Tired ...

For our beautiful Stingray - a gentleman, a teacher, a horse

Photo of Stingray and Ben: C. Cristofaro

They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Your eyes can’t look out at the world anymore, but I can still see into them to your beautiful soul.

They say silence speaks volumes. In the silence, it’s the voice of your spirit I hear. It’s telling us you’re tired. Tired of your frail body, tired of the blindness that makes you afraid of every little sound, tired of feeling vulnerable, just plain tired.

We thought we’d lose you two winters ago. In the blink of an eye, you became skin and bones; even the vet didn’t know if you’d pull through. But you rallied that time. Your fierce will to feel the warm spring sun rest on your back, to taste the sweet clover in the pasture, and to hang out with the rest of the herd, wouldn’t let you give up.

This new virus that stole your sight and your zest for life is different. I hear you; you’re tired.

When you came to us more than 20 years ago, we thought we’d be the teachers. Silly us, it was always the other way around.

You taught us what patience looks like. Hint: It looks like an elegant, ebony horse that never paws at the ground or whinnies on the crossties, no matter how long he’s there.

You taught us about respect. You never crowded us like some horses do, either in the barn or when we walked beside you on the ground. You always respected our space. We nicknamed you “the gentleman” because you are one.

You were a clown when you were younger, too! Ben is convinced you helped to pull him out of his depression years ago. He’d visit you at the barn, and you’d make him laugh by plucking the ballcap off his head.

Goofy Stingray kicking up his heels in better times

Now don’t go getting a swelled head - you weren’t perfect. You could be fearless on the trail, picking your way over massive fallen trees or moving through rushing streams. I knew that if you crossed water or found a new way home when we got disoriented, I was safe with you.

Then a tiny, unexpected movement or noise could make you bolt. When you did, it was my turn to reassure you that you were safe. That lesson was about trust. Thank you, sweet boy.

Those days are behind us now. We can’t roam the trails together anymore and see the sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. We can’t smell the fresh scent of the tall pine trees in the woods, or stop to listen to birds singing and squirrels scolding. I see you fading and hear you asking, “What is there to live for?”

So, when you’re ready, go, sweet boy. Go run with the herd waiting for you in a place where you’ll be young and healthy again forever.

We’ll miss you, but you’ll always be in our hearts.

Stingray (left) with his girl Heidi

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Our hearts are breaking because we know that Stingray will be leaving this earth soon. Thank you for being here and letting us share our sorrow.