For the past 13 years, I have enjoyed an important friendship of epic wonder. One that has borne all manner of changes; location, ended relationships, marriage, birth, death, job loss...and grown deeper. We have trust, love, compassion and caring that some married couples never develop.
That friendship is with my horse, Whiskey.
Whiskey is 25 years old and we met by chance - if you believe in coincidence. My friend April and her husband David knew I was looking for a horse. They called me one June Saturday from a livestock auction; "Kim, there's a horse here that David and I think you should come look at". I said I would be there.
When I got there, April took me into the barns to where David was standing with a horse-trader we knew. Behind them was a deep red coated Quarter Horse. You could tell he was in the "Foundation" style - short and stout of leg, powerful rear-end and then he turned around. His face was a disaster of scars and his chest was criss-crossed with slashes that were clearly from a cruelly applied whip. I was astounded because despite the obvious abuse, he didn't pin his ears or slant his eye. His beautiful deep liquid brown eye held mine and it was filled with a consciousness - one that was interested in me and he stuck his head over the bars to be stroked on the velvet nose; ears swiveled to catch my words.
"I'm in a skirt, can David ride him for me?" So, David trotted him out and put him through his paces. Not that it mattered, my heart had already claimed him. April asked what I thought. "Let's go bid on him, I like him". No one else was bidding on the horse with the wrecked face - except the meat buyer because he was a stout horse~ about 1200 pounds and that would bring top dollar at the slaughter house. When he finally backed down, I was at my last $50 bucks.....down came the gavel "$800....sold to the red-head in the front"....
"His name is Charlie Brown" said the trader. "No, his name is Irish Whiskey", I said, "and he is mine"...."let's go boy, you have a family now".
It was a bad back story. His previous owner was a roper who beat the snot out of him with a 2x4 whenever they had bad times in calf roping. He was not fond of men. I spent time with him whenever I could. Even if it was just to run a brush over him or give him a bath. I think that first 6 months, he was the cleanest horse in Houston....and it worked magic.
He knew me and my red car, coming across fields of green grass to greet me and my son. He watched over 2 year old Marcos like a nurse-maid. He would keep Marcos right beside him if I had to go to the tack barn or the rest room...never letting the toddler out of his sight or reach of his head. Marcos would steady his toddler steps by holding the red tail hairs and Whiskey never minded one getting pulled...he was part of the family and we loved him.
People said "he's just a horse, Kim". But, I know better. He has saved my life three times in payback for me saving his. The first time, I wasn't careful - I missed that there was a new gelding in the pasture and I was in my own world walking across 10 acres to where Whiskey was grazing...tremors underfoot made me spin around to see a mammoth black draft horse bearing down on me in full gallop neck snaked, ears pinned.
I was in big trouble and people were running from the house yelling to get out of there....from the corner of my eye I saw a red streak cut me off from the attacking horse. It was Whiskey. He planted himself in front of me and reared up striking out with his powerful front legs hitting the black square in the chest. The fight was incredible. Two forces of nature, red and black battled 10 feet from my shaky knees. Whiskey drove the horse off and walked me to the gates where April was standing apologizing for not quarantining the horse.
The second time was scarier as it involved an ex-boyfriend with stalking tendencies. I was riding out one night in the arena, just me and Whiskey. We were working on side-passes and just spending some time together as Marcos was visiting Grammy in Boston and I had a rare night to myself. I was loping away from the house toward the back of the arena and got hit hard in the head by a rock. Then, Whiskey got hit on the rump. He turned and we saw the ex standing there with a handful of rocks and a drunk's belligerence. "I'm gonna knock you off that f'ing horse and kick your ass". Fear bloomed in my stomach. I knew April and David were out at a rodeo and I was alone on 50 acres with only my horse between me and a serious problem. My cell phone was locked in my car....
He launched another rock. Whiskey side-passed away. Another....Whiskey stepped the other way. Then, bravado borne of Miller Lite made a miscalculated error. The gate opened and the drunk stepped into the arena closing the gate behind him. As he wound up to throw another rock, Whiskey pawed the ground like a stallion about to charge. I felt the powerful hind-quarters bunch under me and Whiskey lifted his front feet off the ground, crashed down and broke into a lope, snorting and trumpeting a challenge to the night, he ran at the man he knew was a threat to us both. 1200 pounds of muscle bearing down and gathering momentum. He wouldn't stop no matter my pulling on the reins, but he also never went faster than he knew I could ride. No full gallop ~ of which he is so capable ~ as he knew (and still knows to this day) that I am not comfortable at his full speed.
Inexorably, Whiskey closed the space and I started to see the bully crumble as all such bullies will when challenged. Closer, closer...suddenly the man broke and ran for the gate, climbed the fence and kept running for his truck, cursing at us the whole while. Then, headlights turned onto the lane as the diesel rumble of a dually broke the night. April and David were home, the fight was over. After relating the story to April, she said lightly, "that's a good horse".
The last time he saved my life was much more peaceful. I had, for many reasons, decided to move to Dallas and take a new job in a new area and make new friends. One such friend was a nice guy, my age who worked with me. I wasn't sure if I was interested in trying again at relationships. Marcos seemed to be fine, but he is one who has always made friends easily as he has an open and loving heart.
David had generously offered to drive his pickup to Houston with a horse-trailer borrowed from a neighbor to bring Whiskey home. It had been a LONG month without my horse and I wanted to have him in the backyard finally. I knew Whiskey would load for me, even though the trailer was a little small for his size. He will go anywhere I lead him. When we got there, I told David that Whiskey really doesn't take too easily to men because of his history. But, Whiskey, the rascal, made a liar of me. My horse, that I had missed for weeks, walked right up to this man and let him rub all over his head and chest. He looked at me as if to say "THIS is a good choice". I laughed. My son and my horse had both seen what I was afraid to see....we had a new family member.
Thirteen years have come and gone. A lot of tears have been shed into the red mane. A new little boy has learned to stand and steady himself on those red tail hairs. I still have my friend and confidant and he has his forever family....April was right, he is a good horse, and a better friend...
Thank God we found each other...
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