My Horse Feldspar 1989-2010

Feldspar
March 7, 1989 – July 23, 2010



I lost one of my best friends today. It was an intestinal twist. Why did God design horses like this? WHY? My friend was my very first foal. I've had him his entire life. He carried me through my young adulthood, several careers, my marriage, the birth of my son, and into the autumn of my own life. He was the horse who always greeted me first at the gate, licked my hands when I stroked his head and neck, babysat a myriad of foals without ever hurting a single one, and was the soft, strong shoulder I would cry into whenever tragedy struck our little ranch. He’s been gone for only five hours, and I already feel the emptiness of his passing.



It all started 21 years ago. The call came at 5:00 AM. “You have a new filly!” the excited voice whispered on the other end of the phone. I was still half asleep when I pulled my old tennis shoes on with one hand while I dialed my future husband with the other.



“John!” I shouted excitedly, oblivious to the fact that I had just awakened him from a sound sleep. “The baby’s here! It’s a girl! I'm on my way to the barn. Do you want to go with me?”


”On my way…” he answered without hesitation. He knew how much this foal meant to me, and I had become something that was starting to mean a lot to him. He was not about to miss being part of this important event.



We were both cops at the time, John and I. We were still “just friends” at that point, not sure if we were destined for a real relationship or just friendly work buddies. We were spending more and more time together, but we were cautious and unsure. At least I know I was. But John’s interest in my horses moved him up the possibility for permanence scale by at least 70 percent. A nice guy that liked horses…well, that was rare and that got my attention.


We were at the breeding farm in Larkspur by six. It was a very cold, early March morning and it was still very dark The owner of the mare, Holly, got there a short time later. Holly was a dispatcher at the Sheriff’s Office where John and I were Patrol Deputies. We had become good friends. Holly was an amazing rider and trainer, and had the most lovely and talented mare she had ridden to a regional dressage high point championship. I worshiped her riding and training abilities and modeled myself after her whenever I could. Holly had bred the mare to a gorgeous black Trakehner (a German Warm blood) stallion the two years earlier, and was blessed with an incredible black filly destined for the dressage ring. She let me lease the same mare the following year to breed back to the same stallion. Now I also had a quality black filly of my own. We were grand-moms of sister fillies, which made Holly and me, family.



Like any excited expectant “mother,” I had read up on babies and was ready to put all I had learned to practice. I had purchased a tape of Dr. Miller teaching “imprinting” and had all my desensitizing objects ready. Clippers, plastic bag, paper, a tiny halter, and I can't remember now what else. I rubbed and tapped and familiarized my new baby with everything I could think of before he was four hours old. I spent so much time with him he began to think I was his mother, and not the big brown beast with the milk faucet.



Him… Yes, you read right, I did not just make a mistake. The mistake was made by the young barn manager. She missed a certain piece of anatomy when she had checked the newborn foal in the dark. Neither John nor I had thought to check, and ended up calling him “she” for the first two days. It was hard to change his gender in my own mind, when I found out my darling little filly was actually a handsome little colt. I accidentally called him “she” at least three times a day for a week.



I named him Feldspar. It’s a type of crystal rock. I just liked the way the word rolled off my tongue. As is the tradition of Trakehners, I had to give him a name with the first letter of his dam’s name, which was Feather. It was going to be Feldspar, boy or girl. I was glad I was not also trying to get used to a new name.



He was charcoal gray when he was born, that soon became a strange mousy brown, and then shed out to an elegant and shiny jet black by the time he was a full year old. He was born with a headlight. It was in the shape of a large, almost perfect white diamond smack in the center of is forehead. The side points of the diamond went eye to eye. It was so perfectly shaped and so striking that it was the first thing most people commented on. He was incredibly beautiful.



People would laugh when I'd say that I'd had him since before he was born, but it was true. When he was still inside, I would put my head on his momma’s big belly and talk to him, telling him about how great our life was going to be together. I felt him kick now and then, which was very exciting and only served to increase my anticipation level. When he finally arrived, I could hardly contain my joy at the perfect little creature that came to share my life.



John and I had the following couple of days off so we spent most of it at the breeding barn, playing with the new boy. When we went back to work later that week, I proudly carried in a jar of bubblegum cigars to pass out to my teammates. At that point in my life I figured Feldspar was going to be my only “child,” so I was not going to waste the opportunity to celebrate. My all-male team of fellow cops always did think I was a rather silly girl, which was fine with me. They were good-natured about the teasing and I actually liked it. Being a bit of a clown was a great way of dealing with the tension of police work, and it was a long time before teasing the only woman in the room equated with harassment.



