My Incredible Journey

I began horseback riding in 2000. After toying with the idea for quite some time, we finally went to a riding stable to inquire in August of that year. About a month later, I was finally sitting six feet in the air, on top of the most gentle, dead-broke school horse in the barn, a mare named Lady.

For that year, I continued riding that horse, learning some of the basics of horse care along the way. However, one afternoon in June 2001, my mother made a call for me to have another riding lesson, and was met with the words "Lady is sick."

I didn't know the gravity of her illness then (botulism), nor could my ten-year-old mind really comprehend that she was going to die. Sure enough, that's what happened, and on the morning on July 4, she was euthanized.

I remember writing in my journal that I didn't think I could ever love a horse again. I was devastated; I am, characteristically, fiercely loyal to those who are close to me, so the fact that I was going to start having to ride a different horse was something I took as a blow.

I did not return to the stable until my birthday - July 23. A friend of mine had to pick something or someone up, and I was invited along for the ride.

I can still remember it like it was yesterday - walking around that barn, looking back at all the big, brown eyes that were staring at me, but feeling a certain emptiness. Lady was not there. In my horse experiences up until that point, she was all I had known, and it was hard to swallow.

Then, as if by magic, I took a turn in to a rather secluded area of the barn that housed but three horses. I could see one horse peering out over the stall guard (ropes, basically, that keep them inside the stall without having to use a door), his face with a white blaze down the front that reminded me of Lady's. I knew it couldn't be her, but I approached him, anyway.

Taco, circa 1994

I went over to him, talked to him, and petted him. His name was Taco; he was the thirty-five year old boarder horse who every one knew, but no one really bothered with. I stood there for a long while with him, until the party I had come to the barn with discovered me and told me it was time to leave.

I rode the whole way home in the car thinking about him. Little did I know that those first few moments on my eleventh birthday would be the start of something that I couldn't have imagined even in my wildest dreams.

He had been around for ever. Been in this barn since the 1970s or 80s. He was supposedly bought from a cowboy around age 10 or 11, as a present for a young girl. What's weird about this is that he had supposedly jumped on top of someone (I'd assume that cowboy) in protest of crossing a stream - he never did like water.

Either way, he landed in the girl's possession and was to be her riding horse. Apparently, though, she was upset one day after losing at a horse show, and so her interest in him eventually waned. He was never sold by the father of that girl, and was still in his possession that fateful day when I found him.

The details of his history are fuzzy, yes; that's because literally decades had gone by since those days when he was used for riding. Taco had sat around for years without a real job or a real friend.

It was no surprise, then, that his coat was dull and dirty, his mane and tail unkempt, his movements slow, and his appetite non-existent. I don't know how he managed to keep weight on, because he would literally turn his nose away from a heaping bucket of feed.

A few months had passed since our first encounter, and I repeated the same process over and over again - go to the stable to ride, and then, when finished, go hang out with Taco. The picture to the left was the first picture I took of him. After it was taken, he flew to the back of his stall and wouldn't come back out. We had startled him with the flash - he didn't have great vision.

Little eleven-year old me hadn't yet worked up the courage to ask if I could take him out and brush him. But, my riding instructor spotted me near him at the crossties after he had gotten his hooves trimmed, and asked if I wanted to groom him.

The answer? A resounding YES!

And, so it began. I spent hours upon hours brushing and cleaning that horse. All the other girls in the barn had "their" horse; even if they didn't own them, everyone kind of knew which horse belonged with which girl. After some time went by with Taco, the same began to happen for me. Even though I could not ride him due to his age, he became mine, and I became his.

I absolutely slaved over him. Walks, baths, and lots of hair removal during shedding season were just a few of the tasks I undertook. I just really loved being with my new friend. Our relationship was just beginning to flower.

Me and Taco, 2002

My relationship with Taco grew steadily as time went by. I was now the sole source of his grooming, exercise, and companionship. He had transformed into an old gentleman, a marked difference from the dirty, depressed horse that I saw a few years earlier. By then, I could not remember what it was like before I had him.

All through that time, I had continued riding. I even leased a horse one summer, so I was at the barn several times a week. I also competed in local horse shows for two years, and racked up a number of blue ribbons. Things didn't seem like they could be more perfect. I had my riding career, and I had my old man, too.

However, one summer day in 2003, after making my way down to the riding arena to say hello to everyone there, I heard words that, at first, I thought were a joke.

"We're being evicted."

