Losing a pet is a difficult and painful event for anybody, but also losing a partner makes it nearly unbearable. In 2016, my sister and I each had our very first show horses. Captain and Merlin became the center of our lives as competitive equestrians. We retired Merlin, my sister's horse, in 2018 after I stopped competing, and my sister resumed her riding on Captain, my horse. All was well until March of this year when Merlin was diagnosed with a neurological parasite that attacks the use of the hind legs. On the evening of July 8th, he took a turn for the worse. In the dim light of the next morning, my mother came into my room. In a quiet voice hoarse from recent crying, she told me that a friend of ours would arrive at noon to dig a grave for Merlin and that the vet would arrive shortly thereafter. I found my sister in the pasture with him, her eyes were red from previous tears, and the dark circles marked underneath proved that she spent most of the night outside with her horse. We sat together on the fence in the silent comfort of each other's grief. Watching him graze, I felt overwhelming guilt at the fact that he remained oblivious to his dwindling hours. How could we do this to him? And yet, how could we, in good conscience, allow him to live every day unable to even stand upright? I felt my heart break a little more with each passing minute. As the morning grew older and the sun climbed higher, Merlin lay down while my sister sat in the dirt with his head on her lap, stroking his face as he dozed off. Four years of hard work, dedication, love, pain, laughter, and tears held them closer than touch could allow. Anyone who looked at the two of them together in such a mutually vulnerable position could see it. Unable to dwell on them much longer, I busied myself by making a garland of Texas Bluebells my mother had picked earlier in the day. The bright violet color and the sweet smell of the flowers occupied me until our friend arrived with his small tractor to dig the grave. Another friend arrived unexpectedly and comforted us by saying, "The Bible says that Jesus will come back on a white horse, so that must mean horses go to Heaven, too." Before the vet arrived, my sister took Captain to be with Merlin in his pasture one last time. Those two have been the best of friends since the first time they were introduced to each other. In the short minutes they were together again, they never left each other's side, and for a bit, we were transported back in time to when we first moved them home together with their nose touches and familiar whinnies. When it finally came time, Captain was standing at the gate as he watched us all walk away. We draped my garland across Merlin's neck and placed one of his ribbons on the halter as we took our final pictures of him. With the vet, we walked Merlin to a secluded opening among the thick trees behind our pond. The clearing was filled with vibrant Bluebells and bright yellow Buttercups. The trees which surrounded us blocked most of the wind, which made the harsh afternoon sun sweltering. The sound of cicadas droned on as we said our final goodbyes to Merlin, our sweet and lovable Merlin. After his final breath, I felt a cool breeze sweep over the field. In such a secluded and sealed off location with little natural circulation, I am thoroughly convinced the breeze was Merlin's spirit saying goodbye. The vets and my mother all left so that my sister and I could be alone before they buried him. It was only after they left that my sister, who had been crying quietly most of the day, truly and unreservedly began sobbing. We sat outside for what felt like hours but could not have been more than ten minutes. Finally, my sister gently kissed his head, and we both stood and hugged each other, an act of affection we seldom share. With one final glance at our beautiful horse in the field of Bluebells, we walked back to the house. After a shower, some rest, and plenty of water, I looked through our last photos of Merlin. Like many people in my generation, I decided to post something of the matter to social media. I loaded the photo, but I could only just stare at it for the longest time. How could I express the depths of my grief with only a picture? How could I convey the impact that Merlin's life had on mine? It was impossible. My sister and I were the only two people in the world who could look at that picture and know the life, the connection, the memories that it held. Regardless, I posted the picture, not for my small audience, but for me, to help me understand that Merlin now lives only through the memories of the people who knew him. Though it was such an upsetting and saddening thing to experience, I know that Merlin was loved as much as any horse could be. I also know that he loved us, too. Why else would it hurt so much?

