I Won't Let You Die

I Won’t Let You Die

         I just watched a video a mother took of her 5-year old son (who has Williams Syndrome) bonding with their new horse.The horse took two steps toward the boy and then stopped, his head bowed. The boy walked around moving his arms and making noises, but the horse stood still. After a minute or two, the boy slowly walked over and nuzzled up to the horse’s face. The horse didn’t flinch as the boy kissed his nose, nor did he move when the boy hugged his front leg. He looked frozen - his ears, legs, and tail stayed perfectly still so as not to scare the boy. He stayed that way until the boy walked back to his mother. It’s as though the horse knew the little boy was challenged. I have to wonder if horses are spiritual, if they have a sixth sense. I think they do, and I’d like to share a story with you.

         My sister, Cathy, has always loved horses. One sunny day, she was at the beach at Key Biscayne and saw a woman with long blonde hair riding a beautiful white horse on the beach. She didn’t know Marianne at the time, but walked over to see her beautiful horse. Marianne said her horse’s name was Sharif and he was for sale. Even though my sister had no idea how to ride a horse, she bought him. Cathy figured she could always take riding lessons later. As it turned out, Marianne and Cathy became great friends and my sister became quite the equestrian (she learned to ride Western and English style). After taking lessons for only a year, my sister was the lead rider on her white Arabian horse, Sharif, alongside Marianne on her black Arabian stallion, Batman, in the Festival of the Sun Parade at Calder Race Track.

         My sister and I are very close - we owned a business and also played golf together. She decided it was time for me to learn how to ride a horse. I remember the first day. Marianne chose Jimmy (a quarter horse) for me since he was so good with novice riders. Jimmy is big - seventeen hands high - and I am 5’8” so as I sat in the saddle, I could almost touch the rooftop of Marianne’s house. Marianne told me to just talk to him while we walked. Cathy said she couldn’t help but chuckle because I just kept saying, “Good boy, Jimmy,” or “Jimmy’s a good boy,” but it seemed to work; I think he liked it.

         Marianne chose a rocky dirt road that ran alongside a canal to the left of us and a forest to the right. She said there was no traffic so it would be a quiet ride. Jimmy did great for a while until we came upon an obstacle on the rocky road. Evidently, the concrete road barrier frightened him because he reared up on his hind legs. I stayed on, but then a picture flashed before my eyes of me being thrown either into the canal or into the forest. I quickly decided it would be better for me if I just slid off the saddle onto the mound of dirt next to us rather than into the canal or forest, so I slowly dismounted.

         Marianne and Cathy were on their Arabian horses in front of me and heard the commotion. Marianne was yelling, “Get the reins!” and Cathy was rushing over to see if I was hurt. Jimmy was just looking down at me wondering, I guess, what I’m doing on the ground. I quickly got up, grabbed the reins, and walked him over to an old rusty barrel that I could stand on so I could mount him (he was so big!). We all agreed that the trail was too rocky to ride so Marianne suggested we walk the horses over to Tree Tops Park (a horse-friendly park in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida).

         The trails in the park are narrow and the tree branches are low. Cathy and Marianne are both shorter than I, and their horses are smaller (about fifteen hands high) so they made it through the trails nicely. I, on the other hand, had to duck a lot to avoid hitting the branches. After a few minutes, Marianne’s lead horse decided he wanted to gallop and took off. Cathy’s horse immediately followed and, of course, so did Jimmy. No one told me that if I duck, Jimmy thinks I want him to go faster. Jimmy took off and all I could do was repeatedly yell “WHOA!” and duck. Marianne yelled, “Press your thighs against him and he’ll slow down.” I tried, but all it did was make my thighs hurt.

         When we finally reached a clearing, the horses were still at a full gallop and I was just holding on. In the distance I could see a big hedge and all three horses were heading for it. I thought for sure Jimmy would just gallop right into it despite my pleas and my thighs, but he slowed down and stopped just a couple feet before it. “Okay, that’s enough riding for today!” I yelled at my sister as I dismounted. “I’m walking Jimmy back to the stalls.”

         My subsequent rides were always with Jimmy and we got along great. When I would go to see him, I would always take a bunch of carrots. I shared them with Jimmy, Sharif (my sister’s horse) and another young Arabian called Biggy. He was dark brown and beautiful, but a little too spirited for me to ride. Marianne said that whenever I drove up, they all knew the carrot lady was coming and would get excited.

         When my husband died of cancer in 1997, we had only been married for six months. Needless to say, I was very depressed, but I didn’t want to go to therapy or meet with any support group. I just wanted to read spiritual books. A couple weeks passed and my sister suggested I go to the ranch and spend some time with the horses. She thought it would be good therapy for me. I just wanted to read, and spent most of my time doing that.

         A few days later, Cathy called to tell me that Biggy was very sick and the vet didn’t expect him to live through the night. Images of my husband dying in my arms came to me and I decided I wasn’t going to let Biggy die. I had to try to save him. I immediately got in my car and drove over to Marianne’s house; she was feeding the horses and crying. We hugged and walked over to Biggy’s stall.

         “He’s still standing,” she said, “but he’s got Colic (Colic is the #1 killer of horses) and probably won’t live through the night. The vet said his intestines are all tangled and unless he has a bowel movement, he will die.” I couldn’t handle another death.

         “Would you mind if I stay with Biggy for a while,” I asked.

         “I’m sure he’d like that,” she said. “I’m going inside, but I’ll be back out when it gets dark to close up.”

         I stepped in the stall and Biggy turned his head and looked at me. His eyes were so sad and I wanted to cry, but instead I just rubbed his belly and prayed. I must have stayed in the stall for an hour, maybe more, just rubbing his belly and talking to him, asking him to please have a bowel movement, over and over again. It was starting to get dark and Marianne wanted to close the stalls for the night so I kissed Biggy and said another prayer, and then I left. I cried all the way home.

         The next morning, my sister called to tell me that Biggy made it through the night; the obstruction cleared his bowels and Marianne and the vet were with Biggy now. He said the worst was over and Biggy would be fine. Cathy said the vet told Marianne that when he saw Biggy the day before, he really didn’t think he was going to make it through the night. He said it was a miracle that he lived.

         I know it was a miracle. I know I saved Biggy that night, and Biggy saved me.

Word count: 1397 (including title)