mood swings

Originally, I came here to rant about some irritating thing that happened this morning. I felt like expressing myself, so I came here. Came back. It feels like so long ago that I wrote those entries – has it really not even been a year since she was sold? In three days, it will be exactly 9 months since I found out. Needless to say, I’ve become a lot less active in that time. And I know that, time and again, I’ve said things like “I’ll be back soon!” and “Look forward to things picking up again!” I’m making no such promises this time.

 

Why?

 

Because she’s not coming back. She won’t be found. I’m never going to see her again.

Looking back on this blog, all the feelings – the love, the joy, the grief, the hurt  - are all rushing back, as raw as they ever were. God, I forgot how much I loved her. I forgot how my heart would almost split in two when I had to break our combined gaze. I forgot how she felt like a beacon of hope whenever I felt like my life was crashing down on top of me.

Have I mentioned I can’t even remember what she looks like? I try and try, but… nothing. After reading my past entries, I’ve found out that I don’t want to forget. I’ve never loved a creature so passionately before; frankly, I doubt I ever will again.

I’m going to write down every scrap of a memory I have of her, in as much detail as possible. Anything I can remember – her scar, the infection, and even that one time a rat was perched in the torn netting of her stall. So, that way, when I’m older, I can look back on this, and remember the first time I’ve loved an animal absolutely, so entirely that without her, my heart feels like a hole has been punched in it, and it won’t ever mend. Whenever I read this, the hole gets a tiny bit bigger. But it’s worth it. It was all worth it. A great poet once said, “'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all.”

 

These are in no particular order, seeing as I can no longer remember the order myself.

A dream. I’m lunging the filly in a circle – I think it was supposed to be natural horsemanship, but I was getting her to trot over a pole at the same time. Suddenly, she disappeared off my lunge line, and “trotted” to Bonnie’s shadowed form in the distance. Was I subconsciously afraid she would bond more with “leader” instead of me? Or was it something else?

Two girls from the barn were teasing her with a carrot, making her run along the fence beside them. She was getting really aggravated, and they still wouldn’t give it to her. I told them to do so, and they did. I stayed and tried to get close to her, but she was too strung-out – she kept pacing. In the end, she started following me up and down the fence, although she knew I didn’t have anything. Then she let me scratch her face and rub her neck.

 

I was getting to see the filly! Yay! Once I got past the ring, and hopefully out of earshot, I quietly called, “Herrre, pretty girl!” She immediately did a gaited trot out to meet me. I thought my heart would burst. From then on, when I called her, she would come and meet me if I were outside when she was in, or vice versa.

 

I was in the back barn by her stall, coaxing her towards me so that I could rub her face. I noticed a rat (they’re actually really cute, and it looked more like a mouse – but it was a rat) on the “window-sill” (I don’t know what else to call it) beside me. I backed away at first, but then ignored it and went back to petting her for a while. I noticed that the rat didn’t bother her at all. Was she used to it?

 

Carl was trying to put medicine on her sore. I almost cried out, seeing her so scared. I can’t remember – one of the times, he globbed some on, but on another day, he couldn’t, and so I did. She was quieter for me than she was for him. Was it only because I was female, or did she know me?

 

The filly has a beautiful coat. I don’t know how to describe it. “Smokey buckskin”? “Grulla”? I don’t know. It looked like the horse’s coat in the picture bellow – in fact, exactly. They describe has as a “Smokey buckskin.” So, I guess I’ll call it that.

 

Her eyes were dark brown; limpid pools of innocence and trust, but guarded by a wall of hurt. And her scar… the skin on the right side of her face, in between her eye and muzzle,  was always rubbed raw. Sometimes it would ooze bits of blood or pus, and during the summer flies caked onto it. It would sometimes have bits of shavings stuck on it, too. It was red, and not very deep, but extremely big – literally taking up most of the space between her eye and muzzle. They said she might have an internal blood infection, and would need veterinary treatment. I remember that when the vet came to see her, since she couldn’t be handled, they had to sedate her (as in, make her fall asleep).

 

Her stall was a dirt one, and, in my opinion, it never had enough shavings. Even now, no shavings are put in there. I don’t think having hard-packed dirt makes up for that, but maybe that’s just me.

 

Next door was Luna/Houdini/the “bigger filly,” a gray paso who was slowly turning white on her face and back (which is why I called her Luna). There was torn netting between their stalls, and often they would touch noses and nip at each other through it. They never kicked at each other. They seemed to be good friends. Across from “the little filly” was Heneral, a white paso fino gelding. He’s gorgeous, and known for cribbing. He has a large dent in his stall door. Heneral is also so fat, you would swear he was pregnant. He’s going to founder soon, I’m sure – I feel so bad for him. He’s still there. I visit Heneral, and almost cry because his friends left him – well, really, because they left me. Heneral is all I have left. He’s the only thing I can touch to remind me that I once knew a filly, who I loved with all my heart and soul.

 

The last time I saw her. At first, she shied away from my hands as I slowly reached up to be close to her. I crooned things like “It’s okay, pretty girl. It’s okay. You know meeee,” and she flicked her ears forward, and took a step towards the stall. I began to rub her head, and scratch all her itches. She never once pulled away or got scared, and I felt like I never wanted to leave her side.

Laura [Bonnie’s mom] honked her horn outside. “Hey, Carly, we’ve gotta go!”

Pulling away from her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I turned and walked towards the car, looking back at her. She turned her head and watched me. I got in the car. She never looked away – not once, ‘til I couldn’t see her anymore. “I’ll be back,” I said. “I promise I’ll always be back.”

It breaks my heart that I broke that promise. Every single day.

 

 

GOD! *screams* If only I could go back in time, and stop myself from leaving her side. Or tell her that things would be okay, even though we’d be separated. Or even go back to the day she was trailer’d off, so I at least knew where she was. For all I know, she could be on her way to a glue factory right now. It makes me want to… kill something. Kill whoever took her from me. I want them to feel my hurt, my loss, my grief; my anger. I want them to see my tears and beg for forgiveness. I know not everything will ever go my way; I’m not some fucking spoiled brat.

But when you take away the thing I love the most, stuff is going to happen.

 

*disclaimer: I’m not going to kill anyone. That would be unhelpful in finding the filly (although let’s face it, she’s gone forever).

 

-tbk

written from my laptop, finished 9 37 AM [Tues, December 15, 2009]