It was a summer evening and we were near dinner time when the phone rang. A family, who were old acquaintances with us, had called to ask a rare favor. They inquired if their teenage sons could be allowed to borrow our horses and trails to go crossbow hunting. My mother, who is the farm manager, told them that it was not something that we generally allowed. However, she said that if I agreed to accompany and supervise them that it would be permitted. So it was that we scheduled one of the most memorable rides of my life. The boys showed up in the late evening after dinner a few days later. We groomed, saddled and tacked up the horses and made sure they were properly suited for the ride. A little before dusk we rode up into the trails and began our search. I learned within the first hour that of our ride that crossbows are not easy to use. Two hands are needed. One to hold the front and the other to pull back the string and arrow. To handle the crossbow at all while on horseback, one needs to be a very skilled and balanced rider who can hold the reigns and one part of the crossbow in one hand at the same time. Many horses are startled at the mere sound of the twinge of a bow or the sight of arrows flying through the air. So, to have any chance at striking their mark, a person must either have a very experienced and docile horse or be very skilled in controlling their steed. Such takes time and skill and this was a one-time only riding-hunt experience for the boys. Also worthy of note is that our woods are very dense in the summertime. Deer can easily hide within five feet of the trails without being seen or noticed during this season. The arrows also have to be shot in a manner so as not to hit any trees or bushes between the path of the hunter and his prey. Thus, crossbow hunting on horseback is certainly not an easy thing to do. We split into two groups so as to be more silent and have more of an opportunity to cover the approximately 90 acres in our domain. This increased our sight of game and we hoped that it would give us more of an opportunity to catch our prey. Despite the terrible odds against us our little troop nearly hit the mark several times. Yet, time was against us and the sky was quickly darkening. I was responsible for bringing everyone safely home. Since we had split up and spent as much time as possible hunting, we now had very little time to regroup before returning to the stables. As a result of this, I agreed to let the boys do something which we almost never let riders do on our farm. I gave my consent for them to cantor and gallop the full extent of the trails. One who has never been to our farm might not be able to imagine why this is a big deal. I will therefore explain why such is not usually allowed. Our trails are not flat but similar to a rollercoaster; going continuously up in steep inclines and down in rapid declines. Sometimes we allow experienced riders who know well how to keep their horses in control to go fast up the hills. Yet, we rarely allow anyone to ride their horse quickly downhill because of how dangerous it can be between loosing balance, stumbling or hitting something suddenly. I made the rare exception for the boys because I knew them personally for many years and trusted their horsemanship and abilities as I don't many other riders. So it was that for the next 15 minutes or so we cantered and galloped the trails until we regrouped with the rest of our party. Then we made our way as quickly as safely possible to the flattest part of the trails in the open part of the property. Within a few minutes of exiting the forest, the darkness reached its peak and we could hardly see just a few feet in front of us as we rode. If we had been in the forest still it most likely would have been pitch black and getting back to the barn would have been much more difficult. Even as experienced riders, we most likely would have had to dismount and walk our horses back on foot in order to avoid mishap. Though our arrows had not managed to hit any of our targets, it was a great experience. It was like going back to a time in the medieval ages when men had to hunt with more simple means. This ride was one of the most memorable of my life, and I hope that one day such experiences will become again more common in our society.

“There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.” - Winston Churchill. Since I was twelve a horse was a large portion of my life. I found release and freedom from the world through her. But, I never understood this quote until I realized horses gave me wings. My aunt told me that kittens were at their barn. We were going to check on them and then go to the movies. My blonde headed self was so focused on small fluffy kittens, I walked past a horse and her massive body standing in the corner. I kept walking distracted with kittens on my brain. I find myself hearing something, “crunch, crunch, crunch.” I turned around, and I was disappointed at not finding what my mind was so looking for. Then seeing a large butt with a knotty tail I think cows are not kittens. Yes. I know, a dreadful miscalculation. Then, I realised it was her. Her, a horse, THE horse I saw two weeks prior. She was still matted with feces and her bones were visible. It was her though! I had whispered, “ I will get you, I promise.” My pleading prays at the dinner table had worked. I asked God, but it's was my parent's conscious I softened. Mischievous maybe, but it worked! After giving everyone a hug and saying thank you, I began to brush her. I named her, “Ladybug”. Her coat grew and her bones filled out. However, Ladybug suffered from separation anxiety and nervous behavior. I think, she most needed was love. Ladybug wasn't easy to train. I often had to walk back to the barn from where I had been thrown off. She'd get injured. I tried hard not to get hurt myself. The outside of a horse will teach you that you can gain submission of a thousand pound animal through force, but never trust. So I took her away from people who thought to win her was to wear down her spirit and control her. I stubbornly searched for a solution. After 3 years, I found Carrie Vinski a women, who when you meet her you automatically underestimate her, which is a bad move I found. Carrie Vinski is a woman with a spirit so fierce and kind she has a whirlwind of inspiration always surrounds her. She opened my eyes to a new understanding. She taught me to be still while Ladybug stormed. Carrie taught me to speak the equine language. On the inside I stayed calm when it seemed like all hell was about to break loss. She steadied my hands and showed me how to love better. Carrie valued the horse's selflessness. She left the horse training world for that reason. Ladybug and I began to move forward for the first time. We managed a few shows, better riding practices, and began relaxing together. I learned not to demand so much from a creature whose spirit was broken. I listened and showed kindness instead of demanding my way. Horse are complicated and mysterious giants. Everyday you discover more from them. She gave me wings as I rode her across seas of grass. Air was flying past as I was afloat in the atmosphere. The sound of her proud snorting filled my ears. The thunder drum beating of her hooves feasted on the ground underneath me as we took off. That feeling sank deep into my bones as every muscles flexed and worked. As one she carry us across fields, rivers, and forests always on our way to nowhere. A horse run with power, strength and grace. To be carried by such a creature is a honor. In the show ring you feel the most intimate connection. The response in a single small command to turn, hold back and to go. The grace and enchanting movement in the dressage ring answers all questions of the true beauty of connection between two beings. Horses dance with passion and run with fire in there blood. They are war machines of old because of there benevolent power. While the story of Ladybug and I was finally pushing toward a positive light, as so often happens not all stories end with happiness. I found her limping and with a gaping wound to her hoof and a large loss of blood. I had to let her go. It was the honest thing to do, but saying goodbye to her was the hardest thing I've ever done. I regret walking away afraid to watch the light go out from her eyes. I heard her drop laying on the floor in wailing agony. I felt my heart break. Yet, I walked out and held her head gently as she breathed her last. I said, “ I'm proud to have called you mine. I told her she did a good job. Thank you, Ladybug.” She passed away with the sound of cars passing in the distance. I finally understood Winston Churchill. Ladybug was never about self gain. She humbled my prideful spirit and quenched a part of my soul hadn't known was parched. The freedom and discipline she taught me is irreplaceable. The horses body reminds men that there is rare power far greater than we know. Joy can be found even in the most troubling of things and love to be gained from earnest pursuit. Ladybug taught me gentleness. All horses have the power of enchantment over men. They are the wingless that fly with wings that only heaven may know of. Horses tame men.

