A Tribute To Brandy My husband's gelding and our faithful friend. Today the old horse died. We had run out of options. He was well past thirty, ancient for a horse. His kidneys were shutting down, his step was slow and faltering, his body begining to waste away. Now everytime I go out to check the sheep, I can still see the indent his body made in the snow when he slumped gratefully from his life. I always step carefully around it, taking care not to step in the hollows his warm body left in the snow. It was the last gift that I could give him. How I hated to give it, I had wanted him to live forever or at least to die painlessly in his sleep. It was not to be. So the vet came and together we said goodbye to an old friend, a good friend. If I could have only seen his face I would not have thought it was necessary, his beautiful wise eyes were still bright. But beyond his eyes his once muscular body had become gaunt, no matter how much extra grain he got. And when he lay down he had trouble getting back up. Though he still came just as willingly, the horse with the once quick, proud step now faltered uncertainly as if he couldn't quite trust the ground that he walked on. And though I'm sure he knew where I was leading him to, he was not as sad as I was and I am grateful that as always he went willingly. And as hard as it was and always will be, I am thankful that I got to stand with him and to stroke his neck to assure him one final time that it would be alright, most importantly to tell him thank you and to say goodbye. My theology does not tell me that there is an afterlife for horses. It's something I won't know in this life. But I like to think that the old horse stood so tall with his eyes so bright and his ears so alert because he heard the voice of the One who called him into life calling him home, and he was grateful to go. Jean Bonin (Brandy is the sorrel in the photo.)

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