The news was first communicated through a phone call, and later a veterinary report. The phone call I think was a combination of intent to communicate, but perhaps more so, a subtle plea for help, input and support. The conversation had the impact of a sucker punch to the solar plexus, leaving me at the stage right before one starts to gasp for air. I found myself uncharacteristically quiet, trying to wrap my head around unexpected news while sifting through potential options that left too much room for the “what if’s” and the “if only’s”. Rather than the normalcy of the win-win, I could only see the consequences, which were highlighted in bright fluorescent yellow on a vet report prepared by strangers.

He had been really something in his day. Imported from Europe with a brand that identified that he was of quality, and had been of value. We heard later that he had a show record that carried a dual score card of both dressage and stadium jumping. He had been not only special, but treated as if he were, and at one time had become accustomed to the trappings of the important; a comfortable and well-bedded stall safe from the elements, high quality food and supplements, veterinary and dental maintenance, and a daily level of care that translated into providing for the valued. By the time we rescued him he had been alone for quite a long period of time, left without the care that he had once received, dejected, rejected and abandoned. He stood alone, no longer living the life of the significant, without shelter, touch, or any sign of caring. He was alone, trapped without companionship, friends, or any freedom of choice. There wasn’t even a stall for him. He stood for far too long, alone in an unused bull pen, with a relentless sun that bleached his once mahogany coat, highlighting the prominence of ribs and draining the spirit that once could soar higher than the walls that confined him. We loaded him carefully onto a trailer that barely accommodated his size, and had it not been for the 350 pounds absent from his frame, we most likely would not have been able to secure the stud wall, which snapped into place and secured him for the long ride home.

He was hard to miss during bed checks and wellness rounds. His huge frame created a scaffold that supported his grand head, which draped over the walls of the stalls that bordered his temporary place of rehabilitation. He began to demonstrate a trait of being quite opinionated, demanding a long-overdue backlog of treats, recognition and acknowledgment. He reminded us that he remembered well the life before the unwanted, and with every pound that he gained, he regained his own self worth. In an effort to fill in the blanks on his description for the website, I wrapped his legs in white polo wraps and plucked him on the end of a lunge line with the intent to assess his level of soundness. He chose that time to remind me of the horse that he was…imported…trained…important…and least of all, not finished yet. In a simultaneous and fluid movement that accompanied a swelling roar from

within, he arched his thickening neck, growing two full hands, and with the grace of a dancer and the strength of a fighter, he pranced, danced, strutted…and yes, pointed his toes, and with great assertion, extended his stride. The website definition simply stated: Perfectly sound, perfectly perfect, performance horse seeking a perfect match. Grande was not finished, not by a long shot. In the process of legging him up we were humbled. Grande knew more than we did. He not only knew it all, but in our early attempts to assess him, he patiently transmitted to us the repeated message of, “Yes, thank you…I know that.” From dressage moves to lead changes, from jumping a colorful gate to the fluidity of a turn on the haunches into a turn on the forehand, he knew his stuff and demonstrated a schoolmaster’s approach to every ride.

The middle of Grande’s story is Brianna’s to tell. Suffice it to say that he was carefully loaded onto a horse transport for his long journey to Maryland, a one-way trip home. My iPhone was regularly flooded with texted photos of Brianna’s forever horse under saddle, in a dressage lesson, in the pasture, being bathed, playing in the snow, and lest I be incomplete, in colorful blankets and ridiculously adorned halters and horse accessories meant to teasingly pull my chain, but in reality filled my heart with the devotion and attention that Brianna showered on her beloved horse. Brianna laughingly defended her choice of purchases, obviously delighting in everything Grande, making a big show of her choice of turnout rugs. In spite of the wicked and icy cold, in his very opinionated style, Grande made it very clear that he preferred the pasture and friends to the warmer luxury of the barn.

The exhausting diagnostics resulting in the vet report cited a number of serious issues that had accumulated over the years of previous neglect. While Grande’s heart was full, his coat glossy, and his life finally complete, he was no longer sound. A series of trips to the hospital for diagnostics left Brianna and her family (Grande’s too) white-knuckling both the results of the tests and the options. The lameness, as suspected, was the result of a significant suspensory injury. The only options, either surgery or stall rest, would both require the unimaginable for Grande…long months of confinement in a stall…separated from his friends, life, and the freedom that he had so joyfully reclaimed. The inaction would result in the likely and painful reality that Brianna would most likely not ride her horse again. Both the phone call and the forwarded vet report were more than just a desire for answers that I did not have and were no longer mine to give. Grande is Brianna’s horse, and her decision came by way of yet another texted picture. Grande in yet another one of his colorful blankets was lying in a sunny spot of a thawing field, enjoying the budding spring morning…and the rest of his life. The rest of Grande’s story is also Brianna’s to tell, and she has firmly declared that Grande’s life is of great significance to her, that her relationship with him does not come with conditions, and that forever means just that…forever; and that Grande is not finished yet, not even close. In his well-deserved gentle retirement, he will have the enrichment that he craved so desperately for so long, and the forever family that he deserved.

This culture message is lovingly dedicated to Brianna and her horse, Grande.