What sport can someone do when they can't kick a ball, run, or even properly wheel a wheelchair? You would think that my perpetual ability to fall over while standing still would discourage me from playing any kind of sport, but that would make too much logical sense for my tastes. My whole family is very athletic; my Mom gloats about beating the boys' long jump team in high school, my brother has played soccer since three and my sister plays anything that catches her attention. But what to do with me? Apparently the answer was quite simple for my Mother: horseback riding. Horseback riding is one of the best things that has happened to me. During eleven years of riding, I have had ups and downs, had plenty of things to be proud of, improved my self-confidence and gained new skills. The program was called Pegasus, it is a physical therapy program for disabled riders. It entails riding for an hour and you gain basic knowledge of horses. I fell in love with it right away. For once I had the ability to move fast. Really fast. That alone gave me a whole new sense of freedom. Where I could barely walk at an average pace let alone run, the sudden ability to move at any speed while on the horse was exhilarating. Also, I was finally able to look people in the eye. From the wheelchair I was always shorter than everybody, and always looking up. Now from the horse, I was the one looking down on them. Five years in, I hurt my ankle. Since the stirrups irritated it I had to ride without them. Riding this way involves a lot of balance and skill. I was set back a few years because of the increased limitations. For a little while I felt like giving up. When one day someone pointed out something: I was the only one in my class without stirrups who didn't fall off. I realized they were right. With this new insight, I continued. It was in my 7th year in horseback riding when someone wanted to do an interview piece on Pegasus. It was summer break; I was vacationing in Nova Scotia; when my Mom asked a question out of the blue: “would I like to go on T.V. to represent the whole Pegasus program?”. Apparently she had gotten an email. About three weeks later and a whole lot of running around, I was in front of the camera, again I was being asked a question: Why do you like horseback riding? My answer was simple: the freedom of movement. But my success did not stop there. With my ankle healed up and a new horse named Soleil, my coach put me in a show. However, I wouldn't be riding against my other class mates. This time I'll be against able-bodied riders. Since it was my first large show, I didn't get my hopes up of bringing any ribbons home. I was just excited to be in the show. After the hour long show consisting of equitation which is a test of the amount of time it takes you to get your horse to respond to you. All the riders go into the ring at once and someone calls out instructions and you do it at a seconds notice. The second show was Dressage which is a pre-practiced pattern done by all riders. After both shows I was exhausted and still wasn't expecting much. Much to everyone's surprise that day I came in first, beating out the people had less physical limitations than me. I looked back at my parents, realizing the whole ring was applauding me. I sure did a lot of gloating when I got home. Flash forward a few years, I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. At the young age of 18, I underwent a double hip reconstruction surgery which included work on my knee. The surgery itself lasted 6 hours and I was a Holland Bloorveiw Children's Rehabilitation Hospital for 5 months. The stay itself was isolating away from friends who were moving on, moving out and going to University. Worst of all, I was unable to horseback ride as horseback riding comes from the hips. Most people think you control your horse using your reins, but the horse listens to the riders' change of positioning and shifting of your weight around. It took me a full year later to literally get back on the horse. It was one of the happiest moment of my life. By that point, I was still having problems with my hips and not recovering well and I was beginning to give up hope on riding again. Getting back on diminished the fears and although I was unable to stay on for long, I did it. It took another full year to be able to stay on for the full lesson and I still have bad days. But riding overall greatly improved the speed of my healing process both on a physical and emotional level, as it gave me an intense workout and gave me new hope not to mention the emotional bond I have with my horse. Over the 10 years I have been riding I have learned many lessons, and gained confidence and pride. Before I started horseback riding I thought of myself as the girl that was in a wheelchair but could not wheel it, and the girl that loved to run but could barely stand. Now I am the woman that stands tall just on someone else's feet.