# Memorial for a Sweet Girl



## SueC

Hey all

As some of you know, I recently lost my favourite horse, who was with me for 31 of her 32 years, ever since she was a yearling and I was 11. Thank you to everyone who wrote to me and offered kindness, cyberhugs, poetry, and stories of their own experiences losing their beloved animals.

I want to write about her life and our shared adventures in the months to come, and thought I would start her memorial by posting some of my favourite photos of my beautiful girl. All the ones I am putting on today are from when she was already 27, and in the last year of being a riding horse.










My beloved Arabian mare, affectionately known as Snowstorm, by Centurion out of Iraki Noire, 10/12/1981 – 5/4/2014.


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## SueC

Beach riding at Cosy Corner Beach, Torbay, Western Australia, 2008.


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## SueC

Trail riding at Little Grove, Albany, Western Australia, 2008. Small horse, tall rider, 25 years of riding together: Thousands of kilometres of trails just for fun and freedom, also endurance, dressage, novelty gymkhanas, the odd show, and I could drive her in a cart as well...


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## Samstead

what gorgeous girl she was, reminds me of a sweet mare I knew (poor horse coliced real bad a couple years back) I like to think your Snowstorm and my Freckle's have met across the bridge and got to talking because of how similar they looked and became good friends. All the other horses are mixing them up and refer to them as "the twins" and they run and play together and lay in the shade together.


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## SueC

My husband Brett with Snowstorm wearing her last of many show ribbons after she was last exhibited at age 27 at the Albany Agricultural Show 2008 in open-age, open-breed competition in one halter and one ridden class. The judge told me she didn't as a rule like Arabians but couldn't go past this one (working type Arabian, would not even get looked at in all-Arabian shows these days, their loss!). Then I asked the judge to guess my mare's age. Way off, and when I told her she nearly fell over!  The next oldest competitor was more than a decade her junior.


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## SueC

Video of Snowstorm aged 30 and doing a "welcome dance" with her good friend Sunsmart when the donkeys arrived at our place two years ago. The big bay gelding also seen is Romeo, a now-29 year old SB.






The donkeys: The big dark one is Don Quixote (AKA Peppi), the shaggy long-hair is Mary Lou, the little paint is Sparkle, who is nearly blind, and therefore needed re-homing in her social group, who act as "guide donkeys". The Donkey Society of WA asked if we wanted to adopt them as their owner had become ill, and we said yes. Once the horses got over the shock, everyone enjoyed each others' company. Romeo, who wasn't pair-bonded like my lovebirds were, was instantly besotted with the long-eared creatures and became an honorary donkey from Day One.


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## SueC

*What I Would Say To You Now (Part 1)*

*What I Would Say To You Now*

It has been two weeks and two days since you died. Today at sunset I rode again for the first time since that day. Sunsmart and I stopped at your grave. I said hello. 

I know it's silly to try to speak to you in the place your body lies under the earth. Your body is returning to the earth that gave it the building blocks to be in the first place. Your ears can't hear me now. If you are anywhere, then maybe you are flying on the wind, or making beams in the sunlight, or in water droplets falling softly to the earth.

I thought about what I would say to you now, if you could hear me.

I would, first and foremost, say thank you. Thank you for being you, for being kind, for being my friend and fellow traveller for 31 years. Thank you for carrying me around your back for thousands of kilometres over 25 years, for the freedom I had because of you when I was growing up and riding for many miles through the Australian bush. I learnt back then that on your back, I too became wildlife, and the wild creatures that usually run from humans stayed when you carried me. Thank you for showing me the world through your eyes, and showing me things I never could have seen on my own.

I loved the spark in you, your flying spirit. I loved the way you carried yourself, and the way you would stop on a hilltop and look at the scenery below and take your time to survey everything and breathe slow breaths filled with wonderment, and turn around and look at me with your eyes lit up as if to say, “Isn't this great?”

I loved the way you could be a firecracker and say, “Let's go, come on!” when there was a stretch of ground suitable for going flat out. You truly flew. When I said, “OK, go ahead!” the sensation of rapid acceleration that followed, I have experienced nothing like it on this earth that comes close except when sitting in a jumbo jet during takeoff. When the plane sits on the tarmac just before engaging its engines, there is this surreal calm, followed by a massive rapid forward thrust that fills you with butterflies and jolts you with adrenaline, and then suddenly you are airborne...

350 tonnes of metal, jet engines and human engineering can give a human being that sensation. But so could you, a mere 420kg Arabian mare with Polish racing ancestry and fire in your belly. I've ridden many horses, but none that could catapult from zero to flat out in a few seconds like you. And you loved to fly. You flew with me aboard, and you flew solo, in the paddock, and even at age 31 you still flew like a rocket through the woodland track with your little herd behind you when you were all at liberty and the mood was upon you. My breath would catch watching you gallop through the trees, a white flash in the sunlight, long mane and tail flying aloft, eyes sparkling, the bigger horses in your wake.

I miss you with a physical ache, like a big yawning hole inside me. I'm so sorry I had to let you go. You were in pain already, and I could not bear the idea of you getting worse. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, because to end that pain we had to end your life. I saw the exhaustion lines around your eyes that day as you were resting after another bout of pain, and I ran to get help, the only kind of help we could give you now.


