I remember driving
in your Bronco II to a house to see a horse. "Why are we doing this
again?" I asked. "I'm thinking of buying this horse, she's two and green
and I'm going to train her, sell her and buy another one." you
replied.
I remember seeing
this brown filly standing in a shed that held lots of crap besides her food.
She wasn't much, just a brown filly. No papers, no name really, and those
legs. "Did you see those legs?" I asked. "Yes, but look in her eyes." you
answered. She had the most beautiful, kind, sweet eyes.
I remember telling
you there were better out there you could find. "You know it will be a lot
of money to keep her, even before you sell her." I said, "Yes, but it will
be worth it." you answered. She somehow spoke directly to my
heart.
I remember you called
me; you'd bought that brown filly. "What is she again?" I asked. "Thoroughbred,
old stock so she is a little stocky, but thoroughbred." you said with
pride.
I remember from
that moment on, she was part of the family. "Train her and sell her, yeah
right." I would say that many times throughout the years. And in one form
or another, you would always answer, "Not done training her yet." with a
smile on your face.
I remember you teaching
her how to jump and wondering if those knees would hold up. "How's Miss Baylee?"
I would always ask and you would tell me the tales of all your adventures.
I will always remember the day she decided to continue the jump training
without my help. She walked over to a 4 foot fence and jumped it like it
was 18". She was very proud of herself. Mostly those stories ended with,
"Baylee looked at me, Mom, sure you want to do that? And then she would do
it anyway.".
I remember hunter
paces. The little old stock thoroughbred, now named "Gaspar's Mistress" showing
all those huge thoroughbreds a thing or two about heart and trust. "Will
she jump into a field of cows?" we would ask. "If I ask her to." was always
the answer.
I remember trail
riding where we shouldn't have been and swimming where we didn't know where
we were. "Have Baylee lead, then we'll follow." I always said. "Let's go,
Baylee." and you would lead us into adventure. Swimming with the horses was
the biggest fun. Nothing like galloping like a wild Indian bareback through
chest high water and knowing Baylee would always take care of me.
I remember team
penning. We'd never even seen it done before, but we went anyway. "Think
she can do it?" I asked. " I think she just wants to stare at the cows."
you answered with a smile.
I remember trail
rides and trailer trips and lazy days just grooming and treats. "Still planning
on selling her?" I would ask. "Not on your life." you would
answer.
I remember when the
little mare and her mom decided to tackle dressage. "Why switch gears?" I
asked. "Better for Baylee's legs and it gives us something new." you
answered.
I remember all the
saddles and bits and training apparatus you borrowed and bought and fought
with. "How's she doing?" I would ask. And you would always answer with a
smile, "She's putting up with me and all the paraphernalia very well...except
when she doesn't."
I remember all the
tears when she would hurt. All the times wondering what the right thing to
do for this loving animal was. "Should I retire her?" you asked. "When the
time is right for it, you'll know." I would always answer.
I remember the times
you stayed with her for hours making sure she was well taken care of, sometimes
just grooming and hand walking with her because you enjoyed her company so
much. "I love it when I come out to the barn and she calls to me, even before
she sees me." you would say. "She loves you, you're her mom." I would always
answer.
I remember that
you loved her just as much as she loved you. And when the time did come to
make the most difficult decision of all, you did it because you loved her
so much. "I had to put Baylee down last night and it was so hard." you said.
"The right decisions are always the hardest." I told you as we cried
together.
I remember most
of all that there is a Rainbow Bridge and when our time finally comes, she
will be waiting there in all her glory, sound and healthy with dapples on
her coat and so happy to see you that she will be calling to you before she
even sees you. "There's your little filly." I'll say. "Yes, she still loves
me." you'll say, as you run to meet her and ride off on another
adventure.
Heather Hipp
Baylee 
