Rainbows, Unicorns, & all that is practical

I was told the other day by a "horse professional" (and I will leave it at that cause whom said it isn't as important as the fact that it was said) that the difference between this person and myself was simple; they were practical and I was impractical. It was said as I was explaining what happened to Patch and added how the grief for this horse had brought me to my knees. That's when the "impractical vs. practical" comment was made. I choose not to voice my opinion right then or frankly to this person; it would do me no good.

I woke this morning and my very first thought was about Patch. I had never ever considered the possibility of Patch leaving. It quite honestly never occurred to me, or perhaps "unheard of" would better describe my feelings surrounding the possibility. It still seems unreal to me. I have always known that there was a possibility of Katie going to live with someone else, it was pretty much the plan to find Katie that special little girl that could jump with Katie. With Tex, I would love to think that Texas will never find another home but "technically" speaking it is always a possibility. When Patch came here he was to never ever without a doubt never go anywhere else for the rest of his days; those days should have lasted so much longer that his leaving when he did...it just never entered my mind as a possibility. Perhaps in that sense I was "impractical", I don't believe my grief to be impractical. 

Patch was an incredible soul, he was strong, brave, proud, and wise. I swear that horse could look at me and say more then half the people I know. He told on Texas a LOT and I'm serious. Tex thinks he is the king of all that is Hidden Springs, we all let him, however once in while he needs to be reminded that his Crown is a privilege not a right. Patch would seriously look to Tex, look to me, look to Tex and look to me until I did something about whatever Tex would not let Patch have (typically food related). When there were apples involved Patch knew to walk up to the top with a simple point from me in that direction; again Tex... He would come to the front door and stand there and patiently wait for me to notice him so he could be given a carrot or an apple and if all was right with the world a peppermint. I watched him stand there and watch me eat dinner at the kitchen island, waiting patiently. He got a treat afterward for his patience alone. I've seen him walk to the truck and point to the bed when he knew oats were in there, I've seen him sneak a bite of hay that was on the truck and look right at you like "ummm yes well you left it there" and all but smile. He liked one stall in the barn (we have three). If you put him in that stall he pooped in the back and kept the front totally clean. If you put him Anywhere else, he made a complete utter mess of things. If you were sitting in the driveway he would walk up and literally stand next to your chair for as long as he could, or Tex came around. He didn't really "need" anything but to be next to you, so he'd just stand there. He'd chase Leo within an inch of his little behind, backing off when he got too close. He discovered potato chips and thought he'd found horsey heaven. He protested every time he saw his blanket in a way that reminded me of an old man being told he had to wear a hearing aid, crotchety but so damned lovable you hugged them anyway. He pinned his ears and swung his head around to stare every time I fussed over his tail but after a minute his head was down and he was either eating or drifting half asleep. 

He came here so passive, I don't think he'd have protested anything. He came here pretty sore and pretty unhealthy. I got to watch him find himself and his voice again, I am sure there are some out there that would claim that "impractical" however I was damned proud of him. In my world of rainbows and unicorns we all deserve a voice and we all deserve a place in which that voice can be heard without fear. Patch had that here, he was able to find that again, and I got to love him through it. There is really no greater honor.

Yes I sat with a "dead horse" covered in a tarp, shivering and talking to the wind. Yes I wanted to curl up and never wake up when he died. No I didn't understand it. Yes I blamed myself and talked myself down a million times since last Tuesday. Yes I slept with his tail and yes it is on my night stand and I smell it before bed and did again this morning when I woke and remembered that he is still gone. I cried this morning when I went to deliver breakfast and didn't hear his nicker; did I collapse? No. Did I cry a little? Yes. Will I continue to hurt from his loss? Yes. Will I eventually look back at pictures and not find a tear in my eye? Yes etc etc etc. 

Is honoring the love we shared, and yes it was shared, by allowing myself to grieve that impractical? No, I think not. Is it impractical to believe, with all my heart, that the grief has nothing to do with the number of legs Patch had or the language he spoke and everything to do with who he was? To a lot I suppose so. Patch, I am sure would disagree; he knew who he was and he knew who I was. He didn't care that I couldn't gallop anymore then I cared that he couldn't open his own bag of oats. There was love, a lot of it. Without Patch there is a hole; I'm not so impractical as to believe it will remain gaping forever. I am however impractical enough to honor our love by grieving in whatever way I need. I think he'd be proud of me for that. 

