"You had to put him down,
didn't you?" I cried. I fell to the ground and screamed, "No!" Then it was
if my own life flashed before my eyes, but the memories weren't of me. They
were of a faithful Arabian Buckskin gelding named Deszerada.
I was an eleven year old
when my dad came to me and said that my riding teacher told him that it was
time for me to have my own horse. Shortly after my dad and mom agreed, we
went to look at the first prospect. He was a mess. With a large western saddle
on his back and a bit in his mouth that would make the roughest cowboy
cringe, I got on him. Clueless, flighty, and energetic are three words that
described him. About an hour later, I had another word to describe him.
Mine.
For the sixteen years that
I had him, we moved many miles together, won many classes in shows together,
and then we had to separate while I was in the Navy. But he was always my
pride and joy. While I was on active duty, Deszi was able to be a lesson
horse to teach others. His students ranged from the most timid of riders
to advanced riders needing a tune-up. If Deszi could talk, he would have
described himself as an eighteen hand Pegasus. He knew no boundaries or limits
when his rider asked him to do something. Thanks to the efforts of his students,
Deszi was recognized as ARIA's School Horse of the Year in 2002.
Since I married a military
man, I was unable to take him along with me to our new home in California.
Deszi stayed in South Carolina with my parents and continued his legacy as
a lesson horse and winning hearts of young girls. I even had the privilege
of teaching my first official lesson on him. While I stayed in the area with
my family as my husband was deployed, Deszi and I were able to regain our
youth every time I sat in the saddle. We ran, jumped, and played as if it
was sixteen years earlier. Even just for moments, Deszi was four years old
and I was eleven once again.
After a solid six months
together, I got the phone call every owner dreads. Deszi was beginning to
colic. After twelve hours of treatment and then a successful surgery, everyone
had their hopes up for his recovery. I had to head back to California to
prepare for my husband's return from Iraq, so I said my goodbyes to family,
as well as my horse. Three days later, my mom called. Deszi was
gone.
He may have started out
as a $450 mixed breed rescue from Ohio that could have been with a purpose
in life, but he ended up proving everyone wrong. Many see Arabians as dangerous.
Many refuse to ride them or teach on them. Then they met Deszerada.
Deszerada 