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## gunslinger

Sue:
I talk to my horse all the time. It just seems natural to me.

I read most all of the memorials even though it leaves me a little empty as I know that one day I'll be writing one too.

Sorry you lost her...as I can tell how much she meant to you. I'm guessing you meant a lot to her as well.

It's not easy losing something that's loved so much.


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## SueC

Thanks for dropping by, Samstead, Gunslinger and Wallaby.

For those who don't know, Wallaby recently lost her Lacey, another beautiful grey Arabian mare who is much missed.


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## Remali

Oh I am so sorry about the loss of your beautiful girl! I have tears in my eyes reading your lovely words about her.

I lost my heart and soul horse (my avatar horse) in 2008, I think about her every day. I loved all of the horses I owned, but she was special.

Snowstorm was lucky to have a wonderful owner like you. They sure do touch our lives, don't they?


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## SueC

So true, Remali, they do... and I think Kahlil Gibran nails it here...


*On Joy and Sorrow*
_Kahlil Gibran_

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. 

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.


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## SueC

I am now going to journal a little in the next few posts.


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## SueC

*Close Call, And Coming Home*

Noel is a kind, kind man and good neighbour of ours. We had several neighbours who said to us when we first moved out to Redmond, “If you ever have a horse with a terminal colic or broken leg or other problem that wants immediate attention instead of waiting around for a veterinarian, call us, we will help you.” I always kept my fingers crossed that my mare would die peacefully in her sleep one day, many years hence. One of my father's old mares once did, and a neighbour found his ancient horse leaning up against a tree and apparently dozed off – but they are exceptions; equine lives seem destined to end in turmoil. I have sat too many times in the small hours with large sad heads on my shoulder or in my lap, taking turns nursing awfully sick horses at my family's place, willing them to get better, but usually the end is the same, and then the regret is not to have called it a day earlier.

Horses are larger than life. When they have joy it seems written all over the sky. When they have pain, to watch them is unbearable. To have creatures so magnificent struck down in anguish and hear their breathing catching, and those awful soft sounds of distress, and not to be able to undo it, only to be there, makes me wish for magic with all my heart, for a kinder earth, for a different order of reality where all things are fair.

My mare had such a good run for so long, never a colic all her life, never more than occasional passing problems like bruises, strains, sore muscles, and in the last few years, an occasional hoof abscess when the rain went on too long. Five years ago we had a scare. She had a choke and the attending vet botched the stomach tubing job, and would not admit it. I called for a second opinion and that's how we met Thomas from Denmark, wonderful with horses. He agreed with me that the procedure had not gone right, but owing to my mare's age and the length of time for which the other veterinarian insisted there was no cause for concern, her chances were less than fifty-fifty: Aspiration pneumonia was setting in, and the oesophagus was already so traumatised it could easily tear when attempting to remove the blockage that had only been driven far down close to the entry to the stomach. Any tearing would mean euthanasia.

We held our breaths as the tube went down, with Thomas cooing to my horse, but he made it, and we could see the relief on her face the moment the blockage was cleared. When the tube came out, and we turned her loose, she looked around with her usual interest for the first time in days, then took a step towards the water trough to drink: Finally, a drink, after two days going without – but suddenly she changed her mind. We watched as she turned around, went after Thomas and, reaching him, rubbed her face against his chest, and nosed his face gently. He put his arms around her, smiled broadly, and said, “You're welcome!”

There was lengthy antibiotic therapy and intensive nursing to follow, and it was a month before she could eat without coughing, and several more months before she was totally recovered. There was a time early on during the nursing process where she had a fever and would only drink properly from a hose, so twice a day we went off to the hose together, and she sipped at it like a child discovering drinking straws. It makes me smile now to think of it. I would have given her the moon and stars if I could.

That had been her closest call, and I was so happy she pulled through. Because she made it that time, she could be with us when we finally, unbelievably, acquired a small farming title on which we could build a house and keep animals. She had three and a half years here with us in the end, her home and our home, the best left until last, a place she could roam free over 12 hectares of tree-dotted pasture with her little herd, with much to see on the surrounding hillsides: She always loved a view. When left to range she could go up miles of bush tracks when they all felt like it, as they regularly did. Every day there was time to groom my mare, and I walked her on the lead and lunged her when all was well with her to keep her occupied and supple. I even worked out how to floss her teeth to keep them healthy, when her incisors got so angled that grass got trapped behind and between them – and we never needed a halter to do it, thanks to her cooperative attitude. It was like a ritual and always ended with me saying, “Good girl!” and her rubbing her face vigorously against my shoulders.


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## SueC

*Struggle*

After nearly five years away, the Christmas just gone by, Thomas was back in Australia and spent some time with us. He and my mare said hello again, but she had been steadily losing condition for the first time in her life, and we speculated she might not be there for his next visit to this country.

