BY LAUREN JENTGES
I first saw him when you were just 19. He peeked over at me from across a large manicured arena; I startled at him. A white rabbit, staring intently at me through the ever-present Seattle drizzle.
The injections aren’t working anymore. Despite throwing your lion-sized heart at every fence and digging in for every turn to the lightest cue of my seat, you are so stiff and sore after even a low jumper class that I stop asking. I owe you that, after all, if not so much more.
We forge many new trails together. You are so fit and strong, and our adventurous natures take us to many states and over mountains and through rivers. You even get fitted for a Western saddle, and we make new friends and ride beautiful country and drink cold beers together back at the trailer.
But then, one day, the white rabbit is back. Or perhaps it is just my imagination (I reassure us both). You go on daily NSAIDs for arthritis and require changes in feed; you are 23, and our vet gently explains that you aren’t absorbing nutrients as well. We sort you out; your coat dapples magnificently that spring, and you run in your field like a colt each day. I shove the rabbit away from us viciously, snarling you can’t be here. It’s nowhere near time for you, now GO.
We begin to hear comments like “that’s nice lateral movement- for his age.” For your age? You are ageless. I feel frantic, and sometimes wake up gasping for air. There was a time before you, surely. A long, complicated road of horsemanship that led me to you, in fact. I try, but I can’t… I can’t grasp a time after you. That strange liminal space that exists in my logical mind but not in my heart, where there’s still me, but not you.
The white rabbit seems to live around the barn now, cropping dandelions in plain sight. I saw him the day I noticed that your eyes were filled with cataracts, and again on the day we got some bloodwork back that made our vet frown and say “hmm,” her forehead creasing and her tone cautious.
You are 25 now, and still so fit and strong and handsome, it takes my breath away. As handsome as the first day I ever saw you in the bright Colorado sunshine, and knew you were for me. You carry my children now, delighting in their giggles and patiently taking slow, careful steps as they learn the craft.
It is a new spring, and you are 26. Many soul mates aren’t given this much time, and I know this, and I think you do too. The white rabbit leans against my leg comfortably as I brush you every evening. I always brush you first; it has occurred to me that I don’t know how many more times I will get to. Twenty times? Five hundred? Every single minute we get feels important. With the flick of a perfectly fuzzy teddy-bear colored ear, you indicate silently that I should curry a bit lower. With the slight shift of my shoulder, you hand me your foot. A dance we have honed over hundreds of hours, comforting and familiar.
For I understand it now. When the white rabbit finally comes for you, and there is a me without you, I will know that we didn’t waste a moment of the time we were given. Our souls saw each other in that rare realm between species, the one that only horsefolk and horses get to visit, like real Magic on this earth. Time has helped me understand that when he comes for you, you will take a piece of me with you- and a piece of you will stay with me. We have earned that; we have made it this way.
We have a lovely ride on a sunny day, bareback and in a halter, on the ranch I always dreamed of being able to retire you at. The white rabbit hops along behind us, at our heels but seemingly content for now. We both see him, but we don’t startle anymore. We choose a leisurely trail as the familiar feel of your big walk and my seat on your back seamlessly navigate.
I love you, so SO much. It is enough.
Lauren Jentges hung up her irons from the Northwest hunter/jumper ring in her 30s and moved to northern Idaho, where she practices as a physical therapist and enjoys riding her young horse (who is very bad) and her old horse (who is very good) through mountains, rivers, and endless acres of beauty with nary a hunt coat in sight.
