Hi, Deb. I meant to post a link to this, this morning, but got busy. Then when I searched for it, I couldn't find it for the life of me. I know what you mean about when a child loses a pet, even if they are considered "adults." Here's an excerpt from my book I think you may like:

All Horses Go to Heaven

      My youngest daughter, Rue, called me from her grandma's in New Hampshire. She and her dad, Rog, had driven up for a quick visit, while we held the fort down in Connecticut.

"Mom, you have to tell Dad I can have her! They want to give me this horse and she's 3/4 Arab and 1/4 Connemara and sweet and just tell him to say `yes'!" she said working me for all it was worth. We'd all been missing our old horse we'd had back in Wyoming.

It seemed there was a wonderful 4H horse, who'd been out to pasture for eight years and was available for free to the right kid. Stabled at Roger's old riding master's place, she was fat and sassy, but small enough to be tempered by a kid who knew who was supposed to be boss.
We were renting...didn't tell the landlord...had four acres and lots of grass. Long story short...we had to move because of the horse and had to find a stable for her.

Starting in 1987, Rue worked everyday at a stables, working up from mucking out stalls, starting at ten years old, to in charge of the barn and horses on weekends, by the time she was thirteen. She started out trading for lessons, then when the horse, Tamarans Martini, came along in 1989, she bartered her way into getting paid. She paid for all of the upkeep of her beautiful little Arab. Martini rewarded her with so many hours of riding, currying, snuffling in pockets and just general companionship with unconditional love. This horse was a gem, the perfect horse for a kid, just feisty enough to keep her on her toes and keep her learning.


We drove out to see her everyday. What a wonderful way for a parent and child to bond. We went through so much to make sure that horse was well taken care of and nurtured. My favourite picture of the two of them is one I snapped while following her in the car while she walked her up to the vet's. Martini had a swishy butt, she sashayed, flicking her tail this way and that, a saucy little Arab feeling fine, long dark tail going back and forth, with this little girl, no more than 4'8" leading her on, her own almost black auburn thick ponytail, swinging down her back to her waist in tempo with Mart's tail. What a pair!

When it came time for us to move back to the West, we discussed what to do with Mart. Rue saved up her money, good family friends in Colorado offered a home for free and before we even had our moving van loaded, the horse was gone in a fancy trailer to her new home.
That new home was four hours drive from where we lived in Wyoming. Our horse was now in the same town as my sister, so we went down as often as possible to see her. My second favourite picture of Martini is when my dad drove over from Utah to see her and us. There they were, the two of them, him in his seventies, her already in her thirties, looking kind of grey, the old horse and my dad who somehow wasn't as tall as I remembered. Both of them looking so wise and knowing of the other, speaking the same easy, quiet language. My dad, a natural born horse whisperer before the term was coined.

Until recently, Rue still rode Martini who was still quite the Queen Bee, lording it over all of the other horses. One day they all got out and started running down the road. There she was, 14.5 hands high, out in front of the "boys", all bigger than her, leading them astray. They all knew better than to try to usurp the Matriarch's position and risk her lightning fast kick to the chest to keep them in line.

The winter before last we weren't sure she would make it. Her teeth were going and the Colorado winters were long and cold. She seemed content, though, hanging about in the high altitude sunshine in the mornings, in her stall at night. She made it. Then, this past winter, a mild one, they had to start feeding her mushier food, but she made it through, even outlasting a couple of others about the place. In January, we reckoned she was 35 years old.

    Yesterday, Saturday morning, Rue called me, almost incoherent with tears. Martini had shown signs of wanting to wander off and be alone, not eating and drinking. The vet had been called, our friend was with her. Martini, ever a horse with her own mind about doing things, didn't wait for the vet. She laid herself down and died. The kindest and final gift this beautiful old curmudgeonly, doting horse could give my youngest, my "baby", doing it on her own terms, so that poor Rue didn't have to make the decision for her. I am so grateful to the "auld" beauty for that.

So, here's to Tamarans Martini...one hell of a horse and friend, who is very sadly missed.

© 2004 Kathleen LaFrance
All Rights Reserved