We first met when I was 6 years old. I remember looking up
at you thinking you were the most beautiful strawberry roan I had ever seen. You
had perfect white stockings up to your knees, the biggest blaze right down the
center of your face, and a perfect horseshoe mark of chestnut hair on the side
of your tummy. You were every little girl’s dream and nightmare rolled into
one. Apparently you were way too much pony for me. Actually you were way too much pony for most everyone!
You
didn’t have the best reputation thanks to your very permanent vices: pulling
your mane was non-negotiable and so was lunging. But most of all you were well
known for grabbing the bit and running out open gates and stall doors, for your
colic history, and, of course for your hopping lead changes. I thought it was all great fun. I think it
scared the dickens out of everyone else. More than our fair share of rides
ended in bleeding blisters on my hands, tears in my eyes, and mud on my
clothes. But eventually you taught me to bury my knuckles in your neck and hang
on for the ride. You taught everyone else to close the gate! Yes, you taught me a lot more than how to
ride. You taught me how to listen.
I thought I was going to lose you the day you bowed your
tendon at the fairgrounds. I was back at the barn tending to Glenmore’s
Beaumonde (Beau), who had already pulled a suspensory earlier in the show. Local legend indicates it was an awful sight
to watch you coming off that jump, not able to take another step after landing.
Mere immediately jumped off your back as you stood on three legs and both of
you waited for me. Dad drove the trailer right up to the show ring and we loaded
you and rushed straight across the street to the vet school with Beau riding
right beside you. Lots of talk among the
adults about what to do. After countless x-rays, ultrasounds, 2nd
and 3rd opinions, and a healthy competition between the staff and the vet. students at guessing your age, there was still more conferring to be done. While we waited, one of the interns tallied the scores on guessing your age...highest age guessed by anyone -- 9 yrs (You were already 19 at the time). Now it was time for a diagnosis --the worst bow
the doctors had ever seen. Given your age, they said not only would
you never jump again but you would most likely never walk soundly again. The advice
they gave, “Put her down.” Beau was in
the stall next to you, having had his suspensory exam by then, and the report
was he should recover just fine but not you. I looked in your eyes and
“listened” to you. You and I disagreed with everybody else. I knew how tough
you were and I fought for you. Mere and I swore that no amount of rehab was too
much for us “kids” to do. We at least wanted a chance to try. We were young but
we were determined to care for you. After all you took great care of us.
So we moved you to a farm where we could spend the summer
months working at the rehab task. The
family that owned that farm had a pony a lot like you and their children were too
afraid to ride her. Waltzing Matilda (Millie) was her name and when she took
off it was much faster than a waltz! It worked out great for Mere because she now
had a pony to ride to finish her show year. Another kid had a 4 year old pony
named Mr. Razzle Dazzle (Rascal) who was very fond of bucking. You had taught
me how to handle those flying lead changes so Rascal and I got along fine with
his bucks while Beau’s suspensory healed. That summer was a turning point for
all of us.
It was time for our own farm. You were recovering but it was
slow. We thought so highly of you we considered breeding you while you were laid
up. You were beautiful, talented, and won everything you ever competed in, so clearly
any foals out of you would be complete knockouts! Boy did you have no interest
in that, and it didn’t matter that every stallion we introduced you to was as
talented and gorgeous as you! Add that to the list of things you were never
going to do. So we listened to you…eventually. We settled for a stone statue of
a foal and we named it Baby Pinky.
Not only did you recover from your bow but you went on to
jump for several more years and win a lot more ribbons for more lucky kids.