It had started in spring with a hoof abscess the veterinarian on duty insisted was a slipped stifle. Three days later it burst spectacularly out of the coronet. Later on the entire frog separated from the hoof. The farrier was foaming about the misdiagnosis. Snowstorm's weight had started to drop, but she was walking soundly again. Initially it made sense to me that the painful abscess would have reduced her grazing, and we started to increase supplementary feeding to compensate. But by January the bones of her back and hips stuck out sharply despite massive feeding, and she suddenly had a skin condition spreading all over her back. I had wondered why she had not shed her coat that spring as usual. I shampooed and treated her back several times a week, and she enjoyed the warm water and scrubbing, showing me all the extra-itchy spots and nuzzling me back in return. After each bath, when I unclipped her, she stepped out regally like a queen and arched her now scrawny neck as if at a parade ground. The pathos of this made me smile and shed tears at the same time – it was like the children's story about the old teddy bear who had been loved to pieces, but could not be ugly except to a person who did not understand.

Slowly, by March, her skin was clearing, weight was just starting to creep back on, and a shiny summer coat was coming through belatedly in autumn. She nickered enthusiastically for her vast bucket of food morning and night, and piaffed beside me until I put it down – she had always loved food, and never had such a free-for-all before on account of being a good doer all her life. One early morning I looked down from the attic window at a landscape swathed in fog, lifting to reveal glimpses of her silver form glued to the round bale, chomping with determination. It was becoming a familiar sight, and my heart always lifted to see it. I had worried about her, but was just starting to think we were going to get her through. I was making plans to walk and lunge her again to help her muscle up – physical training for senior citizens!

We went away for a weekend. Brett's mother had experienced a bad fall and broken one of her lumbar vertebrae. We did a one thousand kilometre round trip and saw both our sets of parents. The dog, a fanatical traveller, was delighted. Noel looked in on our animals twice a day. When we came home we were still exhausted from a three-week marathon to finish plastering our living area, and we spent that week moving the furniture in properly and putting books in bookcases. I don't know when I first noticed that my mare was spending a lot of time under a shady tree away from the herd. She was eating well at all the mealtimes, and at first I thought she was just quietly digesting her extra-big meals.

One evening she appeared to be asleep after her hard feed. When I opened the gate to let her out to graze for the night, she didn't move. I looped my arm under her neck, grasped a handful of her long mane, and walked her on. She startled, and that got my attention, it was so strange. Then she walked out into the paddock, but something wasn't right. Her nostrils were flaring, and she breathed fast. I went to get a thermometer. Her temperature was quite normal at 38 degrees Celsius, but her heart was going double the normal resting rate. She had just cleaned up her feed bucket as usual, and there was normal manure in the yard, and after a few minutes she started to graze as if nothing was wrong. I went out three more times to check her that night. She was grazing, but sometimes she was breathing fast, and she was keeping away from the others.

The next morning, everything was apparently back to normal, and the mare pounced on her food. Later on I wormed her, thinking that maybe because the bots had been so bad all summer, there might be larvae bothering her, or something parasitic... At any rate, it didn't hurt to give her an earlier than usual worming and see what, if anything, turned up. No larvae appeared for 24 hours, then I found the odd one in the droppings, no infestation by any stretch of the imagination. Probably not that then, I thought, and went on about my chores.

It was on Friday I noticed her standing under the tree by herself again, and I went to see if all was well. Her nostrils were flaring once more, and heart and respiration rates double normal, and now I was very seriously concerned. She was standing with her back arched and groaning, not good at all. We called the veterinarian immediately. In the interval before he came, she went back to grazing again as if nothing had happened. At first the vet didn't see anything wrong with the mare, but I pointed out that her back was still slightly arched and she was obviously uncomfortable. Heart and respiration rates were somewhat above normal, and then she had another spasm. The veterinarian then thought she looked like the gut was blocked, but the continued free passage of food in and out spoke against it. He finally decided that his best guess was that this was a bad reaction to worming because the mare was old, gave her a 24 hour pain reliever, and said that this should settle her and she'd probably be OK. I had misgivings – why a bad reaction to worming now, with no precedent, and to a wormer used before – and how would that explain the first strange episode, prior to worming?

So we did my mare's teeth, which were still really good, according to the veterinarian, unlike Romeo's, who had lost quite a few molars since the last time we checked. And we hoped for the best.


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## SueC

*The Sun Always Sets*

Late last year, we were walking the dog near the road boundary when we discovered a large injured boomer who was hopping around very painfully. On closer observation, we could see that one of his legs was broken and the lower limb dragging behind him. The poor kangaroo was literally hopping on a stump of exposed bone. We were horrified and immediately phoned our nearest neighbour Noel to ask if he would come with his gun. Five minutes later we watched Noel calm the big frightened kangaroo just with his easy manner, then take him down with a super-clean head shot from 20 metres away. The big fellow just toppled, instantly unconscious and out of his misery.

This is exactly the kind of person you would want to attend to your horse if it needed easing out of this world. Noel grew up with horses, and his demeanour around them is calm and kind, like a Buddha. My horses have always liked him. And now, I was on my way to him quickly before I could change my mind.

It was Saturday afternoon and he was about to watch a movie, but instantly agreed to come help. More than that, he asked how I wanted to deal with the body, and offered to bring his big tractor with its forklift and bucket to dig the grave as well. Driving back home, I reflected on the morning.

