My, isn't perspective everything when riding horses? Two months ago I was frustrated at the level of my riding, the lack of things to jump, and that I wasn't able to make the most of finally having a truck and trailer to use. Then reality hit hard. Gabe developed lesions around his eyes and I knew they could only mean one thing. The only questions were how far along was the cancer, how quickly would it spread, and how much time did we have together? So, I called the vet and went for a ride. No, there weren't any trot sets, bending lines, or counters canter in sight. It was just a girl and her horse, dangling feet and bareback. Memories flooded my mind as tears flooded my face. My best friend quietly walked on while I was lost in my thoughts. Until I saw his ears ask me his favorite question...can I run? Without trotting first? Was our warm-up complete? I just didn't care. This was our ride today, not our workout, not our training for some future goal, this was our in the moment, live your life ride. So, I happily agreed and more memories rushed in...racing through pine tree lined fire-lines on a long-ago lost friend with only wind and spider webs to try and slow us down. Never again did I think I would find another kindred soul in a mount. I was wrong and in a starving, emaciated, scared, painted pony I found another love of my life, who would understand my soul and now I was losing him as well. I hopped off and gave him the usual pat on the neck, the neck that was never clean enough, and a hug, which he pretended to never like if another horse was watching. I then did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed for him, prayed healing over his eye lids, that they would be saved, that the cancer would cease to spread, and that our time together would be sweet. Our vet appointment came and my concerns were confirmed. Since I was already coverning him head to toe in a UV proof sheet and mask there was nothing else I could do until our next appointment three weeks away when he would have a freeze treatment done on his eyelids. Three weeks of hopeless despair is what I thought at first. Then, our miracle happened. Slowly, and without treatment the lesions began to get smaller and smaller, while I held back my hope. The time for our second appointment came. I tried to wait patiently as he was examined. "If stuff like this happened all the time I'd be out of business," said the Vet and I unashamedly hugged Gabe's face and cried, because the horse-crazy little girl inside of me had just won back time her best friend. The cancer was gone.
It has now been two months and Gabe's eyelids look wonderful. Our training has continued steadily, goals gently held with open hands. A small crack in his front left. Front shoes now. No biggie. Swelling in his front left leg. A torn check ligament. Ugh. Three months minimum rest. Good thing my husband won't let me beat myseld up as I rack my brain on how it happened. Gabe now takes off his fly mask and hides it to get my attention. It's like he knows I watch him like a hawk. While I search for it in the tall grass he follows me asking, "Can we ride now?" I groom him often, but he's slow to be put back out to pasture. I can hear him saying, "Is that it?" I love a horse that likes to work. I tell him to enjoy his summer off and that we'll get back to it when he's better. I tell him that even if walking is the only thing left for us for the rest of his life, that I will be happy with that and grateful for every day that we have together.
