Eve…
I am going to preface this post – first, get a cup of coffee – it’s a long one. Second, you may need some tissues. Just in case (I did). Third, if you are one of my cousins, please check your emails first. I love you all. And if you are feeling fragile, please have a look at this morning’s post instead.
When I was a young girl – so much younger than today – I worshipped horses. You may think this is a bit of an exaggeration, because most girls have a ‘horsey’ phase. A dash of Saddle Club is considered quite normal…
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But really I was pretty much religious in my dealings with anything equine. I prayed at their shiny black hooves. I woke thinking of ponies and horses, I ate meals chatting with anyone within earshot about my current pony, I daydreamed about the latest Thelwell cartoon, I drew horses when I should have been doing math, I spent every spare second outside school down in the yards, or in the stable, with my equine buddies. Dolls more often than not, lay gathering dust in our playroom. I was, to be blunt, obsessed.
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Then one day, Dad won a ‘service’ to a horse called Captain Adam. A service, for those not in the horse world, is the opportuity to choose a mare of your own to take to a well-known stallion for a, er, bit of ‘romance’. With a view to getting a wee little filly or colt. And, for some reason I haven’t ever bothered to look into (for fear of what I might find) Dad decided to send my pony-at-the-time, Minnie. And to top it off, he and Mum said I could have the foal. To say I was excited was, well, a MASSIVE understatement. I very near hyperventilated on the spot. A foal. For ME? It was Stormy, Misty’s Foal (my then-favourite horsey story) leaping off dog-eared pages right there in the kitchen. Suddenly every dream I’d ever had was about to morph into a reality just nine months away. Excited doesn’t begin to cover it.
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The only cloud over the next few months was that, somewhere throughout Minnie’s pregnancy (possibly the most watched swelling horse belly of all-time) was that I had read somewhere that strawberry roans are not allowed in the show ring. And I harboured a nearly-ten-year-old girl’s ambitions of many blue ribbons in the local hack classes. (A strawberry roan is a kind of grey-dapple-with-red-flecks kind of look in horses). And I made the mistake of telling Dad that I really hoped the foal wouldn’t be strawberry roan. Hmmm.
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This is called ‘looking a gift horse in the mouth’ – and Dad instantly said: Righto. It’s mine if it’s strawberry roan. I nearly passed out. And prayed furiously for the next few months to the Equine Gods to make my foal black or chestnut or bay. (And I learned to never look a gift horse in the mouth ever again!)
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The day finally arrived … and I raced out of the house to find… a wet, shiny, long-legged curious BAY filly! My relief was palpable. Overwhelming. She was mine. And I already knew what I would call her: Eve. She stumbled and staggered and tried out her baby legs and I fell completely in love.
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Over ensuing years she would grow and fill out and become glossy and gorgeous. And when I was 12 years old, I broke her in. At a horse-breaking school. With lots of other people (And offered someone (who shall remain nameless) the chance to take a photo which utterly embarrassed me at the time). This photo:
I had neglected to do the girth up properly, Eve ducked and weaved a bit (it could hardly have been called a buck) and the saddle kind slid down her neck. And I met that fence in front about half a second later. At the age of thirteen. In front of lots of adults and a couple of cute teenage guys. I could have died of embarrassment right there. But the ground refused to swallow me up and we completed the school. We went on to spend many many hours together – mustering mostly, but also in those yards, me talking, her patiently listening while waiting for the next sheaf of hay.
It all seemed peachy for a while, but I would strike the most terrible blow to our special partnership – me and Mother Nature. I grew up. I went to boarding school. Away. And when I did come home, I moved onto bigger, faster horses. And Eve would become a special part of my siblings lives for a while, then (as they grew) she would be a special part of my cousins’ lives. I would pass her in their paddocks, her belly round and full, glossy, happy tail flicking in the sunshine.
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And my emerging adult life would take me even further from home. And my sporadic visits to Granite Glen would be further complicated with careers and husbands and kids. And Eve, well, she was ridden by visiting little ones and spent her time grazing and flicking flies in the sunshine. I would check on her every so often as we both matured. She never really seemed to change too much, at least in my eyes. Her deep red-brown coat was still glossy, her amber eye still bright.
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Then, one day not too long after we moved back to Granite Glen, I noticed it.
At first it was hard to put my finger on the problem, but it was there. 
It wasn’t just the grey hairs around here eyes and muzzle. She lagged behind the other horses when they ran, she shuffled rather than stepped out when walking, her coat no longer shone. She was getting old. My stomach dropped when I realised. How could it be? It was yesterday that I watched that skipping bay foal with the crooked white snip of white on her face. Not more than a couple of years anyway… wasn’t it? 