Saturday morning had started in a promising manner. My mare had greeted me affectionately and had eaten her breakfast with gusto. The pain killer was still active and she was positively cheerful as she went out the gate with the other horses and donkeys to free-range in the big, unfenced “common” that is 8 hectares of lowland pasture backed by 50 hectares of bush with walking tracks. This time of year, when the pasture is scarce and the weather dry, I let them out with the cattle instead of confining them to their own paddocks. They enjoy being at liberty and interacting with other grazing animals.

I began my morning chores buoyed with good cheer. Maybe the veterinarian was right and things were going to come good. Every now and then I checked the animals through the window. Everything looked fine.

But by late morning, my mare was back under the paperbark tree on her own, and a sad bell began to toll in my heart. I grabbed the dog and the mountain bike and was at her side in minutes. Her nostrils were flaring again, her breathing and heart rate fast, and there was a faraway look in her eye. I could hear gurgling noises coming from her gut, and she was straining.

It was in my childhood I first read James Herriot's famous books. Now a little episode surfaced in my mind: Farmers used to trot cows with digestive system complaints around an open field if nothing else worked, and for less serious conditions, a good shake-up could be very beneficial. I had noticed this principle working for my own body, and in view of the veterinarian's opinion that this was probably minor, I now decided to encourage my mare to trot out to join the other horses. If it was only gas causing the pain, then that would help shift it. I knew she wasn't impacted, and that her bowel wasn't twisted – I had seen those conditions many times before.

She was reluctant when I clicked my tongue to cue her, but trot she did, a restrained trot she then kept up under her own steam until she reached Sunsmart's side at the far end of the meadow. There, she dropped her head and began to graze. I looked at her closely again and found her improved. The discomfort had visibly lessened. I rubbed her neck, then took the dog for a run with the mountain bike and returned to my work.

On warm days, the horses come in from the common to drink at their troughs in the early afternoon. For some reason, they prefer not to drink from the dam which keeps the cattle watered. I watched carefully as the procession approached. The geldings trotted in, the donkeys meandered more casually. My mare was far behind them and walking very slowly. I opened the gates and greeted each animal as it came past. Several minutes after the others, the little mare came in. Her strides were short and she gave an overwhelming impression of fatigue and frailty. I walked with her to the trough, where she drank for a long time. When she stepped away, another of the dreaded spasms began.

I comforted my mare and thought rapidly. Bute wasn't going to help a great deal here; this was getting worse. What _was_ it? It was not a minor digestive upset, that much was crystal-clear now; neither was it a typical colic or impaction. The droppings were normal in timing and appearance, the horse was eating, but she was fast getting miserable.

The spasm passed, and my mare went to stand under the big shady eucalyptus tree beneath which she had for three and a half years spent most of her nights in mirror poses right beside her close friend Sunsmart. I stood with her under the tree and looked at her eyes. There were exhaustion lines around them, and little beads of sweat. She looked weary, and from an objective point of view, which I was now assuming to assess her, she did not look in a position to fight any illness that was more than a trifle. The little weight that we had been able to put back on her in months of intensive feeding had melted right off her again in mere days. She was skin and bone now, and my heart was sinking, because I knew now that whatever was wrong with this mare was no little thing that would right itself with time. Her episodic pain was getting more frequent and worse. I stood with her nose against my chest talking to her, running my hand over her face, for a while.

When I walked away, I was on autopilot and everything became strangely surreal. I got in the car and drove, made the arrangements, arrived back at our front gate with Noel on the road behind me on his tractor. The landscape was bathed in sunshine, and in the distance, across the field, the silver form of my mare stood under the big Marri tree where I had left her, with the bright bay Romeo and the chocolate-coloured Sunsmart grazing nearby. The little donkeys were grouped around the water trough. I held the gate open for the tractor and followed Noel up the drive.

I had to move a water pipe out of the way of the tractor and a part of my brain thought, “I am doing this because the tractor needs to get through here in a little while to bring my mare to her final resting place when she is dead. Right now she is still breathing.” I pushed the thought away. Animals can read your emotions, and while Noel was taking the tractor bucket down the back of the property, I had five minutes. In the kitchen I looked through the refrigerator, found the remaining two fresh figs, and made my way back to the eucalyptus tree. I shifted my mare to the other side of the tree, across a separating fence, and put one line up across the gate. I offered her the figs, and she ate them with pleasure – she loved figs...and sultanas, and apples, and carrots, and dates. Because of the vicinity of the other horses and donkeys, I had gone for a silent treat – any crunching was going to bring everyone in too close. I was calm – I'd made sure of that, it was so important – as I farewelled the horse that was my longest-standing friend on this earth, the horse that had shared my childhood, my young adulthood, even my reaching of midlife. She had literally always been there, a fixture like the sun and moon and stars, like gravity, like winter rain. For 31 long years we had walked on the same planet, breathed the same atmosphere, shared affection and adventures.

Noel and I had talked beforehand about how things would be done, and accordingly, I now left her with him and walked away, through the fence line into the forest as I had many times before when I didn't want her to follow me. Noel had said he could focus best on this kind of thing when alone, and neither of us wanted anything to go wrong. She liked Noel, and he likes horses, so this was not a problem. The sense of surrealness increased as I crunched through the undergrowth and then turned left on the track leading towards the house. The early afternoon sunlight was streaming through the canopy, and the air was filled with the scents of autumn earth and eucalyptus. Bees were buzzing in the still air. I was about to cross into the garden when I heard the shot.


