The Late Fred

Everyone has a 'Fred' in their barn. He's that horse someone bought long ago for their (pick one); husband, boyfriend, girlfriend, kid...you can put anyone on his back, any time, anywhere, and he will willingly, although often with the bare minimum effort as he is smart this way, lug them around the arena or out on the trails with no fuss. He asks little in return, simply that he be fed in the upper end of the rotation (me first!!), has a clean stall and a shady apple tree to hang out under.

Fred was such a horse. An appendix QH of uncertain age (at a guess, he was in the first half of his 40s when he died) and dubious reputation. Although we found him to be unfailingly patient and kind, he possessed a slightly wicked sense of humor. Potting his previous owner in the hunt field was one of his favorite sports and as he aged, his brakes began to wear out, often resulting in the rider being at the mercy of the horse when it came to slowing down or stopping. He wasn't above stumbling almost on cue, to unseat a rider not paying attention. He loved, loved, loved the sloppy grain he got each day, for his teeth were worn smooth and sometimes even falling out...but beware of feeding time as he was also unconcerned about the cleanliness of your clothing and you risked the 'Fred slobber' should you fail to scratch just the right spot under his chin.

I used Fred for a summer camp one year to demonstrate the points of the horse. He stood patiently as 5 little girls clambered around him with sticky tape and notes to label each body part. At the end, covered in green and purple construction paper, Fred simply sighed and looked longingly at the peppermint bin, put out of his reach on purpose, lest he consume 5 pounds of peppermints complete with wrappers.

Fred took many riders to their first show and first events. Nothing phased him, but a trailer ride was cause for great excitement and you could almost see the years melt away as he dragged the poor hapless soul chosen to load him, up the ramp. At the final show we took Fred to, he happily trotted around the ring, bit in his teeth, disregarding his poor young riders pleas (and pulls) to walk, halt or otherwise change gaits. No doubt, in Fred's mind, the tape fencing was gleaming white four board on a grand prix arena with perfect footing and roaring crowds...instead of the grass ring with a scattering of ponies and parents around it.

The apple tree was owned by Fred. Woe betide the new horse who tried to claim the green apples as they dropped in the fall. Fred could consume a bushel of green apples with never a stomach problem. Lesser equine stomachs would have necessitated calls to the vet or the removal of the apple tree. He had one favorite tree - in the lunging area - but should the opportunity arise to escape the pasture, he also had no qualms about the trees lining the driveway.

Fred's last evening was spent in reflection of how far this horse had come. Starved at one point in his life, food remained his highest priority. The night he came in and didn't raise his head for his gruel, we all knew it was time to say good bye. We toasted Fred with a glass of (f)red wine and waited for the vet. The next day, Fred was buried beside the outdoor ring, marked by a large stone, set so all that ride in the ring can see Fred's memorial and remember how special he was.