Tag: Fuzzy

Posted on

A Fuzzy Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2005 will forever be my favorite Valentine’s Day. But initially, it didn’t start out that well…

Twelve year old me had a horrible head cold that winter day, so I didn’t go to school. Sprawled on my bed, feeling miserable, I was surprised when my parents asked—rather insisted—that I go down to the barn with them to see Flash, the horse I was riding and taking care of.

Summer 2003

In 2003, my Mom’s tennis teammate, Joanna, owned and boarded Flash at the barn right near where I lived. I’d been visiting that barn since my earliest days, and when I was nine I started taking horse back riding lessons there. When Joanna heard that I loved horses and was an avid rider, she expressed her interest in leasing out Flash to me, as she wanted him exercised more often. My Dad and I considered this offer and decided it was the perfect deal: I’d be able to ride more outside of lessons, and gain valuable experience about caring for an equine.

Soon afterwards my Dad and I visited the barn to meet Flash for the first time. At the pasture adjacent to the barn office, we spotted him: gleaming chestnut coat, white blaze. He approached us and I gave him a treat. Looking into his soulful eyes, by far the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in a horse, I was struck by his kind demeanor and patience. Dad and I approved.

Summer 2003: First encounter

The lease agreement dictated I ride on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On those days, I would go straight from school to the barn to tack up, ride and care for Flash. He was a patient teacher, always considerate. Together we made a great team, and it showed in the slew of first and second place ribbons we won at the local schooling shows; we dominated Advanced Western Equitation for a few summers. Flash may not have been officially “my” horse, but he certainly felt like it.

That particular Valentine’s Day, I wanted to see Flash, but I felt too wretched to go. But my parents kept pressing, so along I went. It was a sunny day, and a short walk–just 3/4 of a mile–but it felt longer, as my temples ached, and my stuffy nose throbbed. Upon approaching Flash’s pasture, I immediately saw him, wearing a bright red ribbon around his neck. How cute, was my bemused thought. We opened the gate and went inside, standing beside him as he greedily stuffed his face with hay. I stroked his neck and mane, admiring the fuzziness of his winter coat. I fed him some treats. Then my Dad handed me a red envelope addressed to me, “Leah Marie.” My parents had the biggest smiles on their faces as I opened the card, which had on its front a photo of a horse that looked like Flash.

How cute!

Inside the card read:

I chuckled, thinking again, Oh how cute. That was nice. Can I go home and sleep now? I smiled, replied, “Thank you guys, this all was very sweet.” My parents exchanged a look, then Mom resumed her gaze at me as she raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you understand what it means? You know, ‘Be Mine’?”

I still wasn’t catching on. She paused for effect.

“Leah, ‘Be Mine,’ means that…Flash is now officially your horse.”

Valentine’s Day 2005

I nearly dropped the card onto the frozen February mud. Every cliché—jaw dropped, dumbstruck—applied to me that moment. Tears sprung to my eyes as I fully (and finally!) absorbed what I’d just heard. Flash: mine? I flung my arms around “Fuzzy” and gave him a big kiss, while exclaiming “Thank you!” a dozen times. I then gave Flash several more treats.

“Don’t just thank us. Thank Joanna,” my parents were quick to point out. They then explained that Joanna had decided to transfer ownership to us. She saw how happy Flash was with me, and vice-versa, and was assured he would be in good hands. I am forever grateful to her, and to my Mom and Dad; if it were not for their interest, support, and generosity, Flash would not have been part of my life. And that is unthinkable, now as I look back at the 15 wonderful years we had together. As I wrote in my eulogy for him, Flash is my childhood. And what a freakishly happy and fun childhood it was. A barn is a wonderful place to grow up, and horses the best mentors.

The rest of the day it was as if I had been miraculously cured of my cold. I felt so happy I was floating, a permanent smile on my face. I was already bursting to tell my friends the wonderful news. Back home, on the small dry erase board above my bed, I proclaimed in all caps:

FLASH IS NOW MINE!


He will forever be my best valentine. I love him, and I miss him. I wish he were still here. He is in my heart. Thank you Mom, Dad, and Joanna for the way you planned to reveal that news to me on none other than Valentine’s Day. Can’t be beat.

Wishing you all a Happy Valentine’s Day,

~LMC

Posted on

FLASH’S FINAL GIFT

Fuzzy, it’s been a year since your passing. I miss you. How time flies. Such a cliché. But so true. I remember that final day so clearly, so vividly, I remember what I was wearing. How I woke up that morning, my body feeling simultaneously heavy and light. How I stared back at my face in the bathroom mirror, skin pale, a drawn look. Me, rasping out at my own reflection, “God, give me the strength to see this day through.”

And the thing is…I did. For you see, Flash, your final, parting gift to me was PEACE. That morning I had prayed, kneeling in the grass while you ate your last meal, for strength, and for a sign that your spirit would be at peace; that you were going to be alright. I drank in the sight of you: a calm and content horse munching away, in our beloved little valley in the foothills. My first home and your final home. That last morning, I was so painfully and blessedly present, that every sense was heightened: vision brighter, scents sharper, sounds louder. When it was finally time, I chose not to watch; I did not want, nor need, to see the absolute end. I wanted to remember you standing. Happy. Ears alert. I did not want to see the literal, final, devastating result. I said my final words to you, wished you god speed, kissed you hard on your furry face. Tore myself away, started walking. Looked once, then twice over my shoulder. Saw the vet wielding the first syringe. Snapped my head back forward. Marched into the small barn office. Felt despair. Resignation. Then: lightness. A force pulling me upwards from the couch, and toward your pasture. And as I walked out into the sun light, I felt PEACE. And I knew you were ok. That your spirit was no longer part of your failing body. That the transition was and is of itself, peace.

Tears were still cascading, but were no longer of dread. No, the opposite in fact: serenity. Any and every synonym for the word peace: I felt this. You were free. I was alright. I was going to be ok. Of course I will always miss you. But I know you are in my soul. I felt it that morning. I feel it now.

Make of this what you will: religiosity, spiritual mumbo jumbo, a plain desperate yearning for relief. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Skeptic or believer, the absolute calm that I felt was real. I still feel it. Whether God/ Creator/ It/ Whoever heard me, or rather I found the strength within myself and answered my own prayer: it doesn’t matter. In the end, I attribute the peace I felt and forever feel to Flash. The love and friendship we shared: death does not that change that. I said so in my parting words to him. Death cannot take that away. The memories are mine forever. No one can take them. As is the tranquility I feel. I have no regrets regarding our final time together. That final summer lives on. As does your legacy of love and happiness and caring, my furry friend. And so Flash, my beloved Fuzzy, I say once again: THANK YOU. I miss you and I love you forever.

~LMC