By DANA ZITER
I met Heidi Boggini in early Spring of 2015. A mutual friend, Kathy, connected us after I had shared with her that I was looking to move my gelding, Rod, closer to home. Prior to reaching out to Heidi to inquire about boarding, I asked Kathy how it was to be a boarder at La Fazenda and she simply said, “Heidi treats all of the horses like they are her own.” Little did I know the depth of that insight at the time, but while pulling down the driveway for an initial meeting with Heidi, I quickly knew the farm was a special place, and also, that I probably couldn’t afford to board there.
It was a blustery March day, and the paddocks had begun their annual winter thaw. In most cases this typically means a sloshy mix of ice, snow, mud, and poop. But there was not a manure pile in sight! This was due to the very first image I have of Heidi, driving a Gator through the slush, with a dump bed full of manure and her faithful cattle dog, Joe, trailing close behind. I soon learned the extent Heidi took to keep the property pristine, in which she told me, “The horses give us so much, they deserve the respect of a clean and healthy environment.”
After working out an arrangement where I would help with feeding and mucking a few days a week to reduce my board cost, Rod was slated to move in for April. Upon arrival, Rod settled immediately into the herd consisting of four other horses: Whitney, Scooter, Abba, and Henry. Whitney and Scooter were Heidi’s and Abba and Henry were other boarders’ horses. Abba moved on to a different barn shortly after our arrival, but Henry’s owner, Abigail, was planning to stay put, as Henry, a sensitive Thoroughbred gelding, was thriving at La Fazenda. This was due to the primary reason that drove my desire to board Rod there as well, as Heidi believed strongly in “natural” horse-keeping. While she had a beautiful barn, the horses were outside 24/7 with unlimited forage and abundant space to be horses.
The Turning Point
It was within this timeframe that an unsurmountable heartbreak was headed full-bore for Heidi, her family, and friends. One sunny afternoon in 2018, Heidi and I were enjoying the “golden hour” in the barn. This was a special time, late in the day when the sun would shine through the back door of the barn, casting a warm golden glow on the aisle. Heidi was texting someone and looked up at me and asked, “How do you spell apple? I am having a brain-fart!” We laughed out loud and I aided in spelling so she could send her text. A few months later, she shared with Abigail that she was having trouble when reading her favorite publication, Eclectic Horseman. This was also accompanied by random scenarios where she struggled with fine motor skills, such as screwing in the plug to the water trough or untying the hay net knots. Her husband, Glen, and mother-in-law, Jane, began aiding Heidi in pursuing medical advice for these new struggles. Eventually, this led to testing and conferring with top doctors at Brigham Women’s Hospital in Boston, MA.
On an August evening in 2019, I arrived at the barn to find Heidi feeding the horses at a later time than usual. As I entered the paddock, she was visibly upset and when she locked eyes with me tears started to ow down her face. I was aware she had been at Brigham that afternoon and before I could muster the words to ask how the appointment went, she said, “They fuckin’ told me I have Alzheimer’s.” Heidi had just turned 60 in June. She has two vibrant sons in their early 20s, Max and Owen, and a family who has already experienced great loss. She had a young horse she planned to ride into her golden years with and a farm that embodied her soul. This could not be happening. But it was, and there were two options for people in her life—abort a relationship and create distance, or hang-on for the ride and support Heidi as she progressed through this awful, terminal disease.
One thing Abigail and I quickly learned about early-onset Alzheimer’s is that the person affected can spiral into micro-management of the ones around them, as it’s their way to gain a sense of external control since they are losing internal control. This made for a challenging environment at times, with some days Heidi not permitting us to groom our muddy horses inside the barn or being very particular about where items were placed. In November 2020, I reached the point where La Fazenda, my sanctuary, had become less than peaceful and felt it was time to move Rod to a new boarding location. When I told Heidi, she cried, and it felt awful. I felt like I was abandoning the ship, but the decision was made. Abigail remained steadfast at the farm with Henry, enduring Heidi’s mood swings and forgetfulness while helping her with farm chores and horse care. The entire six months I was gone, it just didn’t feel right. I made amazing new friends and enjoyed a peaceful boarding environment, but I felt a deep sense of guilt that I had deserted a friend in need. While I had continued to visit Heidi and Abigail during that time and assist how I could, it was in June Abigail shared with Glen (who had always been hands-on when it came to the horses) and myself how difficult it was becoming to manage Heidi in terms of horse care and safety. Glen shared his desire to support an environment in which Heidi could remain involved with her horses as long as possible and it became Abigail’s and my mission to ensure we would make that happen. I moved Rod back to the farm that month and we embarked on the most emotionally heart-wrenching journey I have had to date.
As the months progressed, Heidi’s cognitive condition worsened, and it was taxing for Abigail and myself to manage her safety and keep the farm running while holding full-time jobs. Thankfully, we had some assistance along the way. Cara, who lives in a rental house on the farm, helped Heidi with chores for many months. Not having much prior experience, she soon became an honorary horse person. We were also fortunate to have important help from two horse-savvy college students, first Emilie and, when she graduated, Madi. The horse care routine became Heidi’s sole daily focus, replacing her rapidly diminishing social life outside the farm. As this intensified, so did the challenges for those of us aiding her. She was insistent on driving the Gator while mucking but was quickly losing the ability to safely operate the machine—often driving into things and having many close calls with horses and people. Mucking itself also became an obsession, maybe from her deep-rooted belief in keeping a clean environment for the horses, but when winter came it was an emotional rollercoaster persuading her that frozen manure would have to wait until a thaw. It was painful watching her ability to communicate decline, as well as the struggle to perform certain tasks such as tying knots, putting on halters, or maneuvering clips/zippers/ buckles. Heidi’s outbursts of frustration reflected her emotional pain, and we all developed our own techniques in aiding her to minimize those scenarios as much as possible.
