Tags
animals, barrel racing, childhood, companion, competition, friend, grief, Horse, mentor, pony
Jessie was my babysitter. She was my best friend. She was my grandmother. She was my grandfather. She was my sister, my cousin, and my aunt. At times I wished she were my mother.
Jessie, like me, was a mongrel: half Welsh pony, half nondescript horse. She was tall for a pony, around 12 hands high, if I remember correctly. This compares to the Shetland that measures from 7 – 11 hands high. She was a black and white pinto who looked more like a horse than the roly-poly image of the standard kid’s Shetland monster. Jessie was ancient when she came to us—beyond reliable dental aging. She had a wise old look about her too. I, on the other hand was young—five or six years old. We spent many hours together, usually just the two of us. I was safe with her, there was no need for a baby sitter. Even in the company of my mother and sister, her short legs had difficulty keeping up with the horses so we lagged behind—me lost in my daydreams, Jessie patiently watching for gopher holes. I learned most of what I ever knew about horses from Jessie.
As a child I thought she had long shaggy hair because of the “Welsh” part of her breeding. Hey…it’s cold in Wales. Animals from that part of the world evolved with thicker coats and longer hair, right? That made sense to me. But I always fretted over her shaggy summer appearance. She’d lose some of her winter mat, but she always had a longish, scruffy looking coat.

Untreated laminitis - http://vetmoves.com
Now, I realize poor Jessie probably suffered from something called Equine Cushing’s Disease(ECD) which is a malfunction of the endocrine glands, the pituitary gland, in particular. ECD is usually found in horses fifteen years old or older, which would be consistent with Jessie’s case. Jessie had also been foundered, we were told. This explained the tendency of her hooves to grow long and shovel-shaped. But laminitis, often a precursor to founder, is also a marker for Cushing’s Disease. And once a horse develops laminitis, it is more prone to founder thus initiating a potential cycle of misery.
I don’t think Jessie suffered too much from her condition. We fed her carefully, curbing her access to overly rich feed. We kept her feet trimmed so she never displayed signs of pain or lameness. Sure, she got a bit warm during the summer months, but she/we were lucky to be living at a high elevation where summer temps rarely exceeded the mid 80’s.
I hate to admit that I suffered more from Jessie’s shabby appearance than she did. When other girls my age had graduated to sleek, impeccably groomed and papered Quarter Horses, my mount was a pony who looked forever in need of a shave and a shower. I was such a shallow brat. By contrast, Jessie was a loyal pony with a heart larger than my over stuffed ego. For years we competed in weekly Little Britches Rodeos at the county fairgrounds. We competed based upon my age, not Jessie’s age. Each week, sandwiched between the hip girls whose artfully lined and shaded eyes skipped over the top of my insignificant head to gaze at each other in teenage fits of envy and snarkiness, Jessie and I waited our turn to run the barrels. Meanwhile, I ogled our competition—those beautiful sorrels and bays with the roached manes and painfully plucked tails that were the height of equine fashion at the time. And each week, Jessie and I entered the arena, me with an unquenchable desire to win; Jessie with a steady desire to be the best she could be. Her short legs churned the dirt and she slipped deftly around each barrel with my legs crashing against her ribs praying to knock off five-tenths of a second from our time. A yellowed Russel Stover candy box sits in the back of my closet, jammed with white ribbons. There is one red ribbon. I believe one of my competitors was absent from competition that day. I should have been immensely proud of those third place wins. The length of Jessie’s legs was an insurmountable handicap in a field of five to ten competitors.
Eventually, I graduated to a full-sized horse. But Jessie hadn’t quite earned her retirement yet. She continued to nurture a host of neighborhood kids who learned which end of a horse to treat with caution and which end to romance with a handful of oats. Her heart was so big that she just kept giving, year after energizer year. I have no idea how old she was when her face began to break out in nasty abscesses which would expand until they burst and oozed pasty mucous and later, blood. She was diagnosed with cancer. I was in junior high by then. Every day I bathed her face in warm water, gently cleaning the sores and wiping the tears that dampened the hair below her eyes. As fall blew into winter, her sores spread down her neck and across her back.
It was time. I rode in the trailer with her as mother hauled us to the vet. I held Jessie’s gentle, shaggy head and caressed her black ears a final time before she received the long-awaited shot that would relieve her of her misery and send her to her well-earned retirement .
If there’s a shred of humility in my competitive soul, it was cultivated by that indefatigable pony. She taught me to ride, she taught me responsibility, she taught me patience, she nurtured the tiny grain of tenderness that I fought to hide with pride and bravado. She did this at a time when I trusted no one, when I felt alone in a complicated world of bickering grownups and unreliable friends. She did all this with never a harsh word, never a nip or a kick. She worked her magic with love and patience. It may sound silly, but no death since has ever been more difficult than the death of my truest friend, companion, and mentor Jessie.