Now, I won't get in to the details of this, but basically, a great schism was set to happen. My riding instructor and her throngs of students and horses were being kicked out of the barn by the property/barn owner. There was a lot of he said, she said on both sides - to this day, I couldn't tell you who was wrong, and who was right.

Though I was told that it wouldn't happen for months, my mind instantly raced. Taco was owned by a whole separate party, and had lived here his whole life. He was around thirty-seven years old at the time. Should he stay behind, to live out the rest of his life with the few horses that would be there? Or, should he go to New Jersey, to a place over an hour away from me? Would I still be able to see him and care for him in either of these scenarios?

It was a hard place for me to be in. The barn owner actually invited me to come back and continue caring for Taco, even after the riding group was gone. But, as some of you may know, when two groups in the animal fancy (be it dogs, cats, horses) start feuding with one another, it usually boils down to every one taking sides. I tried my hardest to avoid doing so, but the tension was mounting and the barn became a very unpleasant place to be. It was basically assumed that I would stick with the riding group and sever my ties with the people here. Things got very nasty.

My riding instructor did try to convince Taco's owner to move him to the new stable. But, he did not wish to do so. The picture was originally painted as bleak for Taco's future - there were horror stories circulating about how badly he would be neglected if he stayed where he was now. I do not know where those claims came from or if there was reason to believe them, but I was scared for him. I was told to start distancing myself from him because it was unlikely that I'd ever seen him again.

 Summer 2003

The day finally came where the last horses were loaded into the trailer, and the evicted group was set to leave the scene forever. Not knowing if I would ever see Taco again, I broke down in to a million tears. I was given the unsatisfactory statement by my riding instructor that there would be "plenty of other old horses for me to care for at the new place," which totally demeaned my relationship with this one, very special old horse, for whom I could never find a replacement.

For a week or two, I basically treaded water. I knew I had the opportunity to continue going to see Taco, but faced the whole issue of allegiance to my riding friends. When they caught wind of the fact that I was considering doing so, they once again told me that it would be dangerous to go back there (implying that the barn owners were nuts).

But, I just couldn't give up like that. Not on him. So, the phone call was made, and I set up a day to go to the barn and see him once again. Whether my riding friends knew about this or not, I'm not sure. Eventually, due to a misunderstanding with one of the barn girls, I lost touch with them all. I still think back to what might have been if I continued riding and showing, but I made my decision and they made theirs, too.

Though, for the most part, I no longer keep in touch with the barn owners, either, the years that would follow would be some of Taco's best - maybe the best in his life.

Taco's life was transformed in October 2003, when he suddenly became one of only three horses living in what was once a barn filled to capacity (twenty five horses or so). My life changed a lot, too.

 October 2003

The barn owners were extremely accommodating; they treated Taco as if he were their own, and allowed me to come on weekends. I even got to ride their horses from time to time. I started a routine that lasted three or four years and went there once a week, every week. I think I missed a grand total of one weekend (due to the flu) in that amount of time. No matter the weather, I was there. I even went with stitches in my back following a small surgery, though I couldn't do much in the way of grooming or exercising. In short, there was almost nothing that would keep me away from him.

Taco did have a few bouts of illness in that time. In the summer of 2004, he had a pretty serious episode of colic. It was extremely scary for me, since he hadn't ever been seriously ill before then. He rebounded from it, but lost a lot of weight that he only partially regained. That weight loss wasn't a terrible thing - he was a bit pudgy before then, and being on the skinny side meant less stress on his old joints.

Later that year, he had a very strange episode of lameness. For a little while, we thought it was the dreaded laminitis, a devastating and potentially deadly form of lameness. However, what ever it was went away after a couple of weeks. It did come back the following year, leading us to believe it might have been some form of arthritis that flared up depending on the weather.

Winter 2004-05

Otherwise, Taco's life was a great one. These were his glory years. He stayed outside for hours and hours each day, an enormous upgrade over the short turn-out times he had when the stable was full. Eventually, he was kept on full turnout, weather permitting. He had a small shed with rubber matting and wood chips at the back of his field. His indoor stall, too, was spacious. It was good to keep him moving around.

He and I made thousands of little memories together, too many to ever list here. Some of my favorite moments were spent simply sitting in silence on a mounting block next to him in his big turn-out arena. Others were when I'd sit in front of him while he was on the cross-ties (which is usually not advised, but I trusted him with all my heart) and he'd lower his head and run his nose through my hair. In the winter, when turn-out wasn't always possible due to the weather, he became so riled up and full of life that you'd never guess that he was approaching forty years old. I remember having to turn him out in a snowy, icy pen for just a little while because of how stir-crazy he was getting.