While there were many frustrating days for both Heidi and us, there were also beautiful moments seeded within these unhappy circumstances. Due to her cognitive decline, Heidi became almost child-like, which lent itself to the purest (and sometimes comical) interactions: a huge genuine smile when one of the horses would seek out attention, her mistaken conviction that Emilie had Alzheimer’s,
and watching her deep belly laugh as Joe rolled around in the grass after a case of the “zoomies.” One moment I will always cherish was an afternoon when I came to the barn in tears after learning some upsetting news. Heidi, who was verbally limited at this point, looked at me and said, “You are crying.” I said, “Yes, I am,” and briefly explained why. We then went about our routine, not mentioning it again. When I drove her up to the house that evening, instead of exiting the car and walking directly inside, she stopped and tapped on my window. As I rolled it down, she looked at me with a most compassionate stare that spoke volumes and then simply said, “I love you.”
This love Heidi held in her heart for her family and friends continued to extend to her horses. However, by 2022, interest in grooming and her riding abilities had diminished. Speciffcally, she was no longer equipped to provide the training and mental stimulation Tobias needed, and this was taking a toll on his behavior. He was a young, rambunctious, smart horse who required consistency to maintain ground manners. After multiple dangerous incidents, the decision was made by Glen to seek a new home for Tobias. Abigail and I began to network within our horse community to find him a placement suited to his needs, knowing Heidi would be shattered. We were fortunate to connect with the Hoover family, who were more than excited to welcome Tobias into their family, regardless of the fact that he was lame from a recent hoof abscess. Glen’s plan was to tell Heidi that Tobias was leaving for training and would return when he was “ready,” with the intention that time and her failing memory would conspire to prevent her from realizing that he would not be returning. The Hoovers arrived on a warm May evening to pick up Tobias with great grace and compassion, as Heidi was extremely upset and confused, helplessly watching a piece of her soul walk onto that trailer. Abigail and I were there for support, but we were absolutely gutted witnessing our friend endure this loss.
With Tobias in his new home, just “the boys”—Scooter, Henry, and Rod—remained at La Fazenda. Whitney had passed away the Fall prior. We were hoping a small herd of mellow-mannered geldings would aid in providing a safe environment for Heidi to continue her routine of horse care, but the quick progression of her disease was making her erratic behavior and unsafe scenarios increasingly harder to manage. By the end of summer, Abigail and I knew we could not manage the upcoming winter at La Fazenda and it was time to rehome Scooter, who was heading into his twenties. Scooter is a special and soft soul, whom Heidi acquired when he was just four years old. We were concerned about finding the proper home, as many folks aren’t looking for an aged, gray Arab with melanomas. It was through the amazing network of friends that Heidi had introduced us to years before that Lisette, now Scooter’s guardian angel, was introduced to us. She had lost her aged Thoroughbred the previous winter and, having spent 70 years in the saddle, was looking for a quiet, steady mount to trail ride with and keep her other gelding, Mac, company.
Knowing we could not allow Heidi to endure the trauma of seeing the remaining horse in her life step onto a trailer to never return, we planned to allow Heidi to be part of moving all three boys to a smaller farm “just for the winter,” for ease of care. Scooter would move on to Lisette’s from there, while Rod and Henry would remain permanently. However, we were cautious of this plan because, although her ability to communicate was narrowing down to only expressing explicit words when frustrated, she never stopped asking, “When’s Tobias coming home?” In late August 2022, Deb joined us to help with the move. She and Heidi sat on my tack trunk and wept together as Heidi watched us pack our items into the trailers, understanding that her horses, friends, and routine were all going to be gone within a few hours. Abigail and I anguished over this decision as well, knowing we were taking away her last sense of “purpose,” but the circumstance led to no other responsible choice. Glen and Jane followed us to the new farm with Heidi in tow so she could experience the visual impact of seeing the boys safely together under our care. Thankfully, the plan must’ve allowed her some peace, as after that day Heidi never once asked when Scooter would be returning to La Fazenda.
That day was the last time Heidi would interact with a horse. Her condition rapidly declined throughout the winter of 2023. In early 2024, Heidi began receiving home hospice care surrounded by family, her caregiver, and friends. While she was not able to communicate with those around her, every now and then she would make eye contact, and we would connect to the anguished soul of a woman who was imprisoned by this horrible disease. It is that large, passionate, loving soul that has touched so many around her. Madi wrote about Heidi in her veterinary school application essay, responding to a prompt about someone who inspired her. Deb, Kathy, and her other close friends cherish the memories they created together over decades. The Hoover family and Lisette are forever grateful for the education Heidi instilled in Tobias and Scooter. And Abigail and I have adopted the mantra “What Would Heidi Do?” when questioning tricky horse welfare decisions.
On April 10, 2024, peacefully surrounded by her loved ones, Heidi was finally set free. When I received the news, I released a breath that I felt I had been holding for four years. It was a bittersweet feeling of great relief for my friend and sorrow for myself and her loved ones, knowing she was really gone. Heidi once shared with me that when Max was young, he said to her, “You love the horses more than us.” While this may not have been accurate, it is a testament to the passion and dedication she always felt so profoundly for her horses, feelings that only the heart of a true horsewoman could hold.
This was a submission to the 2024 Equestrian Voices Creative Writing Contest sponsored by The Plaid Horse. The goal of the contest is to promote fine, literary prose involving horses and the equestrian experience. This contest is open to writers of fiction and non-fiction, regardless of any previous publications, and awards 16 prizes. To learn more about the 2024 contest click here.