There was no stopping you from doing what you wanted to do. You loved teaching
lessons; not just teaching children how to ride but teaching them lessons about
life. Your determination was undeniable and often quite comical. You were never
satisfied with the idea of retirement although you clearly had earned it. You
always wanted a job and even settled for the job of babysitting my other horses
and the ponies that I bought and trained. You saw a lot of horses and ponies
come and go out of our barn but one fella came and I just couldn’t let him
leave. The plan had been to sell Manassas (Nas) when I left for college but you
were so good at keeping him company that Mom and Dad just put that plan on
hold…there you were taking care of me again! You and Nas were a lot alike… both
of you won everything I ever showed you in, no one else could ride you
consistently, and you both would do absolutely anything for me. You loved to
swim in the creek when you got hot or bored and he was happy to stand behind
you so you could splash him and cool him off without him expending his own
energy. That was until the day you both got silly and jumped out of the creek
bed. I was teaching a lesson and looked
over at you and saw that something was terribly wrong. You couldn’t move, at
all. A new vet on call came who figured you pulled a muscle and at your age (32
by then) it was hard to tell how badly. In her defense, she had just met you
and didn’t understand the insignificance of your physical age. We gave you all
the pain meds we could but you still couldn’t walk. She took some x-rays out in
the pasture to develop back at the clinic and said she would call when she
reviewed them. She left us with instructions to bring the hay and water to you
in the paddock and see if you were still standing in the morning…and most
importantly,to not put you in the stall.
What was unsaid in that instruction was…If she had to come back to put you
down it would be best done out in the pasture. I wasn’t satisfied with that but I had
a business to run and there were rounds to make. I brought your hay and water
out to you and told you I would be back so you and I could talk about what we
were going to do… just the two of us. I barely finished rounds before Mom
called and said “she’s down and can’t get back up.” I was panicky…I wasn’t ready to let you go. I
could see the pain in your eyes when I got there but the look you gave me was
even louder. I knew that look very well…you were headed back to your stall with
a side of "don’t you even think of putting me down over this!" Whether we helped
you or not you were headed back to the barn. You were always headed back to
your stall if you needed to handle things your own way. You just needed to get
back up on your feet. Not an easy task to say the least with a 700 lb. pony.
But you trusted me and knew I could help you get all four under you. I remember
whispering in your ear that for all the times you carried me I would return the
favor if I could. It took the whole family but you gave it a go and up you
went. It took every ounce of energy out of all of us, especially you. Aside
from the pain it was dark by now and you couldn’t see where you were going. I had Mom drive the golf cart and light your
path with the head lights. I tucked your forelock into your halter so it would
stay out of your eyes and with Dad on one side and me on the other to steady
you along the way we got there, one step at a time, all the way up that hill
to your stall. The vet called later to say the x-ray showed a fractured elbow,
and with sorrow in her voice she offered to come back that evening if we were
ready to say goodbye. Needless to say she was flabbergasted when we reported
that you were in your stall and had given us a message for her…..I’m not planning
to take “the big nap” quite yet. Once again, you recovered.
That was the first of many phone calls from you for my
help. It wasn’t long after that we sold
the farm and I had to move you and Nas to separate farms. We found a lovely
place for you real close to home with a woman who tried her best to learn how
to care for you. She eventually got accustomed to calling me when you needed
something. But you had a few lessons for her. I gave her your “list” the first
day I met her with explicit instructions to never underestimate you, especially
as it pertained to open gates. It wasn’t long before she let her guard down and
you slipped out the crack in the barn doors. She called with terror in her
voice, “Pinky is loose and I can’t catch her. I’m shaking the grain can and she
won’t come…she’s so old… she must be deaf!” My reply, “no, she can hear just
fine, she’s just having a good laugh at you while you chase her around in the
woods. I’m on my way.” After all you could still hear me unwrap a peppermint
for you from 200 yards away at that point. You and I had a little discussion after that about you not giving her a hard time. I told you to
remember that she loved you like family and that I would never find someone else
to board you and care for you like she did.
