I’m crushed today, the living embodiment of a grief so deep — and a surviving joy so strong — that nothing else, right now, can take the edge off.
Influence and I had a major love affair. My husband, Eric, once said to me, “I hope you never have to choose between me and that horse, because Influence will surely win.”
Influence passed a few days ago at age 32. Because he was ten years beyond the “expiration date” for his breed (Dutch Warmblood), I began to think he would live forever. And he will. He became part of me, and I of him.
I don’t know if you’ve ever loved a horse up close and personal. If you have, you’re with me right now. If you haven’t, here’s what it’s like.
THE DISCOVERY
I was a late bloomer to horses, in fact, embarrassed to admit, on the shady side of 40. When I moved to yet another ranch, I could see people on horseback nearby. Intrigued, I ran right over, introduced myself, and pleaded, “Can I get on?”
The neighbor’s place was a cutting ranch. The horse I mounted that morning was trained to separate (“cut”) cattle and other livestock from herds so ranchers could deal with them individually.
That same day, I quickly learned just how far it was from the horse to the ground. My steed cut quickly back and forth, and I didn’t have a clue. Riding a cutting horse is like riding a tilt-a-whirl without a seatbelt. Yikes!
Undaunted, I sought out a dressage trainer, having witnessed the beautiful ballet-like marriage of horse and rider in that discipline. The next day I met Laura, the perfect trainer, and away we went, searching for the perfect horse.
It took an entire year to find Influence. We looked literally every weekend from dawn to dusk, up and down the length and breadth of California, until my vedic astrologer finally announced, “Eureka, Influence is the one.”