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Regional,
Monthly All-Breed Horse Magazine • Since 1993 |
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Copyright 2012 Rocky Mountain Rider. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Reproduction of any editorial material, artwork and photos is strictly forbidden without express written permission of the publisher. For information about reprint rights, please contact the editor; editor@rockymountainrider.com.
Possum
was well past middle age when he became part of our family in 1953, but the
six-and-a-half years we had him were wonderful years! As
my first horse, he gave me confidence and a lot of experience—lessons that
would stay with me through the rest of my career with horses. By the time he
died, we had several other horses, and a ranch. I was living my dream—riding
horses nearly every day and helping take care of cattle—and raising my first
foal. After
spending two summers at the cabin on our little place up Withington Creek, in
1955, my father bought the ranch below it when it came up for sale. He also
bought a small herd of Possum
was one of our “work string,” available to ride whenever we needed to check
on the cattle out on the range. He wasn’t the fastest horse when we had to
chase a cow, but he did his job very well. He also went on hunting trips every
fall, when my dad used him to ride or pack out a deer or elk for our winter’s
meat. Old
Possum was still healthy and strong through his final summer. We used him as a
spare horse when we needed more riders to gather and move cattle, or when
friends and relatives came to visit and wanted to ride. My mom, who had no horse
experience and no desire to ride horses, overcame her timidity enough to ride
Possum a few times during the years we had him; he was the only horse she felt
was completely trustworthy. After
my baby sister was born (12 years younger than I), Mom let me take her with me
on Possum for short rides, and we even let her sit in the saddle by herself as
the old horse grazed in the orchard. We knew he would take good care of her and
walk out around the low-hanging branches and never brush her off under the
trees. He was always very dependable, whenever small children or inexperienced
riders were involved. By
contrast, he didn’t have as much patience with riders who made him work hard.
He did his job when he had to chase cattle or travel all day in the mountains,
but he preferred to be ridden by children. On
occasion, when we’d start out in the morning and Possum suspected that it was
going to be a long range ride or cattle roundup, he’d start to limp. Fearing
he had a problem, his rider would be inclined to take him back home. But
miraculously, when heading back home, the limp disappeared! We realized this
must have been an old trick he’d used in the past, to get out of a hard
day’s work. And when we didn’t head back home, he’d give up the lame act
and do his job. His
age caught up with him during the fall of 1959. His old joints became stiff and
sore during cold weather. He had trouble getting up and down, and didn’t want
to walk around very much. We put him in the corral, where he could be fed hay
and not have to travel to feed and water or compete with the younger horses for
food. My dad broke ice for him at the creek. Standing
around, with very little exercise, his hind legs began to swell. Our vet thought
he was suffering from kidney failure and prescribed medication to put in his
grain. On the morning of November 12, 1959, when dad checked on him—when I was
in school—he found the old horse lying down, unable to get up. The kindest
thing to do was let him go. I
felt really badly that I didn’t have a chance to say good-by, but I also knew
it would have been cruel to let the old horse suffer any longer on the cold,
frozen ground. I
knew in my heart that my dad did the only humane thing. So, as a young horse
owner, I learned that love is a two-way street. We love the creatures put into
our care, but we also have a great responsibility to do what’s best for
them—in life—and also when it comes time to end that life. I
no longer had Possum, but I had all the good memories he left with me. In
my 4-H scrapbook I drew sketches of my special old horse, and bade farewell to
Possum who started me along the road to good horsemanship. I found a poem that
expressed many of my emotions, and copied it into my scrapbook: A Parting I
love the earth your hoofs have pressed, the
far skyline your eyes caressed; The
sunny days, the hills, the glades, the
wind-stirred trees, the rugged trails Are
all more beautiful to me because
you lived life joyfully. And
as you go, as all must do, I’ll
keep the truths I learned from you. —Author Unknown)
My dad wrote a poem about the hard task of love, releasing an old
beloved horse from the bonds of pain, and it was among a group of poems he later
printed in a small pamphlet (Ranchland Poems, by Don Ian Smith). Old Horse Old
faithful horse, I find you by the creek. You
try to stand but you are much too weak. I
know the end has come for you at last; Too
many times has winter come, and passed. Too
many times we’ve heard the blackbirds call In
spring; watched summer turn to fall. And
I have tried before with pills and grain To
get you on those ancient feet again. But
I can tell this time it cannot be. It’s
in the way you moan and look at me. You’ve
been a great old horse, all I could ask. You’ve
never backed away from any task. So
many years have come to take their toll Since
first you came, a bright-eyed little foal. When
you were young and strong you knew no fears, But
now it’s been so many, many years. O
God, I wonder why it has to be This
hard and lonely act is left to me? Love
leaves no choice as far as I can see But
quick and kindly death to set you free. I’ll
get my gun down from the rifle rack. Old
friend, how many times you’ve had to pack Some
big, old buck down off the steepest hill When
this same rifle made its smashing kill. I’ll
blink away the salty, futile tears, Forget
a moment, all the pleasant years. I
could not stand the sense of foolish shame I’d
feel if blurring vision spoiled my aim. It’s
hard for me to do this final task And
yet somehow I know it’s all you ask. I
cannot leave you lying here to die By
inches, while impatient magpies fly Around
your drooping head. They will not wait The
dignity of death to seal your fate. There’s
only one thing left for me to do, And
that’s to send this bullet straight and true To
smash your aching, aged, weary brain And
cut the snubbing rope of age and pain That
keeps your poor old body firmly bound To
this one little spot of frozen ground. O
God, it’s done… it’s all that I could do! I
think I feel, God, how it must hurt you When
your love takes a mortal life away To
set a spirit free, to let it play Once
more out in the pasture of the sky Where grass is always green and bluebirds fly.
Readers:
Can you relate to this story? Go to “Forum For Horse People” at www.rockymountainrider.com. Tell us about your childhood experiences
with your first horse.
Heather
Smith Thomas is the author of numerous articles and 20 books. She and her
husband ranch near Salmon, Heather’s
blog online is: heathersmiththomas.blogspot.com.
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Rocky
Mountain Rider Magazine • Montana Owned & Operated |
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