August 4th

They say time heals all wounds. In many cases, this holds true, but there are some situations in which time never seems to pass, the pain in your heart never fading. I learned the hard way that when something horrible happens, never ever look at the calander. Don't even think about the date, because if you do, that date will haunt you for the rest of your life, as if you needed a reminder of that terrible day. You're probably wondering what it is that has launched me into such depressing talk. Well, you see, nine years ago today, at the age of forteen, I spent the better part of the day watching my best friend die.

I awoke early in the morning, probably a bit before eight. It was August, and I had no real reason to crawl out of bed so early, but something about that morning struck me as wrong. I can't recall if I ate breakfast or not, but it was soon after rising that I walked up to the barn to give Judy her morning grain and hay. It was summer, so she enjoyed spending the nights out in the pasture. She had shelter - a three sided shed which was mostly open, and she always seemed to be recluctant to return to the barn during those beautiful summer nights. With a coffee can full of grain and a slab of hay under my arm, I walked out to bid goodmorning to my best friend, eager for one of her velvety pony-nosed kisses. But when I arrived at the fence, she wasn't standing there waiting for me, nickering impatiently for her breakfast. Instead, she was laying up on the hill and showing no signs of getting up. My heart froze with dread. I dropped the grain and hay at the gate and sprinted to her side. She was laying fawn-like, and something was terribly wrong. A huge lump formed in my throat as I wiped the foam from her mouth and chin. I petted her, kissed her, promising I'd be right back, and sprinted to the house. I burst in the front door yelling for my mom to call the vet. With a few more abreviated breathless explainations, I flew back up to Judy's side.

I'll save you all, and myself for that matter, the heart wrenching details. They are simply too horrible to relate, nor do I wish to ruin my keyboard -- I assure you will be already be wet enough. I will simply say that I spent the day with my one of my truest loves: petting her, soothing her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. I talked to her about anything that came to my mind. I told her of places outside our home that she never saw. We reminised about all the adventures we had. And I told her how much I loved her and that I would miss her. She said she'd miss me back, in that way that a horse and rider simply seem to understand eachother without ever saying a word. And she told me that we'd be apart, but everything would be okay, because we would be together again.

It wasn't until evening when it all came to an end and I was forced to say my final goodbyes to my little indian pony. The vet never showed, never even called. Although, we made it a point to call them -- for the last time. But on this day, not only did my best friend die, but a piece of my heart passed on with her. I can only hope that she carried it on with her. If thats the case, then the never-fading heartache is worthwhile, no matter how much the pain.

Judy, Jujubee, my little indian paint pony -- I miss you dearly.

So that is the story of August 4th, and why it haunts my calendar. I try my best to remember all the great things of our time together instead of the events of this day, but they boil to the surface none the less. I believe that is enough for today. Besides, I am in dire need of a kleenex. But I will leave you with one final poem -- one that I find to be perfect for this story and brings tears to my eyes and lumps to my throat each and every time.

Somewhere...Somewhere in time's Own Space

There must be some sweet pastured place

Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow

Some Paradise where horses go,

For by the love that guides my pen

I know great horses live again.
-Stanley Harrison