Hi! It's me again, Shakespeare.
Someone once asked me if horses grieve over the loss of a stablemate, or a pasture buddy. The answer is... YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT!! We horses have feelings, too. If you don't believe me, next time you're with your horse, just look into his eyes...
Let me tell you about Bud.
Bud was my half-brother, a dandy little Buckskin. I was there the day Bud foaled. He was so cute! He had these long, gangly legs... he looked so uncoordinated trying to stand up that first day! Surely I was never so uncoordinated. But he was Sooooo cute! I watched him grow into a handsome young yearling, teaching him the games we horses play... taught him how to live in a herd, I did. Taught him how to run really fast, and stop on a dime! He was beginning to get a little cocky, he was catching on so fast. I could tell you about the fun we had in the pasture, but it would take WAY too long. Maybe another time.
The day came, as it always does, for the young horses to leave the pasture and go to the feedlot. (You see, Bud had a different human. But I overheard Dad say he was going to make an offer for Bud, to keep the family together.)
So Bud was put in a pen with the other feedlot horses. I come to the feedlot to work, so I got to see him every day. One day, while Dad was saddling, Bud was playing with Burt in the pen. Burt is a spunky little Buckskin quarter horse... his mom was the Alpha mare. It was a little bit muddy from the rain the other night, and it was a cool morning so everyone was feeling good. I watched Bud playing with Burt as I walked into the saddle shed to get all geared up for work, and I couldn't help but think how proud I was of Bud, and how well he'd learned the games.
The games we horses play can be dangerous, as you'll see in a minute. (Especially for humans, who only have two feet, and aren't as quick as we horses.) As Dad and I came out of the saddle shed we saw Burt nipping at Bud, and driving him around the pen. Bud was FLYING! He ran full speed across the pen, then sat down and put on the brakes... the prettiest sliding stop you ever did see. Only the mud didn't let him stop. Imagine my horror as I watched my half-brother slam right into the fence, face first! This fence is six feet high, made of two and a half inch pipe, and it didn't give. Poor Bud dropped dead on impact.
I'd never seen Dad move so quick. He ran through the gate and cradled Bud's head in his arms. Poor Bud! The skin on his head was peeled back to the bone from his poll to right between his eyes. I could only stand there shaking! A big tear rolled down my face.
A lot of cowboys I know don't seem to care if their horses die. I remember Francesca, a beautiful bay mare. She served her human proudly for 25 years. When she died, her cowboy just patted her on the shoulder and said "Well she was a good 'un. Boys, get the pickup and chain and drag her down to the highway and call the dead wagon to come and pick her up." (The dead wagon is a big truck that comes around to feedlots to pick up the dead calves)
Dad's not like most cowboys. One day when Mom and Li'l Will came down to the barn to love on me, I heard her talking about the day she and Dad sponge-painted their bedroom. She said Dad painted a little horse on the wall and said "This is in memory of Bud".
Dad took Bud down to the edge of the pasture the morning he died. He took the payloader and dug a big hole eight feet deep for Bud to sleep in. He pointed Bud's head to the West so he could see the beautiful sunsets across the lone prairie. He also put a double scoop of grain by Bud's head, to give him strength for his journey. Sometimes I still see Dad go down to that spot and talk to Bud. I, too, still miss Bud.
I've known Dad all my life. I've seen him get kicked and run over by calves. I've seen him get slammed against the fence by a big steer. I've seen him get his foot stepped on, so hard it was broken. I've seen his forehead cut to the bone when the bull kicked the gate into his face. Yes, I've seen Dad hurt before, and all he said when he gathered himself was "Well boys, let's get with it" and finish the job with no complaints. I've never heard him complain.
The day Bud died was the first time I ever saw him cry... and I loved him for it.
