Last Time I Rode Abby

There will always come the time when a relationship with an animal friend needs to come to an end.

The toe of my boot wouldn't slide into the stirrup as easily as usual. In fact, my whole left leg went numb as I bent down to push my foot into place. When that didn't work, Wendy came over to help, looking up at me with concern. We both knew then this would be a ride that would decide my equestrian future.

I'd fallen off Abby the previous week and had been hobbling around ever since in a gait that reminded me of Chester from Gun Smoke. When Abby spooked as I used my hat to rub a gigantic horsefly from her neck, she tossed me in the air like a ragdoll and took off at full gallop. She disappeared around the corner with her stirrups flapping up and down. It seemed my whole pelvis rang when I landed square on my hip. My internal organs tingled like pins and needles from the shock. Yeah, it hurt, and God forbid I should wander into an ER and check it out.

Gillian, my friend visiting from Scotland, was ready to ride. We had a mountain of pine and skunk brush to explore. Tally-ho! I tipped my hat at Wendy and pressed my heels against Abby's flanks. Well, that came together nicely. It gave me hope.

Abby had become spookier on the trails since Checkers, our Queensland/Lab cross, no longer criss-crossed in front of her, thrashing through the bush like a bear on fire. Since Checkers' arthritis killed his desire to walk, Abby shied at any little breeze rustling in the aspens, making our rides less enjoyable.

We'd ridden all over Hawk's Peak for years, Checkers in front and my ancient Beardie, Molly-Mae, shambling along at Abby's hocks. Now, both dogs had retired to the couch and my own riding days looked numbered, especially today. Because Gillian was a guest, we had a guide. My disappointment at that soon faded with the practicality of the situation.

Tough little shepherd's wife that Gillian was, I'd learned long ago she couldn't be trusted to stick with me in a real emergency. Her flighty nature often led to impulsive behavior. When she was to serve as a trial witness on my behalf while we lived in Israel, she wandered off to Eilat to gaze at stars and barely made it back to the kibbutz in time to testify. Her son had warned me during our visit to the Grand Canyon that if she starts walking down Bright Angel Trail, she'd never stop. Maybe she'd surprise me today, though, but I didn't want to test it.

We kissed at the horses and moved forward, me bringing up the rear. It couldn't have been a more perfect day. I was thrilled to share this with Gillian, whose home mount was a pony. It fit her elfin size, but today she rode a taller horse. I wasn't worried about her horsemanship. She was an old-timer in saddle, riding over the hills outside Aberdeen. Although she had fallen once and fractured her pelvis, true to her spirit, she was rocking the ride today like nothing in her past darkened her resolve.

It was a blissfully uneventful ride. No deer leapt from the trees to spin Abby around like a dervish, with me clinging to the saddle by the heel of my boot. She nosed into the tail of Gillian's horse where she could be hide from any threat.

Meanwhile, it was autumn and the aspen grove applauded our passage in full golden splendor. The dried leaves of mule ear daisies clattered like castanets. Despite such noise, Abby behaved herself and Gillian gazed around in awe at the height of the conifers. The trail ducked into the aspen grove and I told her to make a wish as she touched the trunks. "Whatever you wish for will come true." My own fingers pulled along the ragged bark out of habit. I rarely made wishes because most of my dreams had already come true. Married to a kind, intelligent man; sheltered by a cozy home; proud mother of a smart and self-confident daughter; I didn't feel the need to be greedy.

Besides all that, I had the "pony" I'd always wanted since I was a little girl. Abby was my first and only horse who for years carried me through these beautiful trails on Hawk's Peak and Lion's Leap. Indeed, my dreams had come true.

Before long, our gentle meander through the woods came to an end. I tipped our guide and brushed Abby down with a more vigorous reward for her behavior. I knew it would be the last cool down she'd get from me and I wanted to make it last. Her hide felt sleek under my hand. It would be a month or two before it would thicken with a winter pelt to keep her warm.

She finished her day out of the stall with a long munch on sweet grass and wildflowers in the meadow. I threw her lead rope over her withers and left her there unattended as I carried her utility box back to the tack room. Holly, the barn manager, stood nearby and shook her head in amusement and a bit of awe.

"I can't believe she'll just hang out there without wandering off."

"Why would she wander off," I laughed. "She's in Heaven right there." Poor Abby had garnered a bad reputation as an uppity mare, but with me, she was a good girl. We usually had an easy time together. Even one of the other boarders commented as he watched her head hang languidly in the walk.

"She's looking real relaxed there, Sue."

"Yeah, she's a smart trail horse, so I trust her enough to give her her head. I'm not making her jump oxers or drilling figure eights all the time."

After the ride, it became clear that it would be dangerous for me to continue my solo rides around Hawk's Peak. There were so many wildlife hazards as well as hiker and bicyclist interactions that would challenge my ability to keep Abby under control. Without Checkers to dispel her fear of predators waiting in ambush, our rides would become more angst-ridden for both of us. The fun had disappeared. It was a decision that was almost as difficult as signing euthanasia papers for a dying pet. My time spent riding my beautiful horse was over.

Abby would go to Chico with my daughter anyway, keeping Val sane as she studied for finals. In summer, both of them would return - Val to work as a wrangler for the barn and Abby to hang out in her stall for Val's off-work riding. Even Val wouldn't use her to lead dude rides.

As for my future, I could still "rub a nose" when I passed the barn on daily walks. My hip would eventually need replacement, but that was years away. The snows would cover our house for months while I knitted, read books, wrote stories, or sipped tea, watching the blizzards blow sideways across the windows. When the fire in the wood stove couldn't keep me warm enough, memories of these summer days riding Abby would always stoke a blaze in my heart.

Photos by Sue Cauhape and Valerie Haskin

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