these feelings of anticipation and, dare I say, worry are pretty much akin to how a mom must feel when she sends her child off to school for the first time … … At least it’s as close an experience to this as I’ll ever have.

I wish the silly phone would ring …

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

The Unexpected Goodbye

I have attempted to write this blog post three times and scrapped two of them. Why?

My mind and heart have been consumed with thoughts and feelings surrounding the loss, on Monday, of my dear little cat, Princess.

Just how much do you need to know anyway?

But I have not been able to think creatively about anything else, so …

Princess’ passing was not completely unexpected. She had been dealing with kidney disease for the past year and since last fall had been living on borrowed time.

Still, in the 10 months since losing my other feline companion, Oskar, Princess and I had bonded and comforted each other through our individual health woes. She was very committed to my welfare, curling up on my lap every evening through the winter and early spring to ensure I was getting the rest I so desperately needed. Heaven forbid I should get up for some refreshment.

Through it all I forgot how sick she really was. She hid it well … was so animated; so alive; so present. Her appetite, up until last week, so healthy.

But then I noticed she was becoming fussier. Eventually she stopped eating altogether unless I fed her by hand … and then ate only very little. She was losing weight when she could ill afford to lose anymore.

The trip to the vet on Monday confirmed my 15-year-old kitty’s kidney values were off the scale. There was no hope for continued quality of life for her. I had to make the difficult decision to let her go. …

Time with Bear has helped to distract me from my emptiness. I cannot be anywhere else in mind or spirit when I spend time with him. As you already know … he’ll call me on it … Still, when I am at home I feel the absence of my dear little girl. The house feels empty.

I shall not dwell on it. I’ll honour her memory by getting on with my life.

There is a silver lining to this cloud …

Miss you, Princess …

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Nurturing Thoughts on Mother’s Day

I take my role as horse mom pretty seriously.

In my view, I have been given stewardship over one of God’s creatures. I do not own Bear. (If anything, he owns me …;-) )  I have taken on the responsibility of seeing to the welfare and well being of this beautiful horse and so I nurture him to the best of my ability. I want him to be happy, healthy and enjoy a satisfying life experience.

Due to circumstances beyond my control I do not have children of my own. I don’t dwell on it. It is what it is. So I turn my nurturing instincts instead to my four-legged, fuzzy children, all of whom teach me valuable lessons as I wear the mantle of nurturer.

Experience has shown me that how we nurture someone or something will either bless us, or come back to haunt us. It’s one of the reasons, I suspect, it’s so important to be mindful of our decisions and interactions with others.

It also pays, I’ve found, to be discerning with respect to the kinds of influences we invite into our lives. What we take in we inevitably dish out, whether we intend to, or not. Remember the saying “Garbage in; garbage out?”

So … I have this horse, and …

… as I nurture him past his spooks and moments of discomfort I, in turn, learn to negotiate the spooks and discomfort in my own life more effectively

… as I nurture him to a more athletic way of being under saddle I, in turn, am more athletic in the saddle

… as I nurture his mind, body and spirit with daily rituals of grooming, exercise and feeding I, in turn, am more mindful of my own self-care

… as I nurture his playful spirit I, in turn, am more playful

… as I nurture his happy nature my nature, in turn, assumes one of happiness.

It’s really very simple.

The obvious reward for being a diligent and loving, caring nurturer is the pure joy of seeing whatever we’ve nurtured, thrive. In my case, it’s Bear. The fact that I, too, can thrive from this experience is a happy, and most welcome, side effect.

Happy Mother’s (Nurturer’s) Day!

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

Please participate in the poll in my post Poll: You and Horses …

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

… and this is Bear …

I love to admire my handsome Bear. In person or by image, his incredible beauty in body and spirit always brightens my day. He is the perfect panacea when I’m feeling blue.

And, as far as I’m concerned, he is the most beautiful horse in the whole world. (Every horse mom thinks their equine baby is the most beautiful in the world … ) And why not? He is, after all, my de facto “child” — the recipient of the tender ministrations my own children might have received had I been able to have any.

As the proud Mama Bear (I just made that up! Ha! ) of this 10-year-old, 16.3 hand, dark bay Hanoverian boy of superior handsomeness, I naturally feel compelled, on occasion, to whip out the old (well, new) Nikon D7000 and photograph him ad nauseam. And, as any proud parent would I share, and gush, over the images with my friends and family, whether they want to see them or not.