Spring 2005

Like most horses, he used to love to roll in the dirt in the summer, especially following an extensive grooming session. He'd grunt and groan and wriggle on his back. We always held our breaths while we waited for him to get up, but he never failed us. Tough as nails, that old man was.

I took him for walks up the road, and let him graze in the huge, grassy field across the street. I bathed and groomed him until he was spotless, as if he was the most valuable show horse on the planet. And, when I couldn't be there, during the school week, I'd e-mail the barn owner to find out what he'd been up to in my absence.

I had essentially grown up with Taco. At my Sweet Sixteen party (they were so popular back then), I had a candle on my cake dedicated to him. That was special, for it marked the first time ever that I opened up even just a little bit to others about my partnership with him. He had been with me since I was eleven years old - now, I was a young adult. He was the constant in my life through bad high school relationships, the sicknesses of people close to me, and all of the other problems that typically plague teens. I'm glad I was able to recognize that, and never - not once - did I take our relationship for granted.

For a long while, probably longer than I could have imagined, things were perfect.  But it couldn't - and didn't - last forever.

December 2006

"Exhausted" is how I described myself as feeling on that somber day, after that awful weekend. Physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. A feeling of total depletion, unlike any I had felt before. Couldn't get out of bed. Couldn't go to school. The preceding weekend had taken a massive toll on me.

Sunday had typically been the weekend day that I chose to go to the barn. But, rain was in the forecast for April 15, 2007. So, we made a call to the barn owner to ask if we could come a day early, on Saturday. She said yes, that it would be fine. But, they were having the vet come out because Taco seemed to be colicky. (This is an intestinal/stomach ailment, for those that don't know.) She didn't think it was serious, but wanted to play it safe.

I remember feeling angry about him being sick. Why did this have to happen again? I hated worrying about him, but, naturally - involuntarily - I did it all the time.

The barn owner called my mom's cell phone a while later, when the vet had arrived and examined Taco. As it turned out, this episode of colic was much more serious than originally thought.

The world began to spin around me. My mom handed me the phone, and the vet started talking to me. "It would be best to put him to sleep." "He's lived a long life." The things he was saying could barely even be processed in my mind. I get chills just thinking about it. I had not expected this at all.

We rushed to the barn, tears pouring down my face like a waterfall. The vet didn't know exactly what was wrong, but had three ideas, each bleaker than the next. The vet explained that if Taco were even 10 years younger or so, he'd consider operating on him. But, the reality was that at forty years of age, surgery was not an option.

As is a recurring theme in my friendship with Taco, I couldn't just give up like that. He was up on his legs, walking around, picking at grass. Uncomfortable, yes, but in distress, no. How could we euthanize him without giving it a second thought?

All involved parties agreed. Barn owners, Taco's owner, and I all contested that we should at least try something. Maybe, just maybe, this would pass.

They gave him an injection and decided to "oil" him (pump mineral oil into his system), in hopes that it would get his insides moving, so to speak. I didn't watch the procedure. I went inside with another horse, who despite his stoic personality, offered me a ton of comfort.

Then, we played the waiting game. Nothing changed through that day or that night.

March 2007

Fast forward to Sunday, April 15. It was raining buckets. I still remember that haunting rain all too vividly. The back of the barn was completely flooded. Taco's field was a muddy mess, but keeping him outside (with shelter, of course) rather than in his stall seemed like the best thing to do, in case he went down on his side during the night.

Back out to the barn I went. Taco looked pretty uncomfortable, slowly lifting up each of his hind legs from time to time. But, he was still standing. I wondered, if the vet's possible diagnoses were so poor, why hadn't he greatly worsened? I called my own (small animal) vet, I scoured the web for ideas, I posted on a horse forum and got all sorts of suggestions. Every one said that the vet should come back out to re-examine him and possibly give him more medication. There was a chance this colic wasn't as bad as originally feared. I tried so hard to convince every one to get that vet back out there. But, long story short, on that Sunday, he did not come. It was out of my control.

I held my composure until the latter half of my visit that day. The barn owner began talking to me about how she was going to clip off a piece of Taco's mane and tail to give to me, "just in case." At that point, it all felt real. This was really happening. There was a good chance that I was about to lose my horse.

