As many of you know, my black gelding Rocky passed away last week. He was 30 years old. I feel his loss deeply and I know many of you understand exactly what I'm experiencing.
Over the years, I've thought lovingly and often about the horse people and the horses who were my friends and teachers, supporters and social group. I did not know it at the time, but that village of equestrians was a rare and wonderful gift.
I moved away to go to university when I was 17, and that was the end of our time together. Rocky had been retired, and I brought Zeke to Tucson with me, hoping to find a new horse family and continue competing. Unfortunately, life happened and what was to come was entirely unexpected.
The barn I boarded Zeke at was strange - I never saw anybody. There was no dust cloud floating across Germann to greet me when I drove down the street. There was no laughter and chatter at the hitching posts, nobody to offer a suggestion when I tried something new. No one planned a huge and fun Christmas party with a Secret Santa exchange, no mad rush in the early morning before a gymkhana. Nobody. There were plenty of horses, but they seemingly never left their stalls. I was the only one who rode. It was so weird and alien.
Six months after moving, I met an enchanting young woman who would later become my wife. I came out to my family, and everything fell apart. My grades were bottom rung, I was on academic probation, I joined Tucson Roller Derby and resolutely turned my back on my old life. I had to sell Zeke; my parents came and got my truck and my trailer. They never were actually mine. Things were pretty bad for awhile.
My lifeline to horses and horse people and the world of thundering hooves and flying dust had been severed. That was 2005.
In 2006, I was reunited with Rocky. He had been in a retirement home, but needed a new place to go. I happily had him trailered to Tucson. I could still ride him lightly, and met a horse-friend in an unlikely place - on the roller derby track. She and I and my wife, Teri, would go on trail rides and it was wonderful to be back in the saddle.
In 2008, I was supremely foolish and secretly bought a rescued off the track Thoroughbred mare named Rose. I was supremely fortunate that Teri did not divorce me. Ten months after bringing Rose home, I discovered that she was heavily pregnant with a foal nobody knew about. She birthed him 26 long nights of sleeping in the bed of my pickup truck later; a healthy bright red colt. Teri deserves several awards for accepting my weakness of judgment and helping me take care of both Rose and Remi, and for letting me teach her to ride with the world's most inappropriate lesson horse.
In 2010, we were faced with having to pay board on 3 horses: Rocky, Rose, and Remi. We couldn't afford it. A friend of mine took Remi, and later agreed to keep Rocky at her place as well. I was able to find a great home for Rose.
2012 brought the birth of our daughter.
In 2015, my friend who was boarding Rocky had a change of heart and no longer wanted to have him on her property. I was 5 months pregnant and desperate, and despite not having talked to my old horse family in 11 years, I picked up the phone and called Terri. Terri welcomed Rocky back with open arms, and helped arrange for Melissa to come and pick him up from Casa Grande and trailer him to San Tan Valley.
The Chambers' had moved, but it felt like home. Terri's laugh was still full and infectious as it ever was. Ron was still as cantankerous. I saw several horses I had known 11 years earlier, one of which I had even helped to start under saddle, and many new faces. The kids running around and laughing and tacking up for a trail ride were strangers to me, but my heart knew them. Because they were me.
Terri welcomed me into her horse family when I was 13 and paired me with Dreamer, my first horse. And it was Terri who told me when Rocky went into heart failure, and it was Terri who held him and pet his sweet face the last time before he passed away.
Today, I'm 33 years old. It's the first time since I was 15 that I've walked this earth and known that Rocky was no longer on it. I have a beautiful family of my own, a comfortable home and a happy life. But my daughter is now 7 years old, and completely horse crazy. I can't help but wonder: will she ever have the horse family that I was so lucky to have found? Is she going to have other kids to ride with and confide in and play games with and swap horses and spend hours alongside, sweaty and hot and covered in hay and grit and still finding herself completely happy?
I found old video that my dad took at the Missionview Saddle Club state gymkhana in April 2002. I've been watching it; falling into it; reliving it. When I first found it and had it converted to DVD, I selfishly and obsessively watched me and Rocky. Now... now I find myself adoringly absorbing every moment. Every silly comment made by my father. It makes my heart so happy to hear everyone cheer and yell suggestions to the rider competing, and to hear my 14 year old brother fervently muttering under his breath, "Don't slip, don't slip! GO, GOOOO!"
I see each one of the riders my dad filmed, and I remember how well I knew each of your horses' strides, the way they moved their heads or twitched their ears. I love how my soul recognizes the voices behind Dad, yelling encouragement. I can hear Jackie shouting during my pole run, "Move your feet, Ashleigh! MOVE YOUR FEET!" I can hear Terri holler, "Check him HARD!" at the middle barrel of Big M. And the chorus of young women cheering and yelling alongside.
Now, many of the horses in the video have passed away or are since retired. It's something special to see them brought to life once again.
I loved you all then. And I love you now, for the gifts you gave me. Your time. Your patience. Your kindness. Your guidance and suggestions. But most importantly, I value you all so much more now, because I have the benefit of perspective. I know now how rare my years with you were. Thank you to each and every one of you, who helped me grow up and who were my friends. My memories of you are treasured.
Terri and Ron and Breann and Shanda. Jackie and Tami. Kathi and Nicole and Sara and Sharon and Kenzie and Blake and Marisa and Danielle and Paul and Ashley. Kayla and Merlena and Melissa. Kristi and Shannon. Erin and Kathy and Charlene and Marley. Mallory and Wendy. And there were so many more of you - it truly takes a village. Thank you.
Love always,
Ashleigh
https://youtu.be/fNDss7bRA4A
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| Senior photo, 2003 |
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| My daughter Everleigh, saying goodbye to our dear friend. |
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| One last hug, one last kiss, one last "Thank you", one last "I love you". |
