The one who got away
Letting go of a special horse is never easy, but sending Johnny to a new home turned out to be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
His portrait sits on my dresser ---an eight- by 10-inch blackand-white photo. His regal head is turned to the left, his dark eyes seem to hold secrets yet to be revealed. Johnny’s picture is one of the first things I see after I rise each morning and one of the last things I see as I drift off to sleep.
It has been almost two years since Johnny has been gone, and I still miss the sweet smell of his breath, the warmth of his body under my hand and how he helped me to not take life so seriously. Almost daily I reflect upon the events that led to him leaving for his new home. Did I make the right decision? After all, when I became Johnny’s “person,” I meant for it to be a lifetime decision. He was the one I would keep forever.
But then I developed a debilitating medical condition. At the time, Johnny was a 9-year-old Steady Eddy trail horse, and because I could no longer ride, I had been paying a trainer to board him and ride him for me. Johnny had decades of life ahead of him, and it seemed like a waste of his talents to keep him. Still, I wasn’t actively looking to sell him.
Then, one day, a good friend called to tell me that a friend of hers was looking to buy a solid trail horse so that she and her husband could ride together. I was acquainted with the woman, and after some thought and conversations with my husband, we agreed to contact her. We liked what we heard after talking with her.
We checked all five of the couple’s references then made arrangements for the woman and her husband to come meet Johnny. They could try him out, and if they liked him, take him to his new home for a six-month care lease. We agreed that at the conclusion of the six-month period, my husband and I would drive the five-plus hours to their farm to do a final visit; then, if all was well, we would transfer ownership.
Still, letting Johnny go was the hardest decision I have ever made. I comforted myself with the thought that he had gone to someone who was well known to one of my good friends, and that his “new people” lived on a beautiful 20acre farm, an idyllic place for any horse. I had seen his new home and approved. I had required a sixmonth lease to make sure everyone, including Johnny, would be satisfied in the new situation. I had every logical reason to believe his new home would be happy, safe and healthy.
So, why did I have this nagging feeling? Why wasn’t this decision settling well with me?
In part, I think, my uneasiness had to do with my own shortcomings. I felt that I had let Johnny down, that I didn’t live up to my commitment to provide a lifetime home for him. But there was something else that made me pause---something that Johnny’s new “mom” had said to me the day she and her husband trailered Johnny away: “You never know what life will bring your way. Circumstances can change.”
She had said this as she was signing the transfer-of-ownership contract I had required---specifically, the part where I included a first right of refusal, in the event that they should need to re-home Johnny themselves.
That comment would haunt me later, because she was exactly right: You really never do know what life will bring your way.
A change in circumstance
Four months into Johnny’s care lease, something terrible happened. Another mutual friend called to tell me that the woman’s husband had had a serious accident at the farm. He had apparently suffered a stroke, fallen and struck his head, and he was in a coma.
I called the wife to extend my heartfelt sympathy and to see if there was anything that I could do. I also offered to come pick up Johnny, to reduce her burden in caring for him while her husband was so ill. I told her that we could bring Johnny back, of course, when she was ready to care for him again. She declined our help and said that she had everything covered.
Over the following weeks I monitored the wife’s Facebook page for updates. Things didn’t look good for a while, but then the husband exceeded expectations and recovered. He wasn’t back to 100 percent, but he received his doctor’s blessings to come home.
When the six-month lease was up, my husband and I hit the road for our visit. We were greeted by the wife and her husband and taken to see Johnny. Opening his stall door, I wanted to throw my arms around his neck. But it had been so long. Would he remember me? Slowly, I walked up and let him investigate me. But then his muzzle moved over my hand in that oh-so-familiar way, looking for a
I know Johnny was happy in his new home on the day that I left
him there, and if I could have predicted
this future I never would have. But that isn’t how life works.
treat. He remembered me all right!
The next morning, we stopped back at the farm to say our farewell to Johnny. The wife had gone to work, but the husband was there to walk with us to the barn. He offered to let me turn Johnny out one last time.
As I walked my beloved horse to the field, memories of our life together flooded my mind. The day I first met Johnny when I arrived at a barn to try a
different horse. How he took such good care of me during our first ride together. The calm, yet joyful, expression on his face when I picked him up at the airport as we moved, literally, across the country. So many small but wonderful, loving memories. A lump grew in my throat, and I struggled to hold back the tears.
When Johnny and I reached the gate, I asked for a sign that I was doing the right thing in letting him go. And, as I unbuckled his halter, in that moment, the sign I had asked for appeared. Johnny had always been a lingerer at the gate after I turned him out. He would wait patiently for me to give him a treat before he slowly and casually walked off to join his herd buddies.
That day, things were different. After I removed Johnny’s halter, he stood still and gave me “that look.” His eyes were filled with reassurance and knowingness. It was if he was telling me he was happy and it was OK to let him go.
Then he turned and cantered off. I could no longer hold back the tears as I watched him go. They were tears of sorrow at saying goodbye, but they were also tears of joy. Finally, I was accepting that Johnny was letting go, too---he was happy in his new home, and he wanted me to know that everything was OK.
Four months after that last time I saw Johnny, the husband developed further health issues and entered hospice care. Shortly after he passed away, a mutual friend told me that the wife was “selling everything.” I attempted to contact her, both to offer my condolences and to inquire about Johnny, but I was unsuccessful.
“You never know what life will bring your way. Circumstances can change.”
I know Johnny was happy in his new home on the day that I left him there, and if I could have predicted this future I never would have. But that isn’t how life works. Johnny was gone, and I had no idea where. I can only hope that he went to another good home where his sweet nature is appreciated.
But this situation has taught me that nothing positive comes from beating yourself up. The fact is, there are hard lessons in life, we all learn them; there are consequences for the choices that we make. As long as we make our decisions in good faith, knowing that we truly did the best that we could, that is all that we can do. We must learn to be at peace with that.
I will always love Johnny and hold dear the gifts he gave me: trust, joy, love, companionship, friendship. These gifts are buried like treasure within my heart; they will always be with me. Johnny will always be The One.