Over the next several years you started to have little
strokes and the arthritis made it hard for you to get up and down but you still
found a way to gallop in the field on your good days. You were finally starting
to show your age. Your eye sight started to go and you had some rough days but
you were no quitter. I eventually lost count of the times that I would get a
call that you were down and waiting on me for help. I always knew that one day
you wouldn’t be able to get back up. But I vowed to never give up on you so
long as you still wanted me to help you. We went through five years of thinking
we were making “the call” to Dr Jim or Dr Bob. I will never forget that cold
winter New Years Eve night we struggled with you down in the mud for what
seemed like hours. I finally decided we wouldn’t get you up without someone
getting hurt so I called Dr Jim. I could barely talk through the tears when he
picked up the phone and he calmly said “I’m already on my way.” So as we
prepared for what was to come, you gave me that darn look again, and shot up
like God had just sat you on your feet…just as Dr Jim pulled in the
driveway. We just couldn’t help but turn
the tears into laughter and celebrate the New Year with Dr Jim! You made it a few more years, including the time
Dad insisted on helping you back onto your feet instead of waiting for me. The next week a surgeon reattached his bicep tendon
and he still kept coming to see you!
Then one sunny day last May my phone rang and I knew this
time was different so I called Dr Jim on my way to the farm. When I turned in
the barn driveway I saw you out in the field trying to look for me. You weren’t
getting up this time. Mom had gotten to the farm ahead of me and she and Pat
were trying to keep you calm but you just wanted me to get there. I sat down in
the pasture with you, gave you a peppermint, put your head in my lap, rubbed
your ears, and you relaxed while we cried, a lot. Dad arrived and Dr Jim got
there and we all cried a lot more. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest
things I have ever had to do. Despite all the tears over the years I still
wasn’t prepared.
Oh the memories you gave me Pinkerton…You were so good at
breaking the mold. Other than the past year, you were a part of my life as far
back as I remember. Every accomplishment, every success and failure, every
break-up and graduation, you were there for every one of them. You are as
responsible for who I am and what I do today as Mom and Dad. I learned so much
from you over the years. You are one of the reasons I chose the career I have
today. You are why I take the job of “listening” to the animals that cross my
path so seriously.
You loved to suck on your tongue after eating every
peppermint so you could savor the flavor and you loved being rubbed behind your
ears. I remember going to the tack shop to buy you a new pink halter, pink
splint boots, and two hot pink buckets shortly after Mom and Dad bought you for
me. Guess what….I still have all of them! I remember you running out the gate
at the fairgrounds and dumping me on the drain pipe on your dash back to your
stall. I remember how mad Shep was at you for doing that to me; so mad that he
went back to Barn E himself to bring you back up to the show ring. I remember
sitting on the bleachers watching as you turned right around and did the same
thing to Shep. I remember you dumping Mere at the Sedgefield Show and the
braider hearing “loose pony” over the PA just as your thundering hooves rounded
the corner. Apparently you over shot your stall and came to a skidding halt
only to quietly back up into your stall as if nothing had happened. I don’t
know why everyone was always so amazed that you went back to your stall when
that was what you did (with or without a rider). It’s just not what most loose horses or ponies do.
I remember riding you bareback chasing the geese around the pond at Triton. And
I vividly remember the time I took you out to the power lines and fell off. Those
power lines are now I-540! It was a long walk back to the barn and I didn’t
hear your galloping hooves. I knew I was going to be in big trouble once you
made it back to the barn without me. Lucky
for me Alvin heard your shoes headed towards him and he grabbed you as you
tried to fly by. And as I turned the corner from the tree line there you were,
furious with Alvin for delaying your arrival back to your stall. Boy was I
lucky he caught you! He kept us both out of trouble that day! I have 23 years
of memories with you and I will always treasure every one of them.
Thirty nine years is a long
time for a pony to be on this earth and you were special to many during all those years.
They say cats have 9 lives and I’m not sure how many a pony gets. What I do know is that you
used up every one you were blessed with. Many people thought you were stubborn;
to me you were just smart. You loved everyone and everything. As far as I am concerned
you were a saint long before we said goodbye to you a year ago today, May 23,
2012.
Northlands Speechless
(Pinky)
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| First Championship - Short Stirrup Hunter Division |
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| Baby Pinky |
You may have heard: dogs can get the flu, too. It’s a relatively recent development. The virus that causes flu in dogs, canine influenza virus H3N8, was only first identified in January 2004. Dog flu cases have now been reported in 39 states.
