It was seven-plus years ago that I recall leading my horse past the paddock, with a view to riding round the back pasture. In a corner of that paddock stood three horses, all ancient, all entirely motionless but for the occasional swish of their tails. Glancing at them standing patiently in the hot sun, I remarked to Bit, “You’ll be one of them, one day,” meaning, obviously, that one day he, too, would stand old and motionless in the hot summer sun. But Bit heard my words differently, and replied, “No, Kelly, I’ll always be me.” His logic was unassailable, even if he had missed the point. Lately, I find that we’re closing in on that day.
I’ve been noticing, the past few months, that age seems to be catching up with Bit: there’s a sway to his back, and his chestnut coat has acquired a considerable amount of white. He’s slower, too, less inclined to canter when a trot will do just as well. In fact, he shows many of the same signs of aging that I do!
The news, however, is not all bad: gone are the days when he was so skittish that the mere mention of a breeze was enough to make him jump with fear. Gone are the days when he was so full of attitude that he thought nothing of tossing me aside with a flick of his 16.1 hands-sized head. Gone are the days when he steadfastly refused to do anything he didn’t want to do. And, thankfully, gone are the days when I let him get away with such foolishness.
The eight years that he and I have been together went by so fast that I can hardly believe it’s been the better part of a decade. How can time move so swiftly, so unnoticed? First, we were getting to know each other, then ten minutes later, it’s been eight years and I’m having to reckon with his age-related problems. His EPM seems to have come to the fore, lately, with a regular recurrence of symptoms such tripping and stumbling. His joints swelled up, the last time I rode him. And that aforementioned canter seems to be a thing of the past; we haven’t had one of those rides for well over a year.
I don’t begrudge Bit any of these things. He can’t help how age shows its hand, after all. But to see that piss and vinegar spirit mellow so noticeably does make me rather sad. Life would have been much less colorful had I taken on a better-behaved horse. Bit’s obstinance challenged me at every turn, forcing me to become more inventive with his training. How do you get a horse to walk through a puddle/ignore that plastic bag/cross a bridge when he absolutely refuses to do so? Every success I managed with him required a level of creativity I didn’t know I possessed.
This doesn’t sound like your idea of fun? For me, anything less would have gotten boring quickly. And, all those challenges made our successes that much sweeter. Many times, over the years, others at the stable commented on what a difference they saw in Bit, how much I’d managed to teach him. Bit, of course, would say that he taught me everything I know. He’s probably fairly close to the mark!
I’ve given a lot of thought to the day when Bit is no longer able to be ridden. I know it’s coming, and probably much sooner than I realize. There are other horses at the stable that I might avail myself of, but the idea of riding off into the pasture on another horse while Bit looks on, wondering why I’m not spending time with him anymore, is too much for me to bear. Bit wasn’t my first horse, but he’s definitely been my best. How on earth could I top that?