Feldspar grew fast. Our life changed fast too. By the time he was three years old, John and I were married, I gave up police work to become a Realtor, we bought our little ranch in Parker, and I was pregnant with our son, Alex. Holly agreed to begin Feldspar’s under saddle training while I prepared myself for human motherhood. (And yes, we gave out another jar of bubblegum cigars when Alex was born.)



Feldspar was a true Trakehner all the way… hot, loving, gorgeous, athletic. And a handful. He was a lot of horse. But back then I was still a brave rider and I loved how forward he was. All you had to do was shape his energy, and he took responsibility for moving his feet. And if he understood what you wanted, he gave it to you. I rode him a lot, those first yeas. We spent hours on the trails around our neighborhood,and then more hours in the arena as I got more serious about learning dressage.

But motherhood and my job become more and more demanding, and I rode less and less. I added pounds exponentially as I lost my riding confidence. Feldspar spent months at a time not being ridden. But he was always well cared for, and our relationship grew in ways other than that of rider and mount.


I got dumped only once in Feldspar’s entire life. We were in our arena here at our house, oblivious to the fact that our neighbors had just purchased two llamas. For some reason horses tend to think llamas are alien invaders who have come to earth to tear out horses’ eyeballs and eat their entrails. Just ask your horse. They KNOW. Feldspar and I were simply trotting along in our usually forward, energetic manner, when two wooly alien heads popped up out of the tall grass in the field next door. A microsecond later, I was lying on my back in the sand and Feldspar was at the far end of the arena at the gate, shaking like a leaf. He'd spun out from under me so fast I never saw it coming and I didn't have time to tense. I wasn't hurt at all. But I certainly had a new opinion about the cohabitation of horses and llamas.



Feldspar never kicked me or hurt me. Never. But John was not so lucky. One evening late, John was walking behind him when Feldspar had his face buried deep in the hay feeder. For some unknown reason, Feldspar kicked out, catching John on the meaty part of his thigh. Feldspar immediately knew he was in big trouble. John said when he realized whom he had just kicked, he took off and wouldn't come back to the barn. John is certain Feldspar thought he had been a horse about to challenge him for his food, not a human, and once he saw what he'd done he knew he had committed a giant unforgivable sin. John realized it was mostly his own fault for startling the horse, but Feldspar subtly gave John a wide berth whenever he could from that day forward.



When I examined John’s leg, I was not very sympathetic. There was no mark, and I began to think John was being a bit wimpy. But a few days later the most horrific, colorful, intense bruise I have ever seen appeared on John’s thigh. I was ashamed that I had not been very sympathetic, and found myself groveling with apologies. To this day, I haven't forgiven myself for doubting John’s level of agony.


Feldspar and I both have/had a little bit of a wicked child streak in us. I know that, anywhere and everywhere you go, horses are simply not allowed in the feed room. That’s a given. Feldspar knew this too, and he would never even try to enter when John was around. But when I fed by myself, which was often, he would calmly follow me in. I don't remember when this started, but for years we've had this unspoken understanding. I am a touchy-feely person who needs lots of physical attention. He wanted food. He would follow me into the feed room and go straight to the barrel of pellets, flip off the lid, and stick his head inside for a quick snack. Once his head was inside the feed barrel, I would lay the length of my body along his lowered neck and breathe the scent of his mane into my face. Sometimes, if I'd had a bad day, I would cry into his soft hair, sometimes I would just lean into him, close my eyes, and smile while my friend and I shared our naughty moment. We did this almost every day. John didn't know about it until today, after Feldspar died, when we started sharing our stories about him. I knew John would not approve, which gave our little ritual a touch of danger along with that excitement of just being a little bit naughty. It was like two teenagers sneaking out at night, not to be really bad, but just because it was pushing the established limits, and the thrill of the possibilty of getting caught felt strangely good.



Feldspar was never hard to get to back out of the feed room. All I had to do was say his name and put the back of my hand gently on his chest. He would immediately step back and out of the room without a fuss and I would go ahead and feed everyone. This was Feldspar’s and my little best friend secret, and it had a unique specialness to it that’s hard to adequately explain.



