Of Love and Letting Go

Before there was Wassachusetts there was Isaac.

I bought Isaac in the spring of 2001 as a three, just coming four, -year old.   I remember when the barn owner first brought him to the farm that winter as a prospective trail horse for her husband.  My first impression was: "Wow, that is one heck of an ugly horse!"

He was the equine version of Baby Hughie with a head far too tiny in proportion to his barrel-bellied body.  When he trotted across the field, you almost wanted to avert your eyes because he looked so awkward, and his front legs paddled so much that they took on the appearance of hoofed egg-beaters.

His canter wasn't much better; in fact, it looked even worse.  It was a series of gyrations that somehow managed to propel his mismatched body in a forward, and slightly sideways, direction.  But he seemed like a nice enough guy who would probably do beautifully as a husband horse.

From the start, Isaac proved himself to be a willing mount.  The day he was broke, the barn owner saddled him and laid across his back to help him adjust to the feeling of a rider's weight.  He stood patiently waiting for what might come next.  The woman, sensing his ease with the situation, gave it a whirl and sat upright in the saddle; then, basically moseyed calmly down the driveway.  Periodically, the barn owner would relate glowing reports of how nicely he was progressing under saddle both in the ring and over small jumps.  I even passed the woman with her husband aboard Isaac out on a trail ride one afternoon.

Meanwhile, I was coming to the end of my lease on a lovely little mare named Laroo and looking to purchase a horse of my own.  I was not, however, in the least bit interested in Isaac and never even considered him until that fated day when the barn owner asked if I wanted to try him, indicating that she would not pressure me to buy him or hold a grudge if I decided he wasn't the horse for me.

Isaac

From the first ride, I felt a connection with that horse.  He wasn't an easy horse to ride by any means, but there was something about him that made him special and worth the extra effort.  In the early years, he liked to crow-hop after popping himself over a fence, tossing me out of the saddle more times than I care to remember, and the hula-hooping motion of his canter caused me unspeakable back pain.  Not to mention, Isaac is, without a doubt, the spookiest horse I have ever encountered.  I remember riding him in a lesson one late afternoon and as the sun came up behind us, Isaac startled and then sidestepped his own shadow.  Even my then trainer could only shake his head and laugh.

But for all of his faults and shortcomings, that horse has an indescribable kindness about him.  He knows all of my secrets, all of my joys and all of my pains.  He was that understanding friend who on the worst of the worst days, I could seek out, bury my face in his neck and have a good cry.

He grew out of his ugly duckling phase and blossomed into a handsome horse who learned quickly and loved to jump.  We horse showed and won ribbons; we horse showed and didn't win ribbons.  But it never mattered because through thick and thin we had each other.

About a year and a half ago, Isaac started to struggle.  His joints seemed stiff and he had trouble navigating over jumps.  During our lessons, he started to crash through or stop at fences - something he'd never done before.

At about the time it was suggested that Isaac was not going to be the horse to help me reach my horse showing goals, a friend of mine expressed interest in him and, after careful consideration on my part, we reached an agreement and off he went to live with his new family.  But even though I visited and managed to ride him a few times, I was left heartbroken and feeling like I'd made a terrible mistake.

The sting of losing my friend dissipated over time and with my focus fixed on Wassachusetts, I finally felt at peace with the decision to re-home Isaac.  Then, last month, my friend emailed me to explain that, due to some life changes, she needed to let Isaac go.  I immediately offered to take him back and set to work finding him a home.

Through the course of talking to friends and friends of friends, I found a nearly ideal situation on a private estate where I could keep Isaac, put him back to work and eventually lease him to someone.  A good friend of mine offered to trailer him to his new - and I need to stress temporary - home.  I say temporary because there is no possible way I can support and maintain two horses.   The majority of my time and effort goes to raising my kids and being with my family with any "me" time going towards working with Wassachusetts.  End of story.  But here's where it gets sticky.

I spent a little time in the field with Isaac today.  When I came to the fence, he walked down to greet me. He licked my jacket, just like he'd done for the past decade, and nuzzled my face.  We talked for a bit and he lowered his eye to within a few inches of mine.  Then he turned and walked a few feet away before lowering his head to graze, but his gaze never left mine.  All of the stress I'd been feeling about taking on a second horse lifted, leaving me space to appreciate and savor this brief and somewhat bittersweet reunion with my old friend.  After all was said and done, I realized that this is no second horse.  This is my friend, my companion, my Isaac.