I found myself in the most unlikely place, pulled over in a Best Buy parking lot. It was the

nearest location to the freeway exit that I could navigate, and there I sat. The waterfall of tears

completely obstructed both my vision and my ability to hear, other than in sound bites. My

trainer and dear friend, Ryan, had opened with a shaky voice and the dreaded question of

whether my vet had reached me yet. I sat numb…unaware of the sweat that was pooling in my

lower back or the bustle of shoppers who hurried by my hastily parked car. I now remember

shaking my head in earnest to hear Ryan’s words, but only managing to catch fragments…unable

to wrap my brain around his words, yet knowing the truth without surrendering to the reality.

“Mikey” had first been presented to us for surrender a little over a year ago. He was a good egg,

one of those honest horses who would do his job in spite of how sound he really was…or wasn’t.

His owner had been ignoring “Mikey’s” ringbone and that his intermittent lameness would only

progress. In spite of what was obvious discomfort, this wonderful little horse continued to do his

very best for his owner; he continued to jump, willingly striving to do what was asked of

him…his job. The horse was a gem and had been a babysitter for his owner, had Warmblood

sensibility, golden Quarter Horse manners on the trail, and if indeed there is a bombproof horse,

he fit that description to a Tee. The stars had aligned, as we had several strong adoption

applications in at the time, allowing us to say “yes” as placing him in a loving home that would

knowingly and appropriately care for him would be fairly easy to facilitate. In the end, “Mikey’s”

owner had decided to keep him for a while longer. She wanted to continue to lesson on him

while she could, and continue to jump him…until he could not.

Not surprising at all but shocking nonetheless, a year later I received a call from “Mikey’s”

owner…he was through. She said that she could not keep a horse that she could not ride and

wanted to “get rid of him” before the end of the month in order to not have to pay his board. The

year of pounding that his feet had endured had accelerated his ringbone, leaving him lame and

unrideable. Those adopters of last year now had a treasured horse, and all of our sanctuary spots

were full, as was our waiting list. I have learned that rescue is a complex business that, like an

onion, has multiple layers. The striations of rescue involve many problematic issues that are

made more complex due to the chinks in the character of humankind. I spent the better part of a

week finding a place for “Mikey”, not because I felt compelled to do so for his owner, who had

robbed him of his chance for a gentle life with a loving family, but because “Mikey” deserved

more, and my heart was breaking for the home and last chapter that he had almost had.

My vet called me at 9:00 p.m. last night. It had obviously been a long day for him too, and yet he

apparently did not want me to end my day not knowing. The news was not good and in his

professionalism he laid out an option, which involved the fusion of pastern bones, surgery,

screws…which of course implied a painful recovery. I gently stopped him, thanking him for his

call which meant a lot to me, and for his thoroughness which was the exhaust of his kindness

towards me more than his personal bias. Caspian does not owe me anything…not another jump,

not another horse show…not a thing. It is I who owe him…a dignified retirement and a gentle life

that he has earned and richly deserves.

In the stillness of the spring evening, I found my way back to his stall. Hearing me approach, he

nickered and shamelessly groped my pockets in the shakedown process of looking for a treat. I

closed my eyes tightly, taking in slow breaths of the light spring air. My day job has reinforced

some basics in neuroscience…The hippocampus is the part of the brain responsible for retrieving

memory, and yet the olfactory is where our deepest and often oldest memories are stored. Our

deepest memories with the most longevity are associated with smell. I breathed his sweet,

butterscotch-laced breath and the lingering spring jasmine and orange blossoms from the

orchard, consciously searing into my brain our last ride only a few weeks earlier. My wonderful

friend sailing back and forth over a gymnasium of medium sized fences in the training

arena…dropping his nose…lifting his knees, hunting the fences like the pro…and partner…that

he is. He hadn’t until most recently let on for an instant that his ringbone had progressed to a

place where he could no longer camouflage it with his good character.

I will never again swing up for a workout, or tie his number on my back at a show, never point

his nose to a fence…knowing without question that he would jump it, keeping me safe in the

process. I wanted to freeze every moment and every frame of that last ride in order to revisit it

multiple times in my sweetest dreams. I gently scratched his withers, kissed the smooth hollow

between his lip and nostril, and whispered a happy retirement into his attentive ear. I am still

working through the sudden loss of the symbiotic partnership with what must truly be my better

half. While I do not know exactly what retirement will look like for Prince Caspian, I do know

that there will be lots of sunny turnouts with Caspian monopolizing his favorite patch of warm

sand, long walks, and grazing in the orchard. I dare say that the very real promise of a donkey

companion is most likely in his future. I also know that he will continue to feel loved and

important to me…as he is. The one thing that I have crystal clarity on is that after a myriad of

unforgettable rides with my buddy taking care of me…that now I am privileged to continue

taking care of him. I also know that the most difficult decisions in life are actually the easiest to

make.

This Culture Message is dedicated to Caspian; my Prince, partner and friend. I thank you for

every moment and will love and cherish you forever. Happy retirement!