Post by Wolfie on Apr 4, 2012 20:51:52 GMT -5
Game of Life
'Frog'
“Deep in the meadow, under the willow
a bed of grass, a soft green pillow
lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
and when again they open, the sun will rise.
Hear it's safe, here it's warm
hear the daisies guard you from every harm
hear your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
hear is the place where i love you."
a bed of grass, a soft green pillow
lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
and when again they open, the sun will rise.
Hear it's safe, here it's warm
hear the daisies guard you from every harm
hear your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
hear is the place where i love you."
[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]It was 2005 and I was determined to finally buy a horse. I was nineteen, a year out of High School, and even though I was entering college, I wanted a horse like nothing else in the world. I had always loved horses. Hell, horses, they were the center of my art, of my writing. I rode at a local barn and had ridden there for years. I was the only veteran at said barn without a horse of my own, and so now here I was, with my horsey-friend Katherine by my side. I was going to buy a horse.
When I got there I saw many horses I liked, but one caught my eye. He was scruffy looking, could only have been a year old, and he was playing all by himself in the pond in his pasture. The man who owned the farm noticed me staring at the colt, smiled, and said. "That's Frog."
"Aptly named." I replied. The little fair colored colt, whose splotches of color were nearly yellow, finally caught us staring at him. He straightened, snorted, and took off to the end of the pasture, looped around, and then trotted to us. He blew air at me through flared nostrils and bolted away. He was a character, and I was in love. I had wanted a horse I could ride right away, but this little yearling had to be mine.
I asked about him, about his registered name and parents. This was a a Quarter Horse and Paint farm, and Frog had to be APHA. But what I was told, was, that Frog was a mustang. He was bred in captivity from BLM-caught parents. It was thought that his sire had Paint blood in him, due to characteristics that pointed strongly to the breed, but he was billed as a pure Mustang, as was Frog.
After a long time of discussing, I was trailering home a very pissy colt. Turns out, he had never trailered before, and back there he was, stomping and calling out. I was supposed to be going home with a ready-to-show barrel horse, but nope, I was taking home an unbroken mustang.
These six years with Frog were the best. I got to break in my own horse, I got to watch him grow up, watch his tiny body fill out as he become undeniably handsome. Even though he was young, he became a very sweet horse wise beyond his years. Even as I become busier and busier with life, even when it would be three months before I could get to the barn, he was always waiting for me and was more then happy to see me. I took him to clinics, to shows, we spent two days hicking in the Rocky Mountains in the summer of 2009.
I finally decided last year around September to lease Frog out. He is completely trained and last August went to a 4H show, showed in six classes, and was in the first three places in every single one. He was six and he was wasting away. His talent, undeniable. So I leased him to a fourteen year old girl who was ready to hit the local shows.
Last week, on Monday, Frog was put in the same paddock as another gelding, named Tuff, who is known for being a bully to other horses. Frog, who naturally is very shy towards other horses, was terrified of Tuff. Apparently during the night Tuff tormented poor Frog so badly that he decided to make an escape. The fence was completely torn down, wood splintering out and grossly mangled. It was covered in blood. Frog was found near the barn with a slice in his left foreleg so deep it severed tendons and ligaments. He was put down that day.
He was only seven. He had what could have been at least two more decades ahead of him. Heck, who knows, at the barn I go to .. or at least used to ... there is a 40 year old gelding. Maybe Frog could have been 40. I bet he would have, he loved life so much. I drove three hours to see him in his final moments, it was the first time I had got to see him in nearly four months. But, he remembered me, very well. He whinnied when he saw me pulling in, he always did this because he knew I meant long grooming sessions, food, and fun. His ears were perked and he nudged me for treats. He was in so much pain, but nothing ever broke his spirit.
RIP, Frog. I'll never forget you. You have been buried near the pond you loved, where the grass grows thick and lush. Where people and horses go in the summer to enjoy their lives together. The pond is an ecosystem of various animals and bugs. Even in death, there is life.
[This is one of the main reasons I have not been replying ... I only just now have been able to write about him without crying.]
