I’ve Been Waiting For You All Along

I was sick of riding around in circles in the small indoor arena, staring at the weathered, wooden walls and the dirt like footing. As I tacked up Jinx his autumn coat stood up reddish. brown, soft and fluffy, reminding me of my favorite Gund stuffed bear I had growing up.

I threw the saddle up on his back as he peacefully continued to eat hay out of his hay net in the corner of his stall. If I timed it right, we’d have enough daylight to go for a quick trail ride.

I was always counting my lucky stars to have a horse to ride regularly as nice as the Irish Sport Horse “Sportsfield Jinx.” His owner was a sixteen year old who loved animals and was really good with them, but like most teenagers in the Metrowest Boston area these days, had limited time to ride as her private school required an after school sport and it was time to think about colleges, SATs, drivers education and community service.

I tightened the girth up another hole, smiling at the pepto-bismol pink saddle pad. His owner loved pink so much, even the saddle had pink corded trim. I’d even grown to like the color, although most of my clothes were black, grey and occasionally a shade of blue.

Riding horses was one huge benefit of my job working full-time for an event rider. It was easy at times to take the riding for granted, and when I found myself in that mode it usually helped to get out on the trails.

I stood by the front of Jinx’s stall with the bridle and he dutifully noticed and chose to leave his hay net and come to the doorway to let me put his bridle on.

Soon we were walking past the gurgling stream, over the rocks, past the two horses Jasper and Chloe who lived in their run in sheds, and down the long drive before heading into the woods. Jinx was always a bit emotional leaving the herd in the big barn, but it meant his little white star on his forehead bobbed up and down more quickly and his ears were alert and closer together than usual.

The pines carpeted the trail and softened our steps but the dry leaves and occasional rock or root accented the rhythm of our steps. I felt myself relax in the company of the trees, only truly able to breathe in the woods. I relaxed my west, my shoulders and felt Jinx’s back soften and swing in response. I let the reins out, and in turn, his neck stretched low and long, undulating with his increasing stride.

Coming home along the Sudbury river trail, the sun had faded but still spot lit the very tops of the trees. Dusky shadows of violet began streaming the woods and the animals slowly woke up and chattered in nighttime anticipation. Jinx had a jump in his step as we headed home, but was still polite, still listening to me, just more responsive with his motor.

We turned away from the river where the path edged a hill on one side and swamp on the other.

“Hoo, hoo!” cried the barn owl that lived nearby. It always made me smile to hear that owl. Twilight held a certain magic and mystery; I never saw the owl, but I felt bonded and relaxed in nature as we both felt the benefits. His ears flopped more and his eyes were softer and slightly closed. I felt renewed spiritually, in trust with the horse and in sync with the non-verbal language that warmed the very core of my heart.

Milo was a horse who my boss had competed extensively over the years with some great results. He had dumped her in many a ditch at the beginning and failed to understand how to jump the “ditch and wall” cross country jump. She tried to keep him successful at the prelim level but he was quite insecure about jumping into water from drops, and she realized at one point his heels would get sore. He was a large and heavy horse with fancy movement that I thoroughly enjoyed, but was rather concussive on his feet in his powerful jumping style. Another Irish horse, he looked big, brown and tough but deep down he was a bit fragile in that his body needed maintenance such as corticosteroid joint injections, shockwave therapy, bodywork, and special shoeing in order to attempt the higher levels of the sport.

I enjoyed riding Milo on and off for a few years as many other people did. My boss had him tuned up where he was well trained in dressage and show jumping, responsive and eager to please. At some point she decided he was not suited to the higher levels of the sport. He was tolerant of many different riders on a good day, but if he was feeling insecure or overexcited by something, he could pull maneuvers to intimidate or get riders off.

She debated what to do with this wonderful horse. He loved having a job and a special person of his own. She didn’t want to just lease him out to anyone. He definitely had scared me many times, but when he was good he was so much fun and I was determined to one day rise to the occasion and not let him scare me. I had never fallen off of him, and he was super kind, if a bit greedy for treats in that he would try to escape his stall regularly to find some alfalfa to wolf down at any opportunity.

We travelled to Aiken, SC in the winters with the horses to get a jump in their training before the event season started in earnest. The climate was much more forgiving than in New England, and the sandy footing was kinder on the joints and feet. I slept in a bedroom there adjacent to the eight horse client barn on the forty acre property.