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## ellen hays

SueC said:


> *What I Would Say To You Now*
> 
> 
> I loved the spark in you, your flying spirit.
> 
> 
> SueC,
> 
> That spark can not be extinguished. It lives still. Wouldn't it be wonderful to see her again one day I know this loss has been hard for you. I am sure the emptiness and pain seem overwhelming, but in time it will diminish. Not all; you will always have those beautiful bitter/sweet memories to hold on to.
> 
> God bless and keep you,
> 
> Ellen


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## SueC

*For You Are Dust, And To Dust You Shall Return*

Noel arrived back at the house ten minutes later to collect me. He told me she had gone instantly, and he had stayed until the heart stopped beating. He said, “I can't believe how long her heart kept beating. You mare didn't even move, but I've not seen a heart go on this long afterwards. She must have had an incredible heart.”

She was just lying on her side under that tree, one hind leg resting on the other, eyes open. There was not the slightest sign of any struggle, or even of any of the reflexes that can often follow euthanasia. She looked like a very life-like silvery sculpture, and so calm.

It is so sad to see a large creature that has run and leapt with joy upon this earth reduced to this total, final, recumbent stillness. The second time my family lost a horse, I was in high school. The young mare had collapsed and died like Hickstead would two decades later, after a routine, picture-perfect training session. I had sat next to her body on the ground for a long time, in the forest where we were going to bury her, thinking, “But she was so big, and now she looks so small!”

Noel manoeuvred the tractor's pickup fork under the mare's body and lifted it slightly. Now we needed to tie her on so we could transport her. I lifted her head and felt the weight of it as we slid the ties underneath. I looked at her dear still face and thought, my poor girl, I wish I could have given you your youth back, I would have held onto you for the rest of my life...

Riding on the tractor that took her to the sandy spot in the woods at the back of the property was like something out of a disturbing dream. We deposited her on the earth, then Noel dug the grave while I went and washed the ties clean in the dam on the block behind us. Normally we swim the dog in this big, clear-water stock dam. Now I knelt quietly on the earth and washed traces of my horse into the water.

She was buried within ten minutes, in the tea-tree scrub, surrounded by Blackbutt trees, on this quiet spot of earth where the sounds of humans and their machines are rarely heard. The birds were singing, insects were buzzing, and the wind blew softly through the trees. The blue sky made an endless dome above us and the sun streamed down its dazzling light, as it had done before we were born, as it will do after we return to the earth.


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## SueC

Thank you Ellen, God bless you too. Thank you also to Remali, and to Roux, Michaelvanessa, Rideordie112, Drifting and Southern Trails for popping in, and for Wallaby making another visit. Give your animals a hug for me!


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## SueC

*FIELDS OF GOLD*


I'll remember you when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley
I'll forget the sun in his jealous sky when we walk in fields of gold
You who had my love as we rode for years among these fields of barley
Still you have my love now that you have gone into the fields of gold

Will your spirit fly, will you visit here, among the fields of barley?
Will you think of us here upon this earth as you lie in fields of gold?
I am thanking God for the years we had among the fields of barley
And am wishing you all the peace there is among the fields of gold

I never took our lives lightly and now you've gone into the yonder
But I hope in the time to come we'll both walk in fields of gold
We will walk in fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days among the fields of barley
And I hope you'll fly as the sun shines down among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky that we'll walk in fields of gold
That we'll walk in fields of gold, that we'll walk in fields of gold






_Many apologies to Sting, but if he ever loved and lost a horse he would totally understand, and it's such a beautiful song. If anyone hasn't heard Eva Cassidy's version, may I recommend it, it's wonderful._


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## Eole

SueC, you brought tears to my eyes tonight. You write beautifully; the love and bound between you and your mare is timeless and lives on through your shared memories. Thanks for sharing with us.

And Eva Cassidy's Field of Gold is my favorite version. :wink:


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## SueC

Merci, Nathalie! C'est vraiment gentil de ta part.

I hope that's right!  Thank you again for your kindness.


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## SueC

*Medical Note*

For those of you reading and wondering along with me what the elusive problem that caused the pain had been: I emailed Thomas about it afterwards, because he is an equine specialist who has seen many things on several continents, and because he knew the horse. He said, after reminding us that it is just speculation because there was no post-mortem, that his instincts were pointing towards a pedunculated (stalked) lipoma (fatty tissue tumour) that had grown in her abdomen – a relatively benign tumour equipped with a troublesome long stalk that could wrap intermittently around internal organs like the intestines. The growth of the lipoma would better explain why she started losing weight than just a continued setback from a hoof abscess, considering all the supplementary feeding. What happens with the stalk wrapping itself around the organs would have explained the intermittent episodes of severe pain she was starting to experience.