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Patch

I'm almost afraid to touch the subject of Patch. I'm still lost somewhere in that hour before I saw him standing there holding his leg in the oddest position.

I was walking to the store, that's not odd. They all followed me through the pasture, it's a short cut, that's not odd. When I told them "No Tex, no Katie, Patch go back" it was not odd. When I heard them running as I made my way up the road, it was not odd. There was nothing remarkable about the exchange, nothing at all. I walked away, sorta shaking my head at the "antics".

I came back, no less than an hour and a half later, and saw Patch standing stock still, looking my way, holding his leg in a position that even I could see from a distance (I'm half blind at a distance) was really really bad. I remember walking closer to him and half way thinking "no, no, just no" and half way thinking "what the heck has he gotten himself into now, damn it Patch".

The horror that ran through me when I knew it was "no, no, just no" and not "damn it Patch" came like waves; one second there they were playing at my feet, the next second seemingly pulling me under, only to let go so I could dance away just in time for it to start again. I held him, stroked his neck, gave him some munchies, he couldn't even bend all the way down to get his hay so I was hoisting it up for him, I talked to him. Not one ounce of what I said made any sense. All I could think was "Oh God no not Patch not him please god not him". I knew for Patch I had to shut up the fear and just let him know I loved him so very much, I'd always love him and how oh so special he was, so I just kept repeating it all over and over. Perhaps my need to say it over and over was for both our comfort. I told him how brave he was, how strong he was and that if we could we'd do everything to fix this, everything, anything.

My friends came over, Jenny and Kate and soon Kenneth and Kate's dad followed and Dale was here as well. I was praying Kate would see Patch and say "Ok now we know how you get all worried, he just popped something out of socket, he'll live". She didn't, she confirmed what I already knew. We all stood by him, got him some oats and hand fed him while three young women who loved this horse dearly talked to him and each other about the vet coming and telling us it's a blown muscle or something no one had seen before and that he'd make it through again. He had come through so very much, this could not be happening, not to Patch.

When Kate first got here I fell apart in her arms, this is not something I do, however the pain I felt when I looked at him was so intense I lost it. I look back and wonder if she had any idea that I'd fall into her arms and blow snot all over her sweater when she confirmed what I already knew. His leg was beyond repair. The vet came and made it all too clear again. It's all murky for me, the time that the vet was here, and it's all so vivid that each memory brings me to tears. It's as if time stood still the moment he said "Oh no that doesn't look good, there is nothing we can do, you can feel the breaks, his leg is swollen with blood, the one good thing is there is no wrestling with a decision here, we can do nothing for him except put him down..." I think those words followed by, "right here?" will haunt me for a very long time.

He was crazy gentle with Patch, and me. He explained it, he helped Patch down when the sedative took hold. Patch, right till the end didn't want anything to do with laying down, I suspect he knew that once down he'd not be up again. He didn't thrash about, he didn't make a huge fuss, he just didn't want to go down, the Dr. guided him in the end.

I sat with him while the Dr listened for his heart beat to stop and repeated the same I love yous that I had been repeating to him for the last two hours. I pray he knew I was at his side, holding him while he left.

After everyone left I sat with him some more and cried to my mom on the phone. I remember telling her I was freezing and that it couldn't be the weather cause it was not cold. I had been shaking since I saw him standing in the pasture with his leg all bend but I couldn't go anywhere, I sat there and thought how odd it was that I could not make my legs move, I could not get up and go get the jacket my mom said I probably should go get. So I sat there, holding his face, apologizing for fussing over his face when I knew he hated it, and promised him I'd resist the urge to bring up the brushes and make him "pretty".

