My reason for posting this is so you can know my reason for choosing "Jinglebob" as my user name.
This story reaches back over twenty years to a livestock auction and a young horse. The horse in question had no pedigree, wasn't the most striking in appearance, and appeared slightly awkward. He would never be a show horse but there was undeniable intelligence behind those soft eyes. When he came on the block there was little interest and he was acquired for a pittance.
Jinglebob was the name I gave him after the way he appeared to jingle as he moved. He possessed a natural ability and was eager and quick to learn. Jinglebob was a gentle horse that never did kick, bite or buck. The mere mention of a carrot or apple treat would peak his ears and light up his eyes.
Over the years we developed a bond, this unusual horse and I, as Jinglebob evolved into the finest cow pony I've known. There wasn't a cow born that could out fox him. In the corral and in the pasture he was Boss Horse. If he were human he would be the kind of guy I could drink a beer and smoke a cigar with. In the barn he occupied stall number one.
Jinglebob was one of the horses I took each year to the handicapped children's rodeo. Those disabled kids loved him and he was ever so calm and gentle with them. In some way it was as if he understood the afflictions they were suffering. With those kids, he never let on that he was a finely tuned working animal… he was just a loveable old horse.
One thing I have learned in life is that we are offered only a finite amount of time. And so it was that we set out on a ride together that would be our last. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon in early October 2011 and there were calves to be reined in. When I uncoiled the rope and built a loop Jinglebob did his little prance, as he always did when it came time to work. With only a gentle nudge of my boot, he was off and running. He moved with a quickness I did not remember him capable of. Then…
A horse and rider that have worked together for years are of one mind and one body. Each can sense the other's muscles and nerves. When Jinglebob faltered I knew that it was not as simple as a horse stumbling in loose sand, it was a catastrophic failure of his system. Even before we landed on the earth I knew that I had lost him.
He lay limp and motionless beside me, eyes wide. I placed my cheek against his hide and let my tears flow down his soft face. After a while, I don't know how long, I got to my feet and dug a hole and dug it deep. I removed his tack for the final time, whispered a prayer, and buried him where he had fallen.
Not long after, the air took on the coolness of fall. One chilly morning, as the sun painted the barn's interior in light and shadow, I turned the horses out and stepped into stall number one. I squatted to pick up a handful of sand and let it sift through my fingers. For a fleeting moment a gentle breeze floated across the back of my neck like a warm breath. Startled, I turned. The stall was silent and empty.
The distance between life and the spirit world is less than the width of a human hair. This I was told by an old Cherokee Indian many years ago and I believe it to be true. Skeptics may claim otherwise but I think what I felt that morning in the stall was my Jinglebob saying a final farewell.
I never placed another animal in that stall. From that day forward the only occupant of stall number one has been a fond memory of an old friend.
Jinglebob waiting for a ride to his last children's rodeo.
This story reaches back over twenty years to a livestock auction and a young horse. The horse in question had no pedigree, wasn't the most striking in appearance, and appeared slightly awkward. He would never be a show horse but there was undeniable intelligence behind those soft eyes. When he came on the block there was little interest and he was acquired for a pittance.
Jinglebob was the name I gave him after the way he appeared to jingle as he moved. He possessed a natural ability and was eager and quick to learn. Jinglebob was a gentle horse that never did kick, bite or buck. The mere mention of a carrot or apple treat would peak his ears and light up his eyes.
Over the years we developed a bond, this unusual horse and I, as Jinglebob evolved into the finest cow pony I've known. There wasn't a cow born that could out fox him. In the corral and in the pasture he was Boss Horse. If he were human he would be the kind of guy I could drink a beer and smoke a cigar with. In the barn he occupied stall number one.
Jinglebob was one of the horses I took each year to the handicapped children's rodeo. Those disabled kids loved him and he was ever so calm and gentle with them. In some way it was as if he understood the afflictions they were suffering. With those kids, he never let on that he was a finely tuned working animal… he was just a loveable old horse.
One thing I have learned in life is that we are offered only a finite amount of time. And so it was that we set out on a ride together that would be our last. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon in early October 2011 and there were calves to be reined in. When I uncoiled the rope and built a loop Jinglebob did his little prance, as he always did when it came time to work. With only a gentle nudge of my boot, he was off and running. He moved with a quickness I did not remember him capable of. Then…
A horse and rider that have worked together for years are of one mind and one body. Each can sense the other's muscles and nerves. When Jinglebob faltered I knew that it was not as simple as a horse stumbling in loose sand, it was a catastrophic failure of his system. Even before we landed on the earth I knew that I had lost him.
He lay limp and motionless beside me, eyes wide. I placed my cheek against his hide and let my tears flow down his soft face. After a while, I don't know how long, I got to my feet and dug a hole and dug it deep. I removed his tack for the final time, whispered a prayer, and buried him where he had fallen.
Not long after, the air took on the coolness of fall. One chilly morning, as the sun painted the barn's interior in light and shadow, I turned the horses out and stepped into stall number one. I squatted to pick up a handful of sand and let it sift through my fingers. For a fleeting moment a gentle breeze floated across the back of my neck like a warm breath. Startled, I turned. The stall was silent and empty.
The distance between life and the spirit world is less than the width of a human hair. This I was told by an old Cherokee Indian many years ago and I believe it to be true. Skeptics may claim otherwise but I think what I felt that morning in the stall was my Jinglebob saying a final farewell.
I never placed another animal in that stall. From that day forward the only occupant of stall number one has been a fond memory of an old friend.
Jinglebob waiting for a ride to his last children's rodeo.