We knew for a fact that my mare was starting to slowly grow what was probably a benign lipoma in her udder about a year ago. Old dogs get that too. This is not what would have caused her problems, rather something of the same hypothesised type growing in a less problematic spot. It just demonstrated that she was starting to grow tumours unrelated to the melanomas she'd had on her tail for the past 15 years, which themselves probably never caused serious metastases.

Thomas says very old horses are especially likely to have stalked lipomas, and euthanasia is really the kindest option. He also discussed with me the possibility that she might have had a uterine infection, despite the apparent absence of significantly elevated temperature, based on our observation after euthanasia of a significant amount of pus draining from her. She hadn't discharged at all while alive, but she hadn't lain down in months either. Uterine infection can also explain abdominal pain and intermittent cramping.

At any rate, my mare did not have the necessary physical condition for it to be fair to ask her to fight a probably losing battle with an infection possibly on top of a quite large tumour, nor did she have much muscle left into which to inject antibiotics with those awful large-bore needles, and the thought of turning her into a pin cushion again revolted me: That had been bad enough five years before with the aspiration pneumonia, when she had lots of muscle and was in super condition physically to fight. She won that fight, but there were lots of bruises and aches, along with feeling sick, on the road to recovery even back then. What I saw in her eyes this time around decided me. I did not want my mare to suffer unnecessarily, or to have any prospect of dying miserably by inches. I've seen too many horses do that and never wanted that for her.


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## SueC

I came across this nice poem while reading about people's experiences with pedunculated lipomas in horses:


*The Grandest Foal*

I'll lend you for a little while,
my grandest foal, God said.
For you to love while he's alive,
and mourn for when he's dead.

It may be one or twenty years,
or many more, you see.
But will you, til I take him back,
Take care of him for me?

He'll bring his charms to gladden you
and should his stay be brief,
you'll have those treasured memories,
as solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay,
since all from earth return.
But there are lessons taught on earth
I want this foal to learn.

I've looked the wide world over
in my search for teachers true.
And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes,
with trust, I have selected you.

Now will you give him all your love
Nor think the labor vain?
Nor hate me when I come to call
to take him back again?

I know you'll give him tenderness
and love will bloom each day.
And for the happiness you've known,
you will forever grateful stay.

But should I come and call for him
much sooner than you'd planned,
you'll brave the bitter grief that comes,
and maybe understand.



Various versions of this are to be had in horse circles, and it always says "author unknown" - but I think it's a re-writing of the Edgar Guest poem _To All Parents._ This would also explain why stanzas four and five don't quite ring true.

So, it seems quite a natural impulse to re-appropriate something moving for somewhat different circumstances. I just think it's good if we can acknowledge the original artist when we do it! So if I were to re-appropriate it, I would want to fix the bits of stanzas four and five that suggest horses have lessons to learn from us. I think it's quite the other way around...


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## SueC

And while we're on the subject of poetry, I wanted to post poems I received from friends in the week immediately after I lost my horse. Thanks a million again, you guys.


*A Prayer For A Friend*
_ (author unknown)_

Never think of me as dead
For I have but gone on ahead
And the love you gave to me
I will have eternally
Keep me always in your mind
By loving others of my kind
Do not linger long in grief
But carry on in this belief
That when it´s time for you to come this way
I will be waiting for you on that day.



*Don’t Cry For Me*
_ (author unknown)_

Don't cry for me now I have died
For I'm still here, I'm by your side
My body's gone but my soul is here
Please don't shed another tear
I am still here, I'm all around
Only my body lies in the ground.
I am the snowflake that kisses your nose
I am the frost that nips your toes
I am the sun, bringing you light
I am the star, shining so bright
I am the rain, refreshing the earth
I am the laughter, I am the mirth
I am the bird up in the sky
I am the cloud that's drifting by
I am the thoughts inside your head
While I'm still there, I can't be dead.



*PLUTO*
_TJ Talon 2003_

Where do White Horses go when they die?
Do they become clouds, invisible wind,
Mists that rise beyond water?

Do their hearts become suns, great stars,
To warm another planet? A world free,
Set free, for horses to dance in the sun.

(Once upon a time a little girl read a story,
Where white horses danced in the dark
Beneath the sun's reflection.
She dreamed.
Of white horses dancing, of white horses
Prancing for the love of the Dance. Free.

Once upon a time she dreamed.

In the dream she danced forward between
Two white horses, leading them into a field
Of long sweet grass.
Behind them swept the arms of home,
A stable filled with warm light hay, and portraits
Of great White Horses.)

Where do White Horses go when they die?
Do they become warm light, a flower's edge,
A tuft of sweet grass beside water?

Do their eyes become worlds, great planets,
To see another living? A life free,
Set free, for us to dance in the sun.


The last one, our TJ originally wrote for the death of a Lippizaner, then she posted it for me when I lost my mare. Thanks again.


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## ellen hays

SueC

Wanted to pop in and let you know I was thinking about you. I pray for God to heal the pain of your loss. I am with you in thought. Only have heard Sting's version of Golden Fields, love the song. You are a talented writer. You have a special way of putting your feelings into words. Will visit your mare's memorial again soon.