In the spirit of the proud parent, today’s post is a quasi photo album of Bear’s Wednesday training session with my friend Christine in the saddle.

A quiet and gifted rider, Christine occasionally babysits and rides Bear for me when my health or travels won’t permit. Bear adores her, which pleases me, for as every parent knows … it’s important to have a reliable and trustworthy baby sitter.

So, let’s get started …

So, here he is working at the trot. … Oh, what a handsome boy!! … And look how beautifully decked out he is in pale pink polo bandages to match Christine’s shirt! … Like me, Christine feels that colour co-ordination is important. I doubt that Bear cares one way or the other, but if I’m happy, he’s happy. … Besides looking smart the bandages actually serve as protection for his delicate lower legs where the hardworking tendons and ligaments hug the cannon bone just below the skin’s surface. Such fragile beasties …

… and this is Bear taking a break between exercises. Look at the blue highlights reflected in his coat. Just gorgeous! …

… and this is Bear and Christine executing a canter circle. See how all his weight (and Christine’s) is balanced momentarily on his left front foot? … His relaxed facial expression, softly swishing tail and expressive ears tell me he’s in the happy zone. What a good boy …

… and this is a partial view of Bear’s beautiful hind quarters. … So glad to have caught his lucky horse shoe … I spend more on his footwear than I do on my own! But he has a superior blacksmith and it’s worth every penny to know he’s soundly shod. … And look at that muscle tone! Like a rock! He’s just so athletic … I actually find it annoying when people make disparaging remarks involving the horse’s hind quarters. It’s a very powerful part of the equine anatomy and worthy of R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Together with that shod hoof it can seriously maim or, with enough force, even kill! …

… and this is Bear at the end of the training session. He’s demonstrating his relaxed and submissive state by stretching through his back and continuing to reach for a connection with Christine even though she has released the tension on the reins. Happy boy, happy mom …

… and this is Bear’s foamy (like cappuccino froth) muzzle … more evidence that he was happy and relaxed in his work. Bear has a reputation at the barn for superior foaminess … That’s my boy! …

… and this is Bear giving me the wooly eyeball, wondering what the heck I’m doing. Love those blue overtones … so handsome! …

… and this is Bear fishing at Christine’s hand for a treat. He received plenty of love … and carrots. He’s such a good boy …

… and this is Bear enjoying a post-workout nosh. Sun, grass, dandelions … a happier horse you’ll never see!

*

There … my pride and joy … my beautiful boy.

Thanks for your time.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012 

Ham Horse Gallery … Dissecting The Shakespearean Roll

I’m feeling a little lost for words this week. Lots on my mind and nothing particularly orderly.

So, I thought instead, to treat you to a little Shakespeare “The Equine.” Fresh from Poet’s Paddock and ready to roll (as it were …)

Please enjoy this play-by-play of one of Shakepeare’s aka Bear’s favourite paddock pastimes  – the Shakespearean role  roll.

The commentary is all his …

Greetings!

Scene I: … The key to an inspired Shakespearean roll beginneth with the stage. Seek the darkest and muckiest of spots, soft from early spring showers that refresheth. Yonder hay, though dry, may looketh inviting but is best left untouched. One must not play with one’s food. …

Scene II: … With the utmost delicacy and decorum drop gracefully to thy knees and grunt …

Scene III: … Silence, stillness doth punctuate the moment. Rest briefly to recoup thy dignity …

Scene IV: … At last, to collapse in Mother Earth’s sweet muddy embrace and delight in the warmth of Father Sun. … A part to be savoured. …

Scene V … Sustained, perchance another moment’s meditation before the next soliloquy …

Scene VI: … Wh … hoo!! …

7) … Tis a fact well known among this poet’s circle that only steeds of superior intellect, such as I, can rolleth all the way over and …

Scene VIII: … back again. …

Scene IX: … Ah! Of a certainty that feeleth much better …

Scene X: … This roll created for myself is well played! …

Scene XI: … but when it’s over, alas, tis over. … And yet, tis worth remembering … the play’s the thing … See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

12) The End …

Nice play, Shakespeare!

Nurture what you love…

Dorothy
“Horse Mom”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

A Happy Anniversary …

Six years ago today, St. Patrick’s Day, Shakespeare, aka “Bear,” trotted into my life — the fulfilment of a life long dream to have a horse to call my own.

