Hole in My Heart

This horse

Was my 13th Birthday present.

This horse

Went to Heaven on Saturday.

"Filly" as she was known, came into my life when she was 10 years old, unbroke and unweaned. She was a wild, wild thing.

However, I was chosen to ride her, i.e. break her, and I quickly fell in love as only a 12 year old horse-crazy heart can do.

My parents gave to her me as a surprise birthday present. My very first horse.

Oh, the stories I could tell about this horse. She tried to kill me, really she did. She was a bucker. And I mean a bucker. I remember the first time she bucked me off. It was an accident really. She hadn't been ridden in a while and just felt good. However, that was the beginning of the end. She realized then that she could get rid of that person on her back. The second time she bucked me off, I tore my groin muscle. But it felt like I broke my pelvis it hurt so bad when I hit the ground.

She also tossed me onto the fence once, and I broke a finger. She took me through trees, bucking of course. She would lit off the ground the minute my hinney was in the saddle. Or, she would wait until 30 minutes into a great lesson then leave the ground. At some point, I got pretty good at hitting the ground. While in the air, I would map out my landing spot, and make sure to roll into my shoulder. Eventually, I got pretty good at riding out the buck, and then she learned to rear. She would rear straight up, so that I had to cling to her neck, then as soon as her front feet hit the ground, she would take off bucking. Needless to say, I was usually a goner.

As much as she was determined to NOT be ridden, I was even more determined TO ride her. Trust me, I was a hard-headed little kid. I spent hours with this horse. I distinctly remember spending around 25 minutes just bridling her once. She was so ear-shy when we first started working her, we couldn't even take her halter off. To bridle her, one person had to tie her down to the hitching rail while I wrestled the headstall over her ears. Once, she decided that pulling back was not working, and charged forward, trampling me. But I never gave up. And I so clearly remember that one night when I bridled her by myself, without a fight. It may have taken 25 minutes, but I did it, by myself and the right way.

Oh, the things this horse taught me. Patience, quietness, consistency, kindness, along with stubbornness and bronc-riding. When I first started riding her, it would take me 20 minutes just to catch her in her stall. I remember I would go in there, while she was eating her dinner, and sit in her feeder with her hay in my lap, just so she could get used to me. I would have to sit on my hands to refrain from touching her once she got close. Eventually, she earned my trust, and no one else's.

I remember when we finally moved her to my house. I was in high school, and completely beside myself.

Things changed once she moved home. She softened, calmed down, actually began to enjoy the company of people. She would hang out in the backyard, eating the grass. I don't think my dad had to mow the lawn for several years.

I continued to hit milestones, doing things with her no one else could or would. Haircuts, bareback rides, gymkhanas.

I have so many memories of this horse. I'm talking sharp, crisp, clear memories. She may not have been the ideal first horse, but she was my first horse.

And actually, she was the perfect first horse for me.

And you know, looking back, I was the perfect person for her. I said to my mom the other day, "I survived her. No one else would have gone through with it, put up with her. I was the only one."

Punkin,

Punki-Girl,

Punki-Butt,

Mamacita,

Pain in the Ass,

It doesn't matter what you call her (or what I call her).

She will always be my first horse.

I took these last nine photos on Saturday, while we waited for the vet. I still can't believe I will never scratch her face or rub her belly again. I'll never look out the kitchen window at my parents' house and see her red butt. I'll never have to tell my dad to stop feeding her so much again. I'll never look in this eye again.

Punkin, I know you're up there, probably chatting it up with Fancy and Precious and Wendy and Snowy. I hope your feet don't hurt anymore, and there is no pesky little girl that wants to ride you every day. I hope you get to stand under a big pine tree and not have some high school girl want to give you a haircut. I hope you get to eat all the grass you want and not have some college girl worry about how fat your getting.

And I hope you know, there's a big ole hole in my heart where you belong.

Sometimes Change... Bites

As you've probably already noticed, I changed the image in my header. What you may not have noticed is I also had to change the wording a bit as well. That's right, we're down one here at the Homestead. I briefly mentioned it last week, but in light of the fact that it was a mere 4 days before the big wedding, I didn't have time for much else.

But my little Isabelle deserves a lot more. While she was only here for a short while, she touched us dearly.

On Tuesday, May 26, Cowboy H and I left for dinner with his family at 7:30. As we organized ourselves in the garage, I saw Isabelle jump up into the rafters. We piled ourselves into the cars, shut the garage door and headed off.

When we returned at 9:15, Cowboy H pulled up to the driveway, then suddenly parked the car and jumped out cursing. In the backseat, I was pretty confused. Slowly, as if time was holding me in place, I realized one of my cats was just laying in the driveway. I flew out of the car to Cowboy H who was leaning over little Isabelle. Unfortunately, she was already gone.

I've never lost an animal before, at least not before its time. My childhood dog Scampi, was 18 when we finally had to put her to sleep. My childhood horse Punkin, is still alive and kicking at 23. The only childhood cat I remember was probably 15 when her time finally came.

This right here, a pet of mine dying (or being seriously injured), is one of my biggest nightmares. You could probably call it a fear. While I don't wake up screaming in the middle of the night, sometimes, I'll just be driving along and suddenly think "What if Olivia got hit by a car? What if Oz got attacked by a dog?" For the next 10 minutes, those thoughts will just consume me. It grips me, the fear of it, and I cannot imagine how I would feel if I came home to something like that.

Well, I've learned. I've learned that I feel wholly responsible. I've learned that the pain creeps up on me. I've learned that shit happens and beautiful creatures get taken away. I've learned that I cannot prevent things. I've learned that I have the most wonderful husband in the world. I've learned that sometimes there are no answers.

Cowboy H took me out to the ranch where our horses live and, at 12:00 am, dug a hole. It overwhelms me how much that man loves me.

I cried and cried and cried. I had maintained so far, but burying her released it all. Cowboy H held me up and let me go.

The next morning, I realized some things: We now only have 3 cats. I might not have to buy so much cat food. Indy is an odd-cat out now, having lost his sister. My eyes were so puffy I could hardly open them. There is a spot on the bed right between my legs that will no longer be occupied each night. That was Isabelle's spot.

Tragedy

In a week of build-up, excitement, joy and anticipation, nothing should knock you on your ass and send your plans to a screeching halt. But last night, just this kinda thing happened.

Isabelle, my little lovely one, you will be missed.