~:: Old horses and the Great Journey ::~

Okay.  Cue up “The Circle of Life,” or maybe “Sunrise, Sunset,” and hand me a box Puffs.

I first met Jedda one very cold January day.  Geneva had taken me to see the little sorrel mare, freshly back at the breeder after the university had closed down their equitation program.  It was the beginning of a nine year friendship.  Our Jedda was always the quiet one, perfectly trained, responsive, obedient, strong, brave and agile.  Murphy rode her first – and she gave him courage and confidence.  Then Cam came home from England and he rode her splendidly.

She was the first horse G even rode in the mountains.  And when Zion stopped dead in the middle of a trail, snorting and frightened by a tree that looked a little bit like a bear, we said, “Bring Jedda up.”  And up she came, totally untroubled, passed the bear without a cocked ear.  Zion followed her, keeping safely on her off side.  When nobody else would cross the water, Jedda was glad to go first.  Everyone followed after her, suddenly brave.

Geneva called me a couple of months ago.  Someone in her family was looking for a horse she could trust with her grandchildren.  And Jedda was now twenty five years old, still healthy and bright, but much mellowed.  I wasn’t entirely convinced.  But this started me thinking:

My own children were grown and flown.  Some were allergic to horses.  My own grandchildren wouldn’t be ready to ride for years.  And where there had been four of us riding regularly, grooming and keeping up the training, now there was only me.  Me and five horses, including a six year old colt who hasn’t been saddled once this year.

When I bought my horses, I swore I would never sell them – unless they had broken my trust.  I was in for life.  I treasure them.  And horses can live thirty years.  These were the horses of my life, the answers to my child dream.  I had no intention of selling her.  But when, soon after,  Jedda’s breeders, who are getting on in years, asked if maybe I would let them have her for grandchildren, I knew she would be safe and loved there.  They know horses – and they knew her.  They’d know how to keep the weight on her, which I was having a tough time doing. They’d know how to care for her as she got older.  So I felt sad but the truth is, I was also relieved.

In the end, they couldn’t take on another horse, either.  Which was fine.  Because my heart really wasn’t that into losing her.  Then last week, I got a call from Wendy, who had ridden Jedda at the university and loved her.  Who had wanted to buy her when the horses were sold, nearly a decade ago.  She and her best friend, and Suzannah, another of the university riders, who had loved Jedda and who ached to have a quiet, fine horse so she could teach her own children to ride—they’d heard that I was thinking about parting with her.  They were delighted.  They promised to love her and pamper her and keep her till the end of her life.  To treasure their old friend.  And Jedda, as Geneva told me when I first met her, had always needed to be somebody’s one beloved horse.

So today, we washed her and loved her, and when the girls came to get her, kissed her nose and sent her with them.  It’s not far she’s gone.  Just on the other side of the river.  Still, it’s a door closed. A friend gone.  And it feels very strange.

The second part of this:

I just dropped Murphy off at his incipient in-laws’ so they can all drive up to the airport to pick up Laura and the rest of the fam, finally home from their month in London.

After a lovely month of constant companionship, he is moving forward.  A milestone.  Approached, touched for a moment, and passed –

He will be home tonight.  And every night for the next three weeks.  But his days will be spent in wedding planning and loving and being very, very happy.  Then he will be married.  He will always be the baby of the family.  Everybody’s best buddy.  One of my best buddies.  Now Laura’s very best one.

And so very silly.

I guess this means that I’m all grown up now, huh?  All the kids grown and professional and some having children of their own.  My baby getting married.  Then why, I wonder, don’t I feel grown up?