Beam n' Reason


Chestnut Thoroughbred gelding

May 5, 1992 - December 4, 2004

Every child has a dream, some little girls dream of being fairy princesses or pop stars, some boys dream of being race car drivers and super heros, most give them up by 5th grade. My name is Stephanie, and I'm eighteen, and I'm still dreaming. In fact I was lucky enough to have my very first dream come true. See when I was little, all I wished for was to be a professional jockey...and to own my very own horse, a thoroughbred to be precise. A champion racehorse, with a fiery red coat, perfect at everything, the first two inspired by my equine idol, Kentucky Derby winner Thunder Gulch. Yet at sixteen, already having defied my upbringing by leaving the city life I knew to be a rider, I had well given up on the hope of having my own horse. I convinced myself I wouldn't have time for one, with the career I sought. The idea was tossed around casually at the thoroughbred farm I worked at, yet never really touched upon seriously, until one afternoon, while driving home from a local convience store, I recieved a call from the barn manager. He had a horse for me, a thousand dollars, a thoroughbred gelding, a chestnut, a champion, with earnings of 321,003 dollars in his peculiar name, and multiple stakes (high level racing) victories. He earned more than his sire, more than many famous horses in history. I had never seen him, but I trusted my boss and considered the oppertunity he proposed, I could retrain and sell him, and buy a car to move far away to Kentucky. Two days later I watched on a local simulcast screen, as the horse I bought that day crossed the finish line at Great Lakes Downs in Michigan, in his last race, dead last. He came home the next day.

My heart melted as I looked in on him in the stall at Leonardi Racing Stables, so much for re-selling him, his elegant frame posed stoicly as he studied me unknowingly, dark eyes watching me intellegently, lovely little ears flicking around. My heart beat quicker as I fell hopelessly in love over and over and tears streaked my face as my childhood dream stood in front of me..."My Horse", I whispered.

I didn't know what I had at first, an ex-racehorse, duh. A former champ, got that. Yet the more time I spent with him the most I realized, he was exactly what I used to draw as a little kid. When at liberty he ran and bucked and leapt into the air wildly, burgandy highlighted tail streaking out like a dark flame behind him as he ran with all the speed I could imagine. When I saddled him, it was like saddling bottled lightening, wrapped in brilliant red velvet. He could outrun any horse on the farm, all younger than his eleven years. My boy ran nine years, with 130 races under his belt, including a good share of stakes races, people knew his name at tracks and farms all over our state. I even met a man on a plane who knew him on the way the the Breeder's Cup this past year. I was in my glory, my dream was real.

Beamer did everything. After some work, he was clearing fences between three foot six and four feet willingly, spreads and strange obsticles didn't spook him, and his smooth gaits made for sheer joy when I tried to school him in basic dressage. For kicks once, I bought an old cart, and taught him to pull it, He even danced his way through a parade, dressed as his old self, me aboard as his jockey, to win his first and only trophy. Then again, for a possible new career, he learned to pony other racehorses on the track. Yet out of all we did, his enormous heart still clung to a favorite pasttime with my own, running. He grew more beautiful, and gained weight, his coat and hooves improving by the day. He soon looked like a Kentucky big time stallion, stuck on our little private farm.

Yet it may not be the feats he accomplished that drew me in so much as his personality. Beamer, was my twin. We read each others' minds, he performed for me like he wouldn't for a professional. I could steer my "Psychotic, out-of-control, twitchy" ex-racer around the yard with a halter and lead line. As we took turns recovering from injuries and traumas, we spent countless hours without riding but only together in the fields enjoying the company. I ran to him when I cried and he let me bury my face within his thick mane and cry, or lay with him in his stall. When he was afraid, he stood behind me, looking to me for confidence...and a few carrots too. We became one, not understanding the purpose of a day without the other.

Beamer loved to travel through the trails, and chase after the 4-wheeler and tractors, like he was going to race them. I didn't think twice when one day, my grandfather and a friend of the family asked if I cared to join them, on a ride to get some firewood. They each straddled some mechanic, multiple horsepower toy. Me, I saddled up my better half, who danced and jigged around, showing his famous thoroughbred spirit and attitude, that had originally led some to think he would be too much for me to handle, spreading a myth that he was insane during the post parades and such. We headed away from the barns and on to another forty acres of the farm. Not long later I hit the ground for the first time, as Beamer and I battled over whether or not he was allowed to run in circles while we waited for the others to return from in the woods in a big field. Sprinting madly, I cut him off on his way back to the barn in another field. Lifting myself halfway into the saddle, my boy bolted. There wasn't a way to stop him, there was hardly reason I was able to even remain on. I would have given my own life without thought to save him, because I am near dead without him now. It was out of my power, as the heavens called to him hastily, taking his life as he was hit by a train that ran not far from my property, throwing me clear and saving me from his fate. He left without pain, for it had been instantaneous, and that for which I am eternally grateful. My beautiful boy was gone, and I felt a reality I thought could only exsist in horror movies. I wanted to be with him.

I will miss him, for Beamer changed my life in every way, he taught me more than anyone else could possibly do. He was that dream horse, who saved me from the world and even myself in more than one way, his heart and spirit permenantly intertwined with mine. He made what was only suitable in fairy tales a reality for me, and gave me what I needed to make the rest of my wishes come true. Now lying on his grave, in his favorite green field, sprinkled with kentucky bluegrass and clover, lie roses for the derby he should of won and the one he tried to help give me, and black eyed susans and white carnations for the rest of the triple crown, for he was my champion even if he had never seen any of the three. An apple tree shades his spot, green hay, sweet feed, and carrots, lying beside it in a tribute to him. The only other remanent, a small stone etched with the only words I could use to describe my emotions as my soulmate and savior had left me and one for all those who knew him: "Gone yet not forgotten, although we are apart, your spirit remains within in me, forever in my heart". And the other: "If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever." I think he will, I wasn't the only one whose life he changed, he will live within all who knew him, he was immortal after all.


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