Scooter was my best friend, my companion, my confidante, for the last
19 years. He passed away on July 10th, 2006.
He was every little girl's
dream. Big and strong and beautiful. He was a pale palomino with various
white spots, including one on his left side which looked like a map of the
US. I was in 4th grade at the time, and I NEEDED a horse. I come from an
old farm family, and we had plenty of critters, but no horse. The draft horses
had long since been replaced by tractors. So I saved every penny, doing odd
jobs for cash (cleaning, etc) until I had several hundred dollars saved up
(a fortune for someone in 4th grade!!!) and my parents took me horse shopping.
I found Scooter and a sweet old mare named Kitten; I was intending to buy
the old mare since I didn't know how to ride at the time, and she was very
gentle. Scooter was fast and strong and loved to run. The people selling
them wanted them to stay together, as they were inseperable, so they
sold them both to me for the same price.
Well, I learned to ride
on that sweet old mare, and my father would ride Scooter, but before
too long I was getting on Scooter too. He wasn't papered, but they thought
he was 9 years old at the time. Before too long we'd go out in the fields
and fly. He loved, more than anything, to run. He was practically
Golden-Retriever ecstatic to see you bringing his saddle and bridle. He loved
to stand with his head over your shoulder, or rub it against your leg. He
loved to have his back or his belly scratched. He would stand for hours
and listen to you talking to him.
As the years went by, my old friend developed some arthritis, went
blind in one eye, and developed special dietary needs; for the last few years
his dinner every night had more steps to make than anything I made for myself!
But he kept in good condition and was healthy. Finally, in the last year
he developed a mysterious condition - he'd be standing fine and then pass
out cold, and collapse. No one could explain it. He'd get back up fine a
few minutes later and trot off. He obviously knew when these were coming
on, because he'd look concerned, and then fall. I helped him back up several
times in the last month.
On July 9th, my father was on the phone telling me to get to the farm,
NOW. Poor Scooter was down and couldn't find the strength to get back up
this time. He had been fine the night before, whinnined to see me bring his
dinner, had eaten hungrily and then curled his lip with pleasure as I scratched
his back. I rushed to the farm as fast as I could; he was indeed down but
not giving up. We helped him up several times, and one of those times, he
decided to run across the pasture, where he collapsed again, but again got
back up. This time, he didn't go down, and he looked like he might be OK.
I had stayed with him all day, talking and helping him up and looking
into that kind eye. My little Arab mare had stood by him all
day also, nuzzling him from time to time. She knew.
Later that night, he went
out doing what he loved to do - run. At the end he ran, ran apparently without
reason, ran through things like a tornado, including some bushes and finally
the fence, and died in the garden. Maybe he was running into the light.
Maybe Kitten was calling to him. He was at least 27 years
old.
Run free, my friend. I'll
see you later, buddy.
Scooter 