Very moving. I wish I’d been around then to meet her!
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Did I never talk of Jessie? So much of my childhood seems to have escaped me.
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I vaguely remember you talking about your pony.
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I am glad the blackout is over, Linda. I desperately wanted to read this post. I have been a horse lover all my life, though I’ve never owned a horse. I still have hope. Nothing is written that states a person in their 40s is too old to get a horse. Having read your post, I’d be honored to have a Welsh pony (though it does get very hot in the South).
On the way to work today, I was listening John Denver. One of the songs that played is titled, “Whispering Jessie”. That song will hold a new meaning to me.
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May you one day realize your dream of owning a horse, Lenore. BTW, Welsh ponies don’t really have longer hair than other horses, Jessie’s shaggy coat was a result of Cushing’s Disease, a fact I was quite unaware of right up until I started writing this blog and had double check my facts.
I’ll have to check out that song. I can’t remember ever hearing it.
You might also enjoy a few of my other posts: https://rangewriter.wordpress.com/2010/11/08/on-parade/ https://rangewriter.wordpress.com/2011/07/31/trail-maintenance/ https://rangewriter.wordpress.com/2010/04/23/flipped-like-a-flapjack/
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I never heard about Jessie before – what a moving story of two friends! Thank you, also for the lovely picture.
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Thanks Ursula. Yes, she was a dear friend to me. Of course, animals have the most exquisite capacity of friendship.
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What a wonderful story! And as always so eloquently written. The description of her illness spreading – simply heartbreaking.
I grew up a big-city girl, so although I love animals I have never been one of these horse-crazy girls. I had to make do with a hamster who sadly was only with me for two years. I was still devastated when she died, so I can vaguely appreciate the pain it must have caused you to lose Jessie. I’m glad she was such a good friend to you and helped to make you the admirable person you are today, Linda.
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Thanks for you kind words, Sandra. There were many things about being a kid that I hated. But one thing was always clear to me. I was lucky to have access to horses from nearly as far back as I can remember. Animals are so good for the soul.
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Oh damn, Linda…I’m sitting here in tears!
I want to reassure you that the psychologist who trained us as Hospice Companions assured me that my grief over the loss of pets is no less than the loss of a child.
When I read, “it may sound silly…” a pain hit my chest. No, Linda, love is love.
A little dog – Scamp, a border collie – was my constant buddy when I was 8 to 11. I swear he thought he’d sired me. I learned in a reading from Ainslie MacLeod , “The Instruction” author and psychic who came with us on our Soul Safari, that Scamp had been sent to me to be a loving presence in my life. Apparently my Guides felt everyone was too busy down here on planet earth and I needed more love. So Scamp was the soul of a woman who had been my mother in a former life.
The Guides said this mother, in a past life, had no choice but to feed me bad water as we starved to death. She wanted to give me the love she never had a chance to finish and was willing to come back as a little border collie to do so. THAT had me in tears, too!
He was run over by a careless teenager careening down our road just after I’d sent Scamp home because I had to go to school. I wasn’t sure how I would be able to live. It was my first experience with hating another human being.
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Well, Amy I didn’t mean to bring you to tears…or did I? That I could is, I guess, amazing. And tears are nothing to fear, are they? Tears are the life-blood of our soul. When the soul’s been damaged, tears wash and cleanse the wound and bring about healing just like blood does for our bodies. (Or am I talking through my hat?)
Anyway, what I do know, is that the experience of losing poor Scamp, especially in that violent and senselss way, must have been excruciating for you. And you were only 11! At least with Jessie, I understood that she had lived a long and admirable life and that she was tired and deserved a rest. I’m sure that helped. When an animal (or a person) suffers, it makes parting with them infinitely easier….at least for me. And I had the advantage of being a bit older than you.
I’m curious: How did you deal with the hate? You don’t seem like a person who’d be capable of holding onto hate for very long.
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In those days they didn’t know about Cushing’s disease. There are some great movies of you riding Jesse on the link I sent you to the pictures I transferred to DVD
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Yes, thank you. I recieved that link and appreciate it. I have been out of town for several weeks and am buried under several simulatenous projects so haven’t had the time to explore the link yet. Thanks for sending it. That was very thoughtful.
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Good grief, Linda! I don’t shed tears. I really don’t, but I got misty-eyed reading about you and Jessie! You write so very well. And you’ve lived so very well. I never saw Jessie, but she looks beautiful in her photograph. I loved reading about this part of your life. You were so lucky to have had Jessie.
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We all have had to part with someone really special in our lives. Jessie was, perhaps, my first lesson in the long good bye. I was lucky to have her. I was a lucky kid all the way around. And by golly, I’m a lucky woman! I’ve got great readers/friends like you!
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