I knew I should go comfort Tex and Katie cause they were watching me from their windows but I didn't know how, not right then, fuck I could barely move truth be told. Finally Leo, sitting a good hundred feet away got me to move. He was scared, I couldn't let him just sit there sacred. We went in the house for about an hour. I spoke to a friend of mine and asked if I was crazy to want to brush him and be there sitting in the middle of the pasture with him covered in a tarp. The tarp just drove me crazy, I hated covering him like that. It seemed so horribly undignified for such a proud proud soul. Jenny thank god, understood this and brought his blanket up so his gorgeous wonderful face was covered in that and not some god forsaken tarp. My friend assured me that I was not crazy and if sitting with him was what I wanted then by god go sit with him.

I sat with Patch until about 10pm. I talked to him about everything, about how special he was, about how I'd miss his standing at the front door waiting on a carrot, how proud I was to have been part of his life, how incredibly brave and wonderful he was always, how lucky I was to have known him, how sorry I was that he had to leave, and promised again that I'd not bring up the brushes and fuss over him cause I knew how much he hated it (or at least acted like he hated it).

The next day we (Kate, Jenny and I) called to have him removed and cremated. Kate and Jenny somehow knew what I needed yesterday and delivered it to me without one single word. We went to lunch, we went to see Perris, Charlie, and Lady, we went to meet a fabulous woman who was rescuing two ponies and then we came back to the farm to meet the gentleman who was to remove Patch. I will be forever grateful for the people that helped him through this, the Dr, the service that took him, not to mention my friends, there was respect and love in every moment.

I have wished so hard, over the last two days, to find the words that would do Patch justice. Words that would serve him well, explain somehow to whomever was listening that this horse was not just a horse. He was brave and proud and out spoken and smarter than most people I know. I looked at Patch every single day, a thousand times a day and every single glance found my heart swelling with love, every single glance. I may never be able to touch Patch with the written word and do him justice, he was and is beyond words for me right now. One day I hope to be able to tell his story, for today I will simply close with I love him, I will always love him and not a day will go by when I don't picture his blanketed rear end, or remember how many times he looked at me and spoke through a turn of his head or a blink of his eye.

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The trouble with poetry (and ponies)

Recently I put a collection of my poetry together and published it through Amazon as well as Barnes and Nobel. Not long after I put it on Amazon and saw a few sales, but a relatively flat response, I started to wonder. I did not advertise it with anything more than minimal effort however even with that minimal effort a little interest could be reasonably expected. I wondered what it was about poetry that made most everyone shy away, perhaps applaud the "courage" they thought it took to expose yourself in such a manner however consuming it (for lack of a better word) not so much. Let's face it, people don't generally read poetry, a lot of people have preconceived notions that play into that but by in large I believe it is because we don't want to think. We really don't have to anymore, and we certainly don't want to.

There you have the connection between pony and poem. We (collectively) don't want to think, and they certainly deserve thought. 

Considering all this I have decided that the two truly do belong together and any sales from the poetry book should go to Pony Up Rescue in Olalla, Wa; people who DO think about the ponies!

Below is a sample from the book and a couple links to purchase...with any luck we can generate thought, if not for poetry then maybe for the ponies...

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Moving-On-ebook/dp/B004MPRAZM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1311215945&sr=8-1

Barnes and Nobel:

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Moving-On/Carol-Flores/e/2940013647459

From the book:

Witness

There was a second when I thought to breathe,
to feel, to crawl under my own skin, turn it
right-side out, claim nothing more
than capability. As if disrobing
mid-sentence were entirely normal (accepted).
More likely it'd find you half undressed
with as much life as an eight (times 7) year old
hound stuck somewhere in Iowa exhausted
with July and it's knee high corn, serving him
as much purpose as you, naked on some corner,
skin all upside down and backward, stumbling over
your words, wondering who's idea was this anyway?
Still there was that second when I thought to reach under,
to touch myself as if I cared a great deal.
You came to watch, and did so fascinated
it was hard to tell which was more beautiful
more natural, you struck silent
or me, struck alive by my own hand
at your witness


I choose this poem because so many misunderstand the original intent. It used to insult me that everyone that read it believed it to be about the obvious. Anymore I figure it's none of my business what the reader chooses to see, it's enough that they took the time to "see"...

