Go Softly Unto the Light: Makeover phase three bonus

“All of the best horses go to Heaven with no tails.”

I never understood that feeling until now; holding Shanks head in my lap, as his breath was labored. The vet was on the way, and tears trickled from my face onto Shanks’. He was a massive horse, one I had grown with. 

I wasn’t a skilled horse enthusiast when I first started out, going on what I read in books. I learned a little bit every time I got a new horse, but I can confidently say that Shanks was the reason I pushed myself harder than I ever had before. 

I spent so many hours, months, and years trying to fully figure him out. I knew from the moment I met the beautiful red horse that it wouldn’t be easy. Of course it wouldn’t have been; that horse was made from thunder and lightning alone. 

I spent so many days on the ground, wondering why I even tried to get back on him. I spent so many nights trying to convince people he was not a bad horse, just misunderstood. The only thing I could do at the time was be patient with him. 

And so I was. Patient with his training. Patient with his trust. Patient with his love. Eventually, my patience for him turned into his patience for me. Patient with my newness. Patient with my flaws. Patient with my lack of skills. There we were, horse and human, surrounded by the world. 

Shanks gave me some of the best years, some of the worst years, and many in between. I love that horse. I loved him so much that I now understood why people cut off their tails. Why that singular braid meant so much to riders. Shanks was not terribly old, but colic does not discriminate. 

His large head rested on my laps, as I brushed my fingers through his mane. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow. I tried to get him to stand, but his legs shook and he’d fall down. I cried, begging and pleading with him to stand. 

I could see he was worn out, I blamed myself for not watching better. There were a hundred different reasons I thought I failed him. So I called the vet, collapsing by Shanks. 

By the time the vet arrived, he was gone. I just knew it. There was a stillness like I had never felt before. So the vet helped me collect his tail, consoled me, and we made arrangements for his burial. 

And now I finally understood.

“All of the best horses go to Heaven with no tails.”