Every so often, the boys would come back from her paddock and say “Eve doesn’t look good. You’d better think about …” and leave the unsayable, unsaid. I would nod, knowing it would come soon, but not quite yet. I tried hard to put it from my mind. Procrastinated. Then this week, the men it mentioned (again). More insistently. “You’d better say goodbye. She’s suffering.” And I would nod. I know. I know.
Finally, yesterday, I went to see her. On my own. At first I couldn’t see her, and called SSB on the two-way. He said “She’s in Admiral’s lane” … the same small paddock my brother’s gorgeous stallion lived in for many years. I half-smiled at the awful irony.
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She shuffled over to me, snickering gently. She was rough-looking, her coat matted and her gait uncomfortable – wanting a cuddle but unable to stand still to enjoy it. She would shuffle off and come back to me. I pulled some of the burrs from her mane and we talked a while. About old times, about that show ring we never really conquered, about my life, about hers. I thanked her for being my very first own horse. For not being strawberry roan. For being Eve. And I said Goodbye.
SSB was worried when I returned. I was a bit puffy and red-eyed. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to” he offered. Somehow that sweet sentence made it even harder. I knew it had to be done. It was the last thing I could do for her. I shook my head, unspeaking, and he nodded. Grim-faced, he drove away. To send my sweet, sweet mare to gallop pain-free and glossy in the sun, perhaps alongside Admiral, in that great evergreen pasture in the sky.
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My darling husband did the hardest bloody job in the world. And I love him even more for it. Is it possible to be heart-broken and distraught and proud and relieved all the same time?
In emotional exhaustion.
BB
22 Comments
Bragger
What a sweet, sweet story. I can only imagine your pain. I too went through my horse phase, but I was unrealistic and a dreamer, and it was never to be. Thank you for letting me see your beautiful horses.
Debby
Oh, my goodness. I wish that I’d have turned here to see a picture of Gerard. For your sake, not mine.
I’m so sorry.
Get up right now, and get a hug from your husband. One of those leaning ones, where you put your head on his shoulder, and he rubs his bristle-y cheek in your hair. It really does wonders…
Hugs, to all of you.
jeanie
Darn it – I knew it was happening, I was expecting the post, I know the doggarned story – and you still got me.
I also remember you writing about her birth in your diary that day – she was born in the morning and would be the same age as B.
I wish that I had the girth excuse for the number of times my “breaking in” horse lived up to her name.
Leslie
You made my day with your lovely comment!
🙂
Kate
Oh BB! I’m so sorry. You have had too much equine heartbreak in the last few weeks. I’m also very grateful that you and SSB were strong enough to let Minnie go. That is the hardest thing to do but the right thing. She is a beautiful horse and looks absolutely sweet as well. My love to you.
Kate
Wait, Jeanie, what was your ‘breaking in’ horses name?
Pencil Writer
Tears. Where are those blasted Kleenex again? You got me, BB. Hugs. *sniff, sniff* and more hugs.
Kate
Egads, me again. I said Minnie in my post instead of Eve. Sorry. Eve is a very beautiful horse and thank you for making me cry at work 🙂
Portia
What a beautiful horse. You were both lucky to have each other.
Thank goodness for SSB. That is a show of love, both for Eve and for you. He’s a special man.
My sympathies to you.
A Novel Woman
Ah, I’m so sorry.
Thank God for good husbands, eh?
Scotty
Touching post, BB.
jeanie
Kate – her name was “Dusty Gal” – because she always left her riders dusty…
I actually posted about the experience today (and you won’t need tissues)!!
Jayne
Having a little cry for both you and Eve.
Mary Paddock
Awww, man, BB. Thank you for sharing what had to be a monumentally difficult decision with us and doing it so well.
dykewife
i’m so sorry for your loss.
M+B
Big Hugs, BB (as I dab with kleenex)
I'm Julie
Lots of love to you today BB. I’m sorry.
Raising Country Kids
This is a story of true love. . . in more ways than one.
Blessings.
Teresa/ride4fun
(((HUGS))) I know how hard it is to make that call. I know you are very well aware but your SSB is truly a special gem.
Bush Babe (of Granite Glen)
Thanks so much for your lovely hugs and kind words… Eve was a sweetheart and sadly missed, but she had a great life. My SSB is the best (but I know it, so that makes it OK!)…
Be back shortly with something that doesn’t require tissues! Promise…
BB
Anonymous
Oh bless your heart. I still love my horses too, some of us don’t outgrow it.
Remudamom
Mikey
What a great post. And what a great horse! Love that bronc shot, you go girl!! You are TOUGH!!
Lol, but it all turned out well and she became one of the greats. Always so hard to let them go, but the memories live on forever