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 I was asked to share this
story of the goodbye to a powerful friendship between a woman and a horse.
Sometimes, a person loses their best friend...be it their mother, their
brother, their Jr. High locker partner...
or their Horse.
In
memory of "Slim and Trim"
With
thanks to Tad Coffin, who had faith in him…and the courage to take him for a
gallop.
This
story is dedicated to the memory of my beloved Thoroughbred, Slim and Trim.
Shown as Stillmeadow’s Cinnabar Bay, he was best known as “friend”.
Slim bested instructors and trainers alike; he broke more toes than I care
to remember. He had this cuddly way of leaning on me; he was the sweetest,
gentlest and silliest horse I’ve ever known. I will forever miss him and
remember with fondness the 16 years I was privileged to call him my own…
Year 1995
I
woke feeling as though a train had hit my head. My husband had a grip on my
arm, and I could hear him saying, “Hey, hey, wake up.” My heart pounding
wildly, I felt tears on my face, and began to remember the dream…It was
still so hazy…like the remains of a warm summer day.
A warm
summer day was the time when my beautiful boy and I would walk to the pond
to cool ourselves. At that time “Slim” and I were constant companions. The
tall dark bay thoroughbred had come into my life at a time when I truly
needed a friend. Slim was always fond of hanging his head over the lower
half of the barn’s back door, just to say hello while I did chores, or to
beg for a treat. Often this visit was accompanied by several trademark
antics. He would bob his head up and down, as if in response to my
questions, and walk away with head low, when I couldn’t come out and “play”.
Slim was
my friend for many years. Even after I had given up riding to raise my
family, Slim was there. Retired and living with a family friend, he enjoyed
his quiet days roaming the farm chasing sheep, and visiting with the
neighbors’ horses. It had been some time since we’d last visited.
I never
thought I’d see the day when he would be gone from my life for good.
Maybe my dream was wrought
from being an expectant mother…or maybe it was my guilt at leaving Slim
without giving him a proper goodbye …
But on
this night, somewhere deep in my sleep, I sat in the barn as Slim approached
the familiar door.
Though I hadn’t lived in the home of my parents, nor seen
the barn in over a year, I heard the sounds of the horses whickering,
stomping their feet…the smell of the barn...hay, grain, water.... the warmth
of their breath. All felt warm and inviting. I stood before the door at the
end of the aisle, and asked him, as usual …”what do you want now?” only this
time, he answered in very plain English, “I’ve come to
say goodbye” I was stunned, for I knew somehow in my heart, exactly
what he meant. “Why?” I asked, knowing that
only in dreams could I expect an answer, “It is time
for me to go, I just couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” “Ok,”
I said, as I felt the tears begin to roll down my cheeks. “Thank
you” I managed through the sobs. And then, with a final nod of his
majestic head, he was gone.
After my
husband calmed me down, I somehow managed to get back to sleep. But sleep
wasn’t easy, and I had to know for sure why my best friend had come to visit
me from 700 miles and what seemed a lifetime away.
The next
morning, I phoned my mother back home. She was shocked when out of the blue
I asked, “How’s Slim?” There was an endless
silence on the phone. Now it was she who began to cry. “I
didn’t want to tell you until after the baby was born, he’s gone.”
Even
now, recalling those words, I am overcome with sadness. After 28 years and a
lifetime of memories, my old friend had finally gone to rest. I never did
get to say goodbye, until now. Stillmeadow’s
Cinnabar Bay
1967-1995 |
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