John retired from law enforcement in 2002. He immediately went back to school and got his real estate license. He’s good at it for the same reason he was a good cop. He’s a stickler for detail, and is as honest a fellow as was ever born. But the real estate market started getting soft for us by 2006. We started to struggle. We didn't know that it was a precursor to this total financial meltdown, but we were concerned enough at the time to know we had to cut back on our expenses. Horses, as any of you who own one (or more) know, are a huge expense. So, reluctantly and with great remorse, we put every horse we had, except for Teme (whom we had solemnly sworn and committed to care for, for the rest of his life) on the market. Feldspar was one of the best trained we had, so he had more than his share of tire kickers.



One day a lady came out with her dressage trainer to try him out. The gal was nice, but was very timid and I was nervous that his habit of going so strongly forward was going to scare her. He never ran away, but he had a Trakehner’s energy and it could be intimidating. She rode him around the arena and he was a perfect gentleman. She was obviously enjoying her ride. I started getting nervous that she was actually going to want to buy him. My heart started to crack. Then her “trainer” got on, immediately took the reins in her hands and pulled his chin to his chest. I felt myself gasp, as he has always been incredibly light in the mouth. This woman pushed and pulled and kicked and whined, and didn't get much out of him. She started kicking him furiously while holding the reins so tight his mouth was gaping open and his chin quivered in pain. She started yelling at me, demanding to know what was wrong with this stupid horse and why did he refused to canter? I felt myself starting to get mad as I told her as politely as I could, to PLEASE lighten up a bit on the reins! She seemed to be angry or frightened, I don't know which, and couldn't let herself give him any release. I wondered what kind of monster horse she rode (or created) that made her feel like she needed to pull that incredibly hard all the time. She continued to kick his sides and he finally cantered, but not for long. He broke back to a trot and started to whinny at me, as though to say, “HELP!” I'd had all I could take and I asked her to get off. Her student saw the emotion in my eyes and said, “I don't think you're ready to give up this horse.” I saw my out and quickly replied, “You're right. I just can't sell him. I'm so sorry I wasted your time…” They left; I pulled the sweat-drenched tack off his back and face, and leaned into his wet neck burying my face in his mane. At that moment, I promised him, out loud where he and the birds and other horses and God Almighty could hear me, that no matter what happened to us, our house, or our finances, I would never, ever, so much as consider selling him. He was safe with me. After all, he was my FRIEND, and true friends don't get rid of each other..


I kept that promise. And I'm so grateful today that I did.



Feldspar started out as the baby and bottom of the herd, but eventually, as horses came and went, he advanced and grew into the position of Alfa. He was the perfect passive leader. He was definitely in charge and no one challenged him. All it took was a twitch of an ear or a sideways look. He never attacked or bullied. For some reason I could not see with my human interpretations, he never needed to. He would allow other horses to eat with him, and became the protector of our little mini mare Ripley as she stood in his shadow while she shared his hay. He was never abusive of his power. When a young filly mistook him for her similarly colored mother and tried to suckle his male parts, he gently put his foot on her side and shoved her away. It was not a strike or an angry admonishment, just a “NO!” with gentle firmness. After witnessing that event, I had a new respect for his wise leadership. I have admired his rule of our herd ever since. I'm concerned now because we have no one even close to his personality ready to take over. I have no idea how the remaining horses are going to work things out.



Lately Feldspar has been licking me more than usual. Anytime he got near me he licked my hands and my arms. I thought perhaps he needed salt, but he had a salt block and free choice loose salt available at all time. I made the comment to John just a couple of days ago that it seemed odd, but that I liked it because it seemed so affectionate. I know I have a habit of anthropomorphizing horse behavior, so I tried to stop myself from seeing his actions as loving on me. But I have to admit that it’s hard not to think that way. Now I wonder if he knew he was not long for this world, and he was saying something to me I couldn't hear any other way.



I don't know if he could hear me through his intense pain today, but I spent his last moments of life right there with him, holding his head in my hands and thanking him for the incredible gifts he has given me throughout his and my life. I thanked him for taking care of the babies and for being so gentle with me. I thanked him for our special secret moments in the feed room, and for licking my hands and making me feel so cared about. I thanked him for always being first at the gate to greet me, and for recognizing me as HIS person. I could have gone on and on thanking him for hours, but the Vet’s needle was waiting and the pain was not waiting, so when the Vet asked if I was ready, I silently prayed that he understood enough to know that, if nothing else, he was deeply and truly loved.



Feldspar was my best equine friend. There will never be another one like him. I will never forget him.