One particular Sunday I had competed Jinx at Full Gallop Farm Novice level. I was not thrilled with my dressage score, but my focus had been to perfect the cross country phase by making the pace efficient and close to the optimum time with great jumping distances and little pulling, and smooth turns between jumps. It was one of the first times I set my cross country watch properly and was trying to use it correctly so that I could be aware of how close I was to the optimum time allowed. I had accomplished these goals so felt some sense of success. The horse was so amazing, I could just look at a jump and he would try to jump it well from wherever I steered him to.

That night around 1:00 am I heard pawing in a stall that would not cease. I shuffled into the cold barn in my slippers and found it was Jinx, as I had suspected. He didn’t seem sweaty or too distressed but it seemed he had colic, a stomachache in horses. It can be dangerous as they cannot vomit as humans can. The pain can cause them to thrash and roll and cause intestinal twists or perforations.

In this case, I took him for a walk around the barn. Luckily my boss’s husband is an equine veterinarian, and happened to be staying on the property. I texted him after trying to put Jinx back in his stall after a fairly long walk and found him still in discomfort. He came and gave him medicine and examined him rectally. He finally settled and I went back to sleep.

On night number two, it was around 2:30 when I heard the pawing. This time, the vet came and administered drugs and I went back to sleep. An hour later, I woke to the endless pawing again. The vet came again, giving more sedation and we all slept awhile. The next day, it was clear that the medicine was not helping Jinx stay comfortable so my boss decided to drive him to a clinic in Georgia where they could do surgery. Our vet suspected a displacement of the colon and IV fluids had not fixed the problem.

Jinx stayed at the clinic for a full week before they felt compelled to do surgery. I knew he had had colic surgery eight years prior, but I did not know that one surgery would make a horse prone to a displacement or impaction due to narrowing of the intestinal wall. I was devastated; the horse had suffered through so much. The clinic said he had a huge impaction and was so stoic about his pain. I was selfishly devastated that my competitive season in Aiken was over barely after just getting started. Who knew if Jinx would ever be up to speed to compete again?

He finally came home with a belly sling to help keep the stitches in place. We had to watch for infection and keep cleaning the incision site. He soon graduated to gentle hand walks and hand grazing.

Two weeks after he came home, we had gone to Pine Top, an event in Georgia to watch our working student compete. It was a gorgeous 60 degree sunny day and I rushed back ahead of the others to take Jinx out for some grass. I took his light blanket off so he could feel the sun on his coat, and scouted the few spots on the property where new grass had started to grow. We spent many minutes in peace, me watching him eat happily, before anyone came back to the farm.

That night, the pawing started at 12:30. I went into the barn to his stall and found him drenched in sweat in obvious distress. I opened the door and he lifted his head and rested his damp forehead on my chest. I could almost hear him saying

“I’m so sorry, but I just can’t be strong anymore, this is too much.”

The vet and my boss came and I hand walked in circles around the barn while they got supplies organized in the nearby round pen. There was no question we all knew what the best decision was. My boss said,

“This is no way for a horse to live.”

We humanely euthanized Jinx that night I stayed the whole time to see him return to peace.

We buried him on the farm, approximately just under a quarter mile from my bedroom. I placed a marker of three stones, and often walk out at dusk to hear the magic of twilight on the edge of the wild woods at the back of the property. I needed to know where he lay, and I would stand there and stare up at the stars and the moon and know the coyotes would be out soon and that it was time to head back to the barn.

Months later, I went to get Milo and tack him up. We had been spending a lot of time together in the saddle and I so badly wanted to be the rider who could successfully compete hin. At first, after losing Jinx, I was surprisingly terrified of Milo even though I had capably ridden him many times in the three years I had ridden Jinx. It was as if losing Jinx made me free I would never trust another horse the way I’d trusted and loved Jinx.

As I was tacking Milo up, he stopped and nudged me with his big brown muzzle, looking at me with big soft eyes. He touched my hair with his lips and blew a deep breath into my face. It was as if I could hear him saying,

“I’ve been waiting for you all along.”

That day, we went on our first trail ride together near dusk. The grass along the long driveway felt fine and soft underfoot, and the pines smelled warm in the sun. We entered the river trail and I started to relax. I let the reins out a little and slowly, so slowly, began to trust. On the way back, in the hill curve next to the swamp, a faint breeze picked up. I heard a little voice saying

“Hoo, hoo!”