Here’s to my lucky charm … a beautiful horse named Shakepeare.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
“Horse Mom”

Trust … A Fragile and Beautiful Thing

Wow! I have more than 100 followers! How did that happen?? Thanks so much for tuning in.

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I have been blessed with many four-legged furry children in my life time, but the current brood are a special bunch. They’ve seen me through the best of times, and the worst of times, and generally continue to do their job keeping me grounded.

Bear, of course, takes up a significant portion of my life being my equine therapist. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, horses are wonderful for teaching us to be in the moment. When I am with him my worldly cares tend to melt away so I can simply “be” with him. All he wants is that I should be fully present when we’re together. On some level I am his therapist too — it’s my responsibility to earn his trust so that he can relax in my presence and release the prey animal within knowing I’ll be there for him.

This leads me to a personal little story about trust which features a couple of my other critters.

Horse people tend to collect dogs and cats as well. In my brood are two beautiful Rough Collies — Sass and Abbey (mother and daughter respectively) — and a black cat called Princess (so named because she came home the weekend of Princess Diana’s funeral.) My other old and amazing cat, Oskar (a white and ginger tom) succumbed to old age and cancer last summer after being ill for several months.

In his prime, Oskar was a big 16 lb boy with a huge, in-your-face character. He commanded the room with his presence and was the “alpha” among our four critters, reinforcing his status with the dogs with the occasional swat on the long snout.

When company came Oskar was inevitably the centre of attention. In the garden he helped me pull weeds and dig holes. He tended to Princess as if she were a princess, washing her ears and face every day and then cuddling and wrestling with her as the mood dictated. He would howl from the far reaches of the house when he couldn’t find me and then park himself on my lap once I’d sat down. He detested my futile attempts at learning the harmonica, batting at the instrument with an impatient paw until I put it down. He was afraid of nothing. He ruled the roost. And he loved Abbey.

Abbey is a tremendous source of joy. Her effervescent personality can be a bit over the top sometimes, but she has a wonderful spirit and is extremely mothering. She mothers her mother, she mothers her toys and she mothered Oskar.

When Abbey first came home almost four years ago as a 10-week-old pup I was a little concerned about how old Oskar would accept her. I needn’t have worried … he took to her immediately. They took to each other. It was incredible to watch them interact. On some crazy level them seemed to be soul mates. It was such a pleasure to witness their relationship develop.

So, when Oskar became ill last year it was not surprising when Abbey took on the role of nurse. She could not be dissuaded. With a litter of pups to her credit she had proven her worth as a mother and had, in some mysterious force of nature, opted to transfer her strong mothering tendencies to her dear friend. Sometimes her attentiveness was so obsessive I’d have to shoo her away just to give the old boy some space.

As it became evident that Oskar’s days among us were numbered, I let Abbey have a little freer rein, and he, in his weakened state, simply lapped it up.

One warm day last July we finally had to make the decision to let Oskar go. The tumour on his neck was growing daily; he was continuing to lose weight and his roaring purr that I loved so much and had once meant contentment had changed, it seemed, becoming more of a distraction from his pain.

So, on a Friday afternoon before taking that final trip to the vet’s, I carried my old boy out to the sunny porch and laid him gently on the cushioned wicker sofa where we could enjoy a final communion together under the warmth of the sun. His purr grew to a roar. He looked at me distantly with sad eyes as if he knew his time had come, and I just sat there with him, in that moment, enjoying his treasured company one last time.

Within moments Abbey had found us and began to tend to him as only she knew how. She licked and cleaned and nuzzled him in the tenderest of mothering ways that brought me close to tears. Her energy was a bit frantic sensing, I can imagine, that our Oskar was not long for this world. And yet he abandoned himself to her, completely trusting her ministrations. It was one of the most beautiful moments with my animals I’ve ever had the good fortune to witness.

Later at the veterinary hospital, Oskar died quietly and painlessly in my arms.

For her part, Abbey was disoriented for a few days, looking for her old buddy and wondering why she couldn’t find him. Since then she has made a habit of curling up in Oskar’s small cat bed. Every time I see her there I think of the beautiful, trusting relationship they shared.

Trust between cat and dog; trust between human and horse; trust between humans, for that matter — a fragile and beautiful thing to be cultivated, honoured and nurtured.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
“Horse Mom”