My good friend and trainer TJ came over here tonight and helped me braid, cut, and save Feldspar’s long tail. She stayed with me while his body was being taken away. Her presence reminded me how grateful I am that I have human friends too. And she is one of the best.



I found this poem online and sent it to TJ when she lost her beloved Arab gelding friend a couple of weeks ago. She sent it back to me tonight.





Where to Bury a Horse


If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call; come to you over the far, dim pastures of death, and though you ride other living horses through life, they shall not shy at him, nor resent his coming. For he is yours and he belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no nicker pitched too fine for insensitive ears. These are people who may never have really loved a horse. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth knowing.

The one place to bury a horse is in the heart of his master. "

What's in a name?

What's in a Name? by Kris Garrett

Everyone runs into hard times now and then. As anyone with horses knows, our equine friends can easily eat us out of house and home in no time. When you are boarding a horse with someone else, you can fall behind very fast.

I did not know the woman who owned the little black Arab stallion, named "Midnight." A friend of mine called and asked if I could find it in my heart to rescue the little fellow from a boarding facility where he had been abandoned. The owner was in financial trouble, and willing to give up ownership rights to this horse in exchange for $200, if he was moved THAT DAY.

"A stallion?" my husband choked, eyes wide. "What are we going to do with a stallion?"

"Um, geld him, I suppose," I stammered. "Please? He really needs a home..."

My dear, sweet husband never has been able to say no to me. It wasn't long before we were in the car heading first to the bank for some cash, and then to the boarding facility to meet "Midnight," and his soon to be former owner.

Sometimes you can feel anger coming off a person, like it is palpable heat. That was my first impression of Midnight's owner. She was radiating anger like a furnace. I held out my hand in a friendly gesture, but she ignored it. "Did you bring the money?" she asked, without returning my hello. I opened my purse and pulled out the bank envelope with the two, crisp, new, one hundred dollar bills. I handed it to her. She glanced inside and thumbed through the bills. Satisfied, she said, "Okay... let's go see him."

The facility was a mix of new and old, with a bright, new indoor arena and an old shed row barn that looked like it had not been painted in several decades. When we came around the corner to the open side, I spotted what looked like a gangly, underdeveloped yearling colt standing in the dark shade of the three sided shed. "How old is he?" I asked, confused.

"Five years old," the woman grumbled. "He's been here for three years, ever since my divorce."

The manure in the shed was literally knee deep, and I quickly calculated that it was probably about three years worth. There was a mound of grass hay on top off the poop, and a rusty water tank buried nearly to the top in old manure. I looked for a gate, but could not find one. That's when I noticed the woman untwisting a strand of baling wire that held the metal panel to the front of the shed. Obviously no one had gone in the stall in a very long time.

"Don't let him get in the sun," she instructed, as she tried to corner him in the back of the stall. "It will make him fade. He is a true black, which is very rare in Arabians, and you don't want the hair damaged by the sun. I've never let him outside, not since the day he was born," she stated with pride.

He was cautious, but not panicked, as she grabbed for the ratty blue halter that he had obviously been wearing for a very long time. Quick as a cat, she latched on to the nylon cheek strap and held on tight as he threw himself back, lifting her a full two feet of the ground. She didn't let go. He realized he was caught and immediately submitted, dropping his head. She snapped a leadrope on the halter ring and handed it to me. "I'm not giving you the papers," she stated firmly, with no room for argument. "Not for only $200. He's worth thousands, and I'm being totally ripped off. But I have to have him out of here NOW. If you want the papers, I want another three thousand."

I looked at the small, scrawny creature standing before me and wanted to cry. He looked so pathetic. He was skinny, though not abusively so, filthy dirty, with extremely long hooves and sad, gooey eyes. He wouldn't have brought $50 at an auction. "I don't care about papers," I replied, feeling anger well up inside me. I needed to get away from the woman before I said something I would regret later.

We had not brought the horse trailer, thinking we were just going to take a look at him first and come back if we decided to take him. But the thought of leaving him in that dark hole for one more minute was more than I could stand. "I'm going to walk him home," I whispered to my husband. It was only about three miles away, all quiet back roads, and I was not going to wait. My husband scowled, but didn't argue.

I thanked the woman and started down the long gravel driveway. The little black stallion whinnied as we passed other horses in their pens. He was obviously worried and was not sure he wanted to leave. When we reached the road he stopped and planted his feet. He'd decided he'd gone far enough.

