For Dale
His name was Dale. And before you know anything about me, you need to know about him. He was and still is the other half of my soul. I knew he would be special the day I went to look at him. I knew he would be special in the way only a nine-year-old can. I rode several horses on that life-altering day, and with each horse I rode, small chunks of a rainbow formed overhead. It was a full rainbow by the time I rode Dale. I knew that meant he was “the one”. We brought him home and people told my parents he might be “too much horse for me”. We had our share of challenges, he was green and only 6 years old after all, and I had only ridden lesson ponies up to that point. He was not extraordinary looking. Plain sorrel, not a speck of white on him. A well-built, 15.2 unregistered Quarter Horse. But he is what made me.
Dale and I holding a herd during a spring round up. Socorro, NM. 2011. PC: Kathryn Stedham
He wasn’t extraordinary because he was a great mover, he wasn’t well-schooled, and he wasn’t fancy. Let me tell you though, that was the kindest, most tolerant, most trusting, toughest, most extraordinary horse I have sat on to-date. As I ride more and more horses, some of which cost more than a house, are better traveled, and way better trained than I am, I am only more and more in awe of Dale. We did things you are not suppose to do. We did things I was told were impossible, or too dangerous, and we made a game of doing all of them. He never let me down, and we never got hurt. Maybe it was luck. But with him, my luck never ran out. We ran wild. And that joy, that feeling of immeshing yourself with another being, without fear of anything the world would throw at you, that complete trust. That is why I do this.
I love horses because of him. I learned patience because of him. I learned tolerance because of him. And I learned true empathy and complete loss because of him too. After 15 years together, 4 different states, a colic surgery, a college graduation, meeting my mentor, meeting my partner, starting my first job, and starting my first horse, I had to put Dale down. He had squamous cell carcinoma under his soft pallet, an incredibly rare place for that cancer to develop. It was agony to watch. It nearly broke me. I mean, really broke me. Driving back and forth to the university veterinary hospital that diagnosed him, I had a crisis of faith. Faith in myself, faith in my ability, faith in my dreams of riding professionally. On that hour drive down I-81 I asked myself: “Is this worth it? Was this amount of pain worth it?” I loved Dale like he was a part of me, and as he started to die, part me died with him. It was only realizing that the pain was this intense because the love had been greater, that kept me going. I relived our years together. Thinking about the years of happiness, triumphs, challenges, beating the odds, racing the wind, and pushing the boundaries made me realize it was worth it. More than that, I realized that it was my responsibility to be with him through this terminal illness. Not to shrink away from the pain, but to embrace it and him. I owed it to him. I owed everything to him.
I think you split your soul every time you bury part of it in the ground. That’s what happen to me. I buried part of my soul on top of a hill overlooking the world we inhabited together. I am not diminished for it. No, I am more complete. More whole, more patient, more forgiving. And what do I do with that now? Now I start horses. And every baby horse I start with patience, kindness, consideration and a soft hand…that is because of Dale. He showed what me what we could accomplish with trust over fear. He is the reason I like a challenge. He is why like seeing the progress, and being a part of it. Every horse I ride, every lesson I teach, every baby I start, every pony I groom, they are small acts of homage. Homage to the being who carried me this far. I do this for him, for Dale.