We made the trek from the house back down to his field, the rain still banging against the metal barn roof. The barn owner went off to feed the other two horses, leaving me alone in Taco's small shed with him.

That was the last time I was alone with him, and somehow, I knew it. I couldn't do anything except stand there and cry. I hated seeing him the way he was, with his head in the corner, his eyes sad and low. The past six years raced inside my head. I didn't know what the future held. I didn't want to know, either. I just didn't want to leave him.

I went home from the barn that evening with the intent to return the following afternoon. Monday, April 16. That fateful day. Upon speaking with the barn owner that morning, she, too, finally thought it was a good idea to get the vet back out to re-evaluate Taco. He didn't seem to have improved or worsened, making it the third day of relative status quo. The vet was due back out later in the day.

It was not soon enough. Around 3 PM, my mother walked over to me, visibly upset, and handed me the phone. It was the barn owner.

Taco had suddenly worsened that afternoon. I'll spare you the details. The pain that he seemed to have kept at bay all weekend suddenly shot through his body. It, at that point, became apparent that he was in visible distress. He was put to sleep, with his owner there beside him.

I can't convey to you the sadness I felt. It was like being stabbed in the heart. My one and only Taco was with me no more, after a three-day struggle, and I had no idea how I would go on.

***

It ultimately took weeks before I would feel even remotely like myself again. But, it didn't take long before I was back at the barn. In fact, I went back the weekend following Taco's death. I told myself that it would be hard no matter what, so waiting before going back wasn't going to help or change things.

I continued riding and grooming the other two horses there for a few months. It was nice, and I was glad to have them in my life, but things would never be the same. Once again, just as it was at the beginning of this whole journey, I found myself without a horse of my own. I loved both of these horses very much, but they weren't mine. It was impossible for my partnership with them to grow as strong as the one I had with Taco.

At the very beginning of July of that year, I was told that I was no longer welcome there. It was through no fault of my own - to summarize, the two barn owners, who were romantically involved, were in the midst of ongoing disputes, which had been brewing for months and eventually reached a climax. I became a pawn, one person kicking me out to get the other one upset (I was the only one who came there on a regular basis - the other two horses belonged to the barn owners). I accepted my fate as best as any kid could, and said my goodbyes to the place where I spent so much of my youth, knowing I'd never return. I tried riding at another stable a few months later, but never felt that special connection again and gave it up after just a couple of lessons.

Taco's ashes sit in a wooden box in my room. If there was anything to be glad about, it was that he now really was mine, and would stay with me forever. His halter lies in a drawer under my bed, and those locks of hair that were clipped off of him the day before he died are in my desk. His name plate that used to hang above his stall is stored in my basement. These mementos and the dozens of pictures I took of him are the only physical items left from what was something that used to encompass my existence.

It's easy for me to still feel sad about all that I had and all that I lost. I think about it a lot, especially in April. Every birthday is a silent reminder, too, of that day when I turned eleven years old and got the gift of his friendship. What makes it worse is that I know there will never be any horse - or animal - in my life quite like him. But, at the same time, I know I must be thankful for the fact that I got to spend so much time with him in the first place. To have lived to forty is an impressive feat for a horse. And, although I still have those nagging thoughts that wonder about what would have been if the vet had chosen a more aggressive treatment approach, I know deep down inside that our time together could not have been much longer, anyway.

Taco taught me so many lessons in those six years I spent with him. For one, he showed me that friends can come at the most unexpected times, in the most unexpected places. He taught me about what it meant to be motivated, to be dedicated to something that you find important. He taught me to never take for granted life's simple pleasures. At death, he showed me that even the most horrible of endings cannot take away from what was a magical, storybook friendship. I am a different person - a better person - for having known Taco. He has had a profound impact on my life.

I guess it's those themes that I wanted to convey to you all by retelling this story. That when you love, you should love deeply. That when you make a decision, even if no one else agrees with you, what matters most is that you yourself believe that what you did was right. That when do you something, you must do it to the very best of your ability. And that when you come along someone who needs your help, you just might be able to change both their life and your own with a little bit of time and effort.

Taco, where ever you are, I hope it goes without saying that I love you with all my heart. Thank you for everything that you did for me. It was an honor to have been by your side, an experience that I will never forget as long as I live. No matter where my life takes me, my heart will always be in the aisles of that old barn, in the middle of that green paddock, in the places where I was with you.