"Midnight, we need to go," I cooed. "I promise there will be other horses where we are going. You'll be safe. You've just got to trust me right now, please?" I swung the leadrope toward his tail and got his feet moving. Slowly he started forward, one step at a time. My husband was following in the car, not sure what to do to help.

We made it about a hundred yards down the road when the nervous horse stopped again. I could feel his fear growing. I wasn't sure if it was because of my husband following us in the car, emergency lights flashing, or if he was getting too far away from his home of three years. He became agitated and was trying to pull away. I was concerned I was going to lose him, and found myself getting intimidated. I've had horses all my life, but I'd never handled a stallion before and I was getting nervous.

My husband pulled over, got out of the car and walked up to us. He stood with us for a bit, petting the frightened horse on his dusty black neck. We talked and cooed, assuring him that he was going to be okay. "I'm not sure this was a good idea," I admitted. My husband shrugged.

I started toward home again, and got nearly a mile when I realized we were picking up speed. The horse had stopped trying to turn around and had his nose touching the small of my back as we trudged along. I imagined that he had his eyes closed and was simply resigning himself to his fate. My husband was trying to stay far enough back not to interfere and was having trouble keeping the car moving slow enough. I waved him up and told him to go on ahead and get a place ready for our new friend. He was hesitant to leave us, but at my insistence he slowly drove past and headed for home.

I was getting a bit winded as we walked up the long steep hill as we got close to our house. I was chattering away to the horse, passing the time by telling him about our other horses and assuring him he would be okay. That's when I heard it.

"Sky." It was one word. I stopped and turned around to see who was there. "Sky. Call me Sky." I heard again. Suddenly I realized that I was not hearing the words with my ears, but rather in my head!

I'd heard of animal communication, but had never had a conscious experience of it before. I felt myself tremble with excitement, wishing I could call my husband back to tell him what had just happened. I stared into "Sky's" dark eyes, and said out loud, "You want to be called Sky? Okay, we can do that. You've had enough of living in the dark, like it's always midnight, haven't you? You're right, Midnight is a horrid name for a fellow who wants to see the sky!"

"Sky! I want to be under the sky! And I want to be called Sky." I heard him say again in a child-like voice in my mind. I was stunned. I fought the impulse to dismiss what I was hearing as my imagination, and decided the experience was just too strong for me to have made it up. So, for the rest of the walk home, I called my new friend, Sky. Over and over I said his name, and told him how wonderful his life was going to be. And I promised to NEVER lock him up in the dark, where he couldn't see the bright sky.

When we got home I saw that John had put our other horses in the barn so Sky could get acclimated to our place without having to deal with them. I opened the gate and led Sky into the pasture. I tried to take off his old halter, but it was so stiff and the buckle was so rusted that I couldn't get it off. So, I unclipped the lead rope and let him go.

Sky stood for a moment, staring at me. "Go on, Sky! You're FREE!" His eyes grew wide, and suddenly he spun on his haunches and launched himself into a full gallop. Around and around the pasture he ran, as fast as his delicate legs could carrying him. I kept hearing "Free! Free!" in my mind. I'd never seen a horse so happy!

The next few weeks were rough for Sky. We had to cut his halter off with a knife, and the dent in his nose never did go away. He got very foot sore from running on the hard ground after so many years of standing in soft manure. We put him in a smaller paddock so he'd stop running so much, but where he could still get outside and into the sun. We got his feet trimmed right away, but it took him a month before his feet toughened enough that they did not cause him pain.

During that time we had a summer solstice party at our house. We set up a ring of hay bales for people to sit on and had a drumming circle to celebrate the first day of summer. It was great fun. After the ceremony, while people were gathered on the porch for a BBQ, I let all the horses out into the pasture where we had been. Sky went to the exact center of our circle and laid down. He stayed there for the rest of the evening. Many of the party goers were moved to tears as they watched the little horse sleep in the circle. No one disturbed him. My belief is that he felt the healing energy created by our circle and was absorbing the positive charge we had left behind.

Sky filled out quickly and proved himself to be a true gentleman with people and other horses. He has never again been locked up in the dark. He was gelded and trained to ride. And while he remained fairly small, he became an excellent trail horse.

I've never again had a conscious "communication" from an animal. I suppose I probably hear more than I think I do, but only Sky has "talked" to me in such a profound way. Even so, Sky opened up a new world of possibilities for me. I will always be grateful for my experience with the little black Arab stallion who loves to look at the sky.

-Kris Garrett