. . . Humans are not especially good at noticing horses, but Barbaro was easy to notice. And if his life caused us to pay attention to the possibilities of all horses, his death should cause us to pay attention to the tragedy inherent in the end of so many horses. Barbaro’s death was tragic not because it was measured against the races he might have won or even against the effort to save his life. It was tragic because of what every horse is.
You would have to look a long, long time to find a dishonest or cruel horse. And the odds are that if you did find one, it was made cruel or dishonest by the company it kept with humans. It is no exaggeration to say that nearly every horse (Barbaro included) is pure of heart. Some are faster, some slower. Some wind up in the winner’s circle. But they should all evoke in us the generosity of conscience, a human quality, after all that was expended in the effort to save this one horse. Excerpt from Barbaro's Eulogy, The New York Times.
Barbaro
4/29/03 - 1/29/07
Byway Farm Angel ("Lovie")
4/2006 - 9/2006
Artist: Bridget Voth
RAINBOW BRIDGE
Author unknown..., poem created from Rainbow Bridge by Brooks Hunnicutt
Artist: Bridget Voth
Just this side of heaven,
is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
And when our beloved horses die,
it’s to this beautiful place they fly.
There are meadows and hills,
for running and playing,
there’s food and water aplenty.
The sun always shines, a gentle wind blows,
and the beloved ones who had been ill and old,
are restored to health and vigor.
Those who were hurt or maimed,
are now made whole and strong,
just as we’ve remembered them,
in our dreams all along.
And all the creatures are happy,
except for one small thing they each miss someone so special to them,
and wait for that person to take wing.
They all run and play together,
but that special day comes for her,
when she suddenly stops and looks afar
the bright eyes intent, the body quivering,
she runs away from the group.
Artist: Bridget Voth
As fast as she can she flies over the grass,
for you have been joyously spotted,
and when you meet, you cling together,
nevermore to be parted.
Happy kisses you rain upon her face,
your hands caress her with gentle force,
as you look once more into
the trusting eye of your beloved horse.
So long gone from your life,
but never absent from your heart,
you cross Rainbow Bridge together,
never again to be apart.
When I am old, I shall wear turquoise and a straw cowboy hat that doesn't match nor suit me. I shall spend my Social Security on white wine and carrots and sit in the alleyway of my barn and listen to my horses breathe. I will sneak out in the middle of a summer night and ride the dappled mare across the moonstruck meadow if my old bones will allow. And when people come to call, I will smile and nod, as I walk them past my gardens to the barn, and show, instead, the flowers growing there. In stalls, fresh-lined with straw, I will learn to shovel and sweat and wear hay in my hair as if it were a jewel. And I will be an embarrassment to my only child who has not yet found peace in being free to love a horse like a friend, a friend who waits at midnight hour with muzzle and nicker and patient eyes for the kind of person I will be when I am old. ~ Patty Barnhart
Missy (1987-1999) Goober (1979-2005) Woody (1988-1996)