Yesterday was a very sad day for our family.
We lost our horse, Kansas. She was very, very old—so her passing wasn’t unexpected. Above is a picture taken of her yesterday morning with the 20-year-old who loved having the chore of feeding and currying her. The sixteen-year-old loved to feed her slices of apple. She roamed our pasture with her three Mini-Mes—our goats—who loved her and followed her lead always when hunting for nice grass or sheltering from a storm.
I called my ex-husband to talk about Kansas because he knew her history well.
He told me she was raised by a little boy in the Smoky Mountains, but after a while his father decided he needed a bigger horse, so she was sold to a horse dealer and in turn sold to a family whose daughter wanted to become a barrel racer. Together with Kansas, she raced all over the region and did very well, qualifying to go to the nationals. However, the girl decided she didn’t want to barrel race anymore, and Kansas ended up in the hands of a friend of my ex-husband’s in Tennessee.
He’d go there to ride. She kept a lot of horses, and the one he preferred to ride wasn’t available one day, so he pointed at Kansas. His friend warned him that she didn’t like men and wouldn’t let them ride her. However, my husband is an “animal whisperer”—any animal really, but especially with dogs…and horses. Yes, he preferred bigger, flashier horses, but there was something about this little “foundation” Indian pony, a sturdy appaloosa, that he liked. She was called Kansas because of the white tornado on her face. You can see it in the picture above.
When he first rode her, he noted that she’d get “high-headed” and purposely bump people, but she let him ride her. They got along well. Afterward, his friend said she needed a home and gave him the horse.
He kept her for years and rode her in the North Georgia mountains and the Smoky Mountains with groups of horse riders who liked to trek through the wilderness in wild places with mininal established trails. He said she was a “go” horse, who just loved to go fast—a little powerhouse. She’d easily go up or down mountains on those long treks, and when they’d head for home, he’d pin a glow stick to her tail, drop her reins, and let her guide the rest of the group down the mountains.
He trained her to do a lot of tricks because she was very smart. He quickly had her doing sliding stops, backing up, and allowing herself to be mounted from either side, and more. She was never fond of men, other than him, but loved children. She’d grow a full wooly coat in winter and would break the ice for his other horses when the troughs or pond would freeze.
However, she got old, and he wanted her to find a place to live out the rest of her years in peace, well cared for. That’s how she came to us about thirteen years ago. The oldest girl, when she was younger, rode her for a little while, but for the remainder of her days, she lived in our pasture and woods. She was forty years old; her teeth were worn to nubs and her back was swayed with age. However, during her annual checkups, the veterinarian would marvel over how healthy and active she still was. The farrier would comment on how calm and gentle she was. She was a friend to our three goats, who followed her around like she was their mother.
Yesterday, the 20-year-old said she was off her feed. When she walked around behind her, she noticed something protruding from her vagina. We called vets all over the state to come check her out. One came in the afternoon. She had a prolapsed vagina due to cancer. With our blessing, he euthanized her in the field.
When he left, the goats stood in a row nearby, unmoving, as though they were at a funeral, giving their last respects to their friend. My son-in-law buried her nearer the woods. Then last night, we had a terrible storm and we lost power for eight hours. There were tornadoes in the area, but the only damage we had was to the goats’ pen. A limb fell on it, but they were unharmed. I figure the storm was Kansas, with her white tornado marking, leaving us.
I have a puzzle for you below. It’s of a group of horses. The one that’s second from the left is how I imagine she would’ve looked in her youth, and how I imagine horse heaven, with her in it, would look. RIP, Kansas.
Just the other night, I re-watched 
My second favorite has to be 