Your sister across the waters,

Ellen


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## Northernstar

Sue, I am 2 minutes from going out for the night feed, and have been crying for the past five.... tears of sorrow, joy, and an empathy that I can claim not because I've been where you are now, but I will be some day. I pray that it will be without pain and suffering, but old age many years from now. God bless you and keep you close in comfort, and may the the ache in your heart ease over time. Thank you_ so much_ for sharing your journey with us....


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## natisha

I'm so sorry for your loss. You've got me in tears as much of your story echoes mine with my mare who looked much like yours. I was with my girl from the time I was 17 until I was 48. It wasn't long enough.
It hurts to lose another living being we love so much that they seem to not be separate from ourselves.
You gave her the best gift of love possible. I'm sure she is thankful.

When I think of my mare at odds times I believe it is her stopping in to say "Hi" & to let me know she is never really gone.

May your beautiful girl's memory always bring you comfort.


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## SueC

*Aftermath*

I was on autopilot the afternoon my mare was put down, in the lead-up, and then through shifting and burying her body, and cleaning up afterwards. I was still on autopilot when Noel left on his tractor, and I threw shovelfuls of sand onto the blood, and opened the paddocks up again, and prepared the evening feed for the remaining horses. Putting her feed bin to the side gave me a pang, still muffled by shock. After feeding the horses I noticed that the lead rope had blood on it and soaked it in a bucket. I left the halter on top of the trailer in the carport. I walked to and fro for a bit before sitting down on the lawn bank in front of the house in the falling dusk. It was the descending darkness and the drop in temperature that did it: Suddenly I felt cold inside and out, and there was an unbearable emptiness in the universe. Crickets chirped and stars shone from far, far away and long ago. And I cried.

It was the first dusk in the world without her, after nearly 33 years. My husband was still at work and didn't know yet. To be away from people was suddenly unendurable, and I went to see some neighbours. Later Brett came home, and held me, and said all the right things.

The morning after, Sunsmart was neighing forlornly and searched the whole farm for his mare and buddy when I let him free range. Romeo too was missing her and calling for her. This was despite them seeing what happened the previous afternoon. They couldn't believe it yet, and neither could I. We have a herd of black-and-white cows, and Sunsmart raced straight up to them that morning, the whiter cows possibly reminding him of his friend. He was weaving in and out of their herd like a cutting horse. He zeroed in on Pirate, the near-white steer with the black eyepatch. When he realised she was not with the cattle, he ran first to the eastern end of our farm, then back past the house, and all the way through the two western paddocks. I went out and intercepted him as he began to backtrack. I couldn't bring her back for him, but I could stand by him.

Over the next few days, Sunsmart kept returning to the place the mare was put down and sniffing, and he went through the paddocks sniffing at all the manure piles, and then gazing at the horizon. I made quite a few extra trips out to the two boys, to stand with them under the trees and feel with them the great blankness where the beautiful Arabian mare had been. Once they stopped looking, they grew very quiet and withdrawn. There were a few days when the normally sociable Sunsmart just went off by himself, away from Romeo and the donkeys, and actually grumped at them if they approached to keep him company. But me, he welcomed, often putting his head against me and sighing as I rubbed his ears or scratched his neck. For weeks he had no spark in him, and I was sad with him. I groomed him and Romeo carefully every evening, concentrating on all their itchy spots, talking to them.

Some voids are in the shape of someone who can't be replaced.

Mornings and evenings were the worst times. During the day, unexpected pangs assailed me with sensations akin to coming to the top of the rollercoaster and then free-falling: He feed bin to one side. Cotton thread in strategic positions in the fence for flossing her old incisors. Fading hoofprints. The halter on top of the trailer, which still hasn't moved six weeks later. Tractor marks. Checking if foxes were leaving the grave alone. White clumps of fur in the paddocks, which I had brushed out only weeks previously. Her winter rug. Her fleecy rug. Photos of Crabbet and Polish Arabians. Breathing when she wasn't.

It takes time to get past the grief to the celebration of a life. The grief has been dark. The celebration will shine. She was a gift, and a friend, and a thing of beauty.


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## Northernstar

When my heart horse leaves me someday, I'll come back to this and remember that someone has endured the seemingly un-endurable with me at that time....


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## SueC

Here is my one and only photograph of my mare when she was a foal. It was taken very soon after December 10, 1981 - her birth date - by her breeders, Greg and Sandy Sudholz of Lake Clifton, Western Australia. This photograph, along with one of each of her parents, was given to me when I bought this mare as a yearling in early 1983.










Typical of heterozygous greys, she was born a solid colour and took over a decade to grey out fully. Her dam, Iraki Noire, was bay and therefore carried no grey gene (grey is dominant and always shows). Her sire, Centurion, was apparently a homozygous grey - these horses grey out quickly and always throw greys.

Some of the working lines of Arabians in the 1980s were slightly cow hocked when standing, but tracked quite straight, and performed normally. There were quite a few like that at endurance rides in those days. My mare too carried this trait. She could trot faster than some of the purpose-bred harness trotters she grew up around - an amazing, ground-covering, seemingly effortless stride.

My mare was born into a drought which enabled me to obtain her at a very reasonable price. Purebred Arabians with good working lines were not exactly inexpensive under normal conditions - even as uneducated yearlings.


