Grieving a Gelding: Recalling a Favorite Horse

A gorgeous black-and-white gelding, Jireh was the envy of the pasture. He boasted perfect conformation and an affectionate disposition. Proudly, he stood 17 hands high, with his abundant mane ruffling in the wind.

Jireh belonged to Mindy, a fun-loving teen girl with 8,000 freckles and highlights in her dusty blonde hair.

For years, when Mindy arrived at the stables each day, she would leave her carrots by his stall and race to the pasture to find her pal. Without fail, Jireh would hear her footfalls in the dirt, look up from his busy grazing, throw his giant head in the air and blast for the gate. Inches from the fence, he would halt suddenly, tossing up his own private dust-storm.

Mindy would climb up on the gate to drape her arms around Jireh's neck. And all would be well. She would stand on the gate, swing one leg up on her giant horse, and ride him bareback to the barn, with just a lead rope tucked in his halter.

We never figured out how she did it, although we all swore Jireh bent down to help her up onto his back.

Perhaps he understood.

We knew the truth, although we seldom spoke of it. Barns have no secrets, after all.

Away from the barn, Mindy lived in an alcoholic home. As riding buddies, we would occasionally hear things. Her father had broken a lamp. He had run the family car into the back wall of the garage. One night, he even set their house on fire, when he tripped over a fondue pot and sent the canned fuel flying.

We never asked, but the stories would come out, usually while we were out on the trails.

At 16, Mindy thought her prayers were answered, when a sweet-faced boy came calling. Jake was smart, sporty, and very funny. He seemed to hold the secret to making her forget the storms at home. Mindy's days became filled with football games, school parties, and study dates.

At the barn, we saw less and less of Mindy. We would pause at Jireh's pasture and watch him munching on clover and eying the gate, as if he expected that this might be the day Mindy returned.

Spring came and went, with no sign of Mindy. Finally, just as the sun reached its summer peak, Mindy returned to the barn. Jake had run off with the pep club president.

Jireh fairly galloped to the gate, with his tail flying proudly in the breeze. He seemed to have forgotten Mindy's absence, or at least forgiven it.

Every day, all summer, Mindy and Jireh trotted trails. They sat in the sun together. They enjoyed water fights with the barn hose.

Then it happened.

Just before Labor Day, Mindy rode her bike to the barn, eager to play with Jireh. She jogged to the turnouts, but Jireh did not come. She scanned the pasture, looking everywhere. Unlocking the gate, Mindy began walking into the field.

One of the barn hands saw her and ran to intercept her. He held out his arms and caught her, as her stature slumped. Language failed him, but he simply stood there and helped her to stumble back to the barn.

It may have been a heart attack. Perhaps it was an aneurism. It could have been colic. We don't know yet.

All we know is this, Jireh is gone. He simply crumpled into the clover that morning.

One by one, each of us silently embraced Mindy. Then we quietly crept into our own horse's stalls and dried our tears in their manes.

What can anyone say in such a moment?