UC Rogue
April 1996 - August 2021
My heart hurts. It feels like a piece of my soul is missing. I was young and spirited myself when you came into my life. It was September of 1998, my sophomore year at UConn. You were 2 years old and had been assigned to me for a driving class. My task was do the preparatory groundwork with you to be able to hitch you to a cart. I was warned to be careful going into your stall because you might kick or be aggressive. Your name had been given to you because of your character and reputation. Through the years a number of people told me I should change it, but it so encompassed who you were and why I loved you. I saw a lot of myself in you. I distinctly remember slowly sliding the stall door open a bit and peering around cautiously. In your youth your summer coat was the color of a copper penny and your flaxen mane was like fresh cornsilk. When you turned to look at me with that unusual crooked blaze and watch eye that made you seem both wary and wise, skeptical of whoever crossed your path, I was instantly in love. Since you were already proving to be a challenge to the school horse program, they gladly accepted my first offer to purchase you and you came home with me at the end of that semester. You have remained deeply entwined in my soul ever since. In the 23 years you were with me, you never kicked me, hurt me, or showed aggression, but you had a will and a spirit like no other horse that I have encountered. I think most horsemen and women that find themselves questioning their journey and deviating from the mainstream norm of training have one particular horse that led them down that path. For me, you were this horse and for that I am forever grateful.
My memories with you are limitless. You have been with me longer than Luther and over half my life. You were the first horse I ever started by myself and you created a deep passion in me for starting youngsters. You had the most wonderful canter and to let you open up to a gallop in the back hay fields was the most exhilarating feeling in the world. To walk you quietly in the woods was the best therapy ever. I spent countless hours with you in the fields and arena at many different farms, often feeling somewhat defeated and frustrated with myself as you pushed me to figure things out on a level that no other horse has ever done. There was no telling you what to do. Although you were a relatively easy start I soon hit road blocks in my training. There was a resistance in your body and mind and you insisted that I not continue as I had always done, but to listen and to learn more. There is so much that you taught me over the years it’s hard to know where to begin.
Thank you for making me question the norm and what was was taught to me, not in the anti-authoritarian ways of my youth, but in a way of seeking deeper knowledge and understanding, to see the whole picture. You taught me to let go of my ego, while still be gentle with myself. I learned that comparing my skills and my journey to others was fruitless because this was my path and my journey to navigate. Finding inspiration in others work is different than self-comparison. You showed me how to be less judgemental, of all beings including myself. You taught me that there is always more to learn and that I will forever be a student of the horse. Just when I thought I was figuring things out, you reminded to always keep a beginner’s mind. You taught me self love and self care because to bring out the best in you I had to become a better version of myself, in body, mind, emotion, and spirit. You taught me nuances of communication with an animal that I never dreamed possible. You showed me how to be more aware of my body, my energy and how power lies in softness not strength. You taught me that relationship is about dialogue and equality. Neither partner has to compromise their independence, but both must be open to understanding and communication. You taught me to stay present and while the past and future have importance, it is what is in front of me now that matters most. Above all you taught me that patience, love, and compassion ALWAYS prevail. You made me a better friend, a better wife, and a better human.
When you were diagnosed with Pemphigus a few years ago, I knew nothing of the disease. I had never heard of it or known anyone who had dealt with it. It’s a very rare auto-immune disorder of the skin and when I began to learn more about it my heart sank. I promised you then that I would not let you suffer and I have held true to that promise. We fought it hard and you never complained. You are the most stoic horse I have known and underneath your failing exterior of flesh, your heart and spirit were still so strong. Yet, somehow time has a way of winning these battles. The evening before we said goodbye I took you up on the hillside to graze in the clover. I shared with you all the memories we had together and how much gratitude I have to have been a part of your life. You spent your last night out with your friends. Nell you’ve known for much of your life as she is only a few years behind you in age. She will miss you terribly. Commando is a recent friend since spring. At a loss of who to put him out with because of his tendencies to inadvertently hurt other horses by playing too hard we decided that we would see if you could educate him. Despite your age, within moments you commanded his presence and respect and after that you two were close friends, sharing hay piles and grooming each other. He never challenged you as you imparted a bit of your wisdom on him. The morning you left me, the air was so still. There was a quietness except for the penetrating hum of the nighttime insects that still lingered in the heavy morning dew. The haze was thick and the sun already felt strong as a hint to the heat that was coming during the day. I hadn’t ridden you for a few weeks because you haven’t been well, but I invited you to carry me in from the paddock one last time and you quietly accepted. I’ve sat on a lot of horses in my lifetime and while I am always honored to be on the back of any horse, being on you feels different. It feels like home. Like my soul is full. Your back felt bony as your muscles have begun to waste from the disease but you still carried me with such power and grace. As I approached the barn and dismounted I collapsed in tears knowing that this was our final ride. We spent a couple hours in your stall as I sat in the hay and you nibbled around me. I found such peace sitting in the barn with my horses as a child and you brought me back to those youthful memories of more simple times. You enjoyed handpicked carrots from Eri’s garden and you let me know that you were ready to go. Although I know there is still a lifetime, yours and mine, of knowledge that you had to offer me, I promised you that I would do my very best to impart what wisdom I had gained from my time with you and continue my quest for learning with the other horses and humans that come my way. I have so much gratitude for all those that have helped me in my path with you along the way. My mentors, my vets, and to Bill who has taken impeccable care of your feet since you were a foal at UConn.
When I heard Scott’s truck pull in I took a deep breath. I wanted to be strong for you in those last moments. You have always been there for me and it was my time to be there for you. I have so much respect and love for my vets in times like these. I know how difficult it must be for them too to lose such long term patients that they too have grown to love and cherish. Choosing to end a life with compassion and dignity requires immeasurable bravery. I feared you would fight the euthanasia as I knew you still had an undeniable spirit beneath your tired body, but you did not. You fell in peace to the grass and lay there lifeless as I wept and thanked you again for being the best friend and teacher a girl, now woman, could have ever hoped for. Nell called for you. We brought her and Commando out to see you. I believe closure and mourning for our animal friends is as important as it is for us. Somehow, animals seem to deal with death and loss in a peace that I have yet to find in these times. After that, the barn was quiet and nobody continued to whinny. They knew you were gone and they understood why. Luther has made you the most beautiful burial site in the start of our favorite gallop spot, at the edge of the backfield hayfield, along the wood’s edge. Energy is neither created nor destroyed so although your body has left this earthly realm your presence and energy remain in another form and I can still feel you here. I know you are at peace and while this pain in my heart feels like a deep, open wound I know in time it too will heal, but the scar you have left on it will forever be a part of my soul. As I round that bend in the field for a good gallop on the many horses that you have touch directly or indirectly in your time in this world, I know you will be right there with me. I’ll see you on the flip side my dearest boy. Until then you are forever . . . my Soul. My spirit. My Master.
Click on the title of this blog post for a video of my memories with Rogue.