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## SueC

This was Centurion, at age 15, in October 1980:










He was a son of Cronus, 1961 Perth Royal Show Champion Stallion, who in turn was a son of Sala, who was bred by Lady Yule of Hanstead House in 1944, then brought to Australia by the Principal Livestock Officer of the NSW Minister for Agriculture for the upgrading of stock horses at the Dept.of Agriculture Stud. Sala had one of the highest lifetime totals of foals among Australian stallions and was a top sire of purebred Arabians as well.

Centurion's pedigree appears here:

Centurion Arabian

His breeding is predominantly Crabbet working lines.


This is a photograph of my mare's dam Iraki Noire during the 1983 drought year:










Iraki Noire was relatively run down at this stage, but she was an extremely well-bred mare who had originally been brought in from the Eastern States. A granddaughter of the famous Autumn Sunshine, she thus had a maternal line of Polish racing Arabians tracing back to Cherifa DB, imported into France in 1870. Iraki Noire produced three female offspring by Centurion, and other offspring by various other Arabian stallions. Her bloodlines are found in the pedigrees in top contemporary endurance Arabians in Western Australia.

Iraki Noire's pedigree appears here:

Iraki Noire Arabian

Her breeding was predominantly Polish and Crabbet.


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## Northernstar

SueC said:


> Here is my one and only photograph of my mare when she was a foal. It was taken very soon after December 10, 1981 - her birth date - by her breeders, Greg and Sandy Sudholz of Lake Clifton, Western Australia. This photograph, along with one of each of her parents, was given to me when I bought this mare as a yearling in early 1983.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Typical of heterozygous greys, she was born a solid colour and took over a decade to grey out fully. Her dam, Iraki Noire, was bay and therefore carried no grey gene (grey is dominant and always shows). Her sire, Centurion, was apparently a homozygous grey - these horses grey out quickly and always throw greys.
> 
> Some of the working lines of Arabians in the 1980s were slightly cow hocked when standing, but tracked quite straight, and performed normally. There were quite a few like that at endurance rides in those days. My mare too carried this trait. She could trot faster than some of the purpose-bred harness trotters she grew up around - an amazing, ground-covering, seemingly effortless stride.
> 
> My mare was born into a drought which enabled me to obtain her at a very reasonable price. Purebred Arabians with good working lines were not exactly inexpensive under normal conditions - even as uneducated yearlings.


Such a sweet, beautiful, intelligent girl! Without a doubt you must have loved her from the very first day, and every day thereafter


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## SueC

Hi NS!  When I first saw her, she wasn't cute like that: She was a yearling and looked like a cross between a bicycle and a moth-eaten blanket! Wormy and shaggy, and skinny due to drought etc. I didn't look much better in those days, and we made a right pair, as shall be seen when I have time to post the photos and tell the story!


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## SueC

When I first saw her, she was a scraggly, brown, half-grown thing with a long, dull coat barely concealing staring ribs and hip bones. A bony wither poked out from a fleshless, sunken back. The off side of her scrawny neck was concealed by a profuse mane of long, woolly, brown-black hair. A similarly constituted, frizzy, voluminous tuft hung just past her hocks. There was no doubt she looked more like a scarecrow than a horse – resembling, as I have so often said since, a cross between a bicycle and a moth-eaten blanket.

But she was for sale, and due to the extended Western Australian drought of the early 1980s, she was very reasonably priced for a purebred Arabian yearling with excellent Polish and Crabbet working bloodlines. I was eleven, and there was no question of me being able to afford anything grown-up and fully educated out of a child's savings and allowance. I had assiduously saved up $600, a large chunk of which came from the re-sale of a second-hand Optimist in which I had learnt to sail four years earlier. This represented half the asking price.

Negotiations with my parents were positive: I could have a practice mortgage, interest free. I would do the paperwork in a special ledger and would record the amount, date and source of each payment until the debt was fully settled. I would accept various additional household and farm chores at the offered rate, and I would get between $1 and $2 each time I brought home an A from school in a major test or assignment, depending on its importance. Any pocket money could be offset against the debt if I chose not to spend it.

Actual ownership of a horse was suddenly important to me. I had been riding a 16.2hh chestnut French Trotter mare called Dame du Buisson ever since graduating from the beginners' programme of the small rural riding school in Germany where I had first learnt about horse handling and riding three years previously. I had ridden this large, very kind, sparky mare on two continents, with and without saddle and bridle, in the arena, over low jumps and on many trails. She and I had become inseparable. But she was a family horse, and now she was being requisitioned for breeding.

I had initially looked at a three-year-old grey purebred mare who was also in that price range, and less far away from being rideable. The the breeder explained to me she had offset cannons, which were not what I wanted in a serious riding horse. Then there was a three-year-old grey partbred gelding with a Stockhorse mother, and various other youngsters.

Why did I decide on that scraggly yearling filly – the skinniest, shaggiest animal of the lot? She certainly didn't invite human contact, suspiciously keeping distance. Maybe it was her face, her alert eyes, the finely chiselled bones beneath the carpet of fuzzy hair. Something about her clicked. Maybe it was that I could empathise, having, at age eleven, just entered an even gawkier stage than at any previous time in my skinny, all-limbs childhood. My hair