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Patch, a lesson in listening

Last Saturday we had company on the farm and there were small people that wanted to pay attention to the ponies, the ponies love this. They get brushed on, talked to sweetly, and treats are generally involved.

On Tuesday we had company again. There was some brushing, there was some ohh and ahh'ng, there were pieces of melon, and there was a lot of sweet talk.

The children involved in both cases were no younger than nine and not ever in the presence of the ponies without myself and or Dale.

Texas and Katie loved this. I could wax poetic about the feeling of joy that comes when I see a young person touch a tail and light up like a shooting star however that is another post.

Patch was not a big fan. He tolerated this "pretty pretty pony" thing I had going on with the little people on Saturday, probably confident that it was not to continue. He became mildly irritated with me allowing these strange people (I don't think it had much to do with the fact that they were little people) to come into his room on Saturday. He also voiced that, mildly, Saturday.

Patch has a crabby face when he wants to. Patch also has a "I'm not speaking to you" face.

I got them both on Saturday.

On Tuesday I got the crabby, I'm not speaking to you, cause now I'm pissed, face. I even got the don't you dare touch me and get that "other" person out of my room glare.

I didn't get out of his room. I did have the little person get me a halter and leave the "room". She had been standing by the gate during the series of faces, no where near Patch; it was me he was mad at, not her.

I put the halter on him and proceeded to brush him out. He didn't move about, I didn't get any mean faces. I got Patch standing there, a little smug and a little resigned.

It was just him and I, she (the little person) was standing outside the stall. I talked, Patch mostly stood there and tolerated. I'm not sure he listened so much as he stood there and hoped that maybe I'd figure it out since he couldn't speak English.

I didn't say anything profound. I was confused by his obvious displeasure and I hadn't figured it out yet. I only knew that if I walked away I'd miss something important, so I stood with him and brushed and said things like "wow Patch what was that about?" and brushed some more. He stood there, in a halter, which is unheard of for something as simple as brushing in the stall, and looked almost as confused as I was.

We finished up and after everyone had left the barn area I went in to talk to Patch. He was still not happy and although he was not as pissed, he clearly wasn't going to come play kissy face before final lights out. I turned out the lights and went down to the house.

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he was so upset. What he was telling me was clear, he was not cool with people he didn't know really, strangers if you will, fussing over him. I kept thinking "ya know maybe he didn't like you letting someone else play pretty pretty pony with him". It's not like anyone was hurting him, we are talking a soft brush and a lot of innocent, starry eyed wonder showered on him. That being said I suppose it could be a bit like being put on display I.E. playing pretty pretty pony.

Texas and Katie love it.

Patch, I think, does not.

Patch tried on Saturday to politely tell me that he had boundaries and this was one he'd like to keep intact.

I didn't listen.

He told me again on Tuesday, a little less politely. I was listening, I just didn't understand what I was hearing.

Patch has never been pissed at me, and he clearly was. He was not "speaking" to me. He tolerated me on Wednesday, sorta gave an inch on Thursday and today actually did me the favor of slobbering on my hand.

I'm pretty sure I am forgiven. That being said Wednesday afternoon I apologized for not quite getting why he was upset. Thursday I apologized again, knowing where I had gone wrong, and Friday morning I stood with him and without apologizing and just told him how much I loved him while he ate his breakfast.

Last night he was his normal self, he stood at the kitchen door waiting for me to notice him for a good five minutes (perhaps patience equals a treat?), he came up to the lawn chairs to say hi at least five million times, he nuzzled my hand, slobbered on me, and even reminded me that sometimes my back is the best scratching post ever.

I don't think my "most favorite handsome pony ever" likes to be fussed over and or rather put on display. I think what Patch was telling me was "I love you, and you, you can do whatever you'd like so long as it does NOT include random people coming into my room and fussing over me as if I am a barbie doll pony, I'm over that, retired remember??"

Shorty, Apache, or Patch has served so many people. At twenty (give or take a year) I think that if anyone deserves to kick back and "do nothing more than be a horse" it's Patch. Normally, I don't ask him to do much more than be Patch, and he knows it.

Normally, he doesn't have to work so hard to tell me something so simple.

Lesson (or rather lessons) learned, again...

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