Losing a friend is never easy
I lost a friend recently. He and I had been friends and partners for the past seven years. Though, this friend wasn’t human. Rocky was a little quarter horse.
I bought Rocky in 2010 after I had a bad wreck with another horse. I had been in an accident and fractured several vertebrae and had a bad concussion after I had been bucked off twice onto hard ground (us cowgirls never learn, do we?).
At first, I didn’t like Rocky. He was in a barn at a friend’s who ran a boarding facility. Rocky was “spooky,” scared of things. At my friends insistance, I gave Rocky at test ride. “I feel like ya’ll will get along great,” my friend said.
It was love at first ride. Rocky was like driving a little sports car. He handled sharp turns at lightening-fast speed with ease and listened to me attentively. He was unlike any other horse I had ever ridden.
Rocky and I barrel raced, pole bended, rode over countless miles of trails and even did some jumping. He excelled at everything. There was really nothing he couldn’t do.
Rocky moved with me five times, each time settling into his new digs with stride. In late 2015, he tore a ligament in his leg and had to be retired from competition. I never dreamed of selling him. Sometimes, horses “take care of you,” and Rocky had indeed taken care of me.
Then, several months ago, he got really sick and spent over a week in the clinic. He seemed to get better and was able to be released. A few weeks ago, he suddenly had a relapse and I made the incredibly hard decision to let him go. He was about 25-years-old.
Rocky and I had an incredible bond, but I relish in the notion that one day when I also pass through the Pearly Gates, I will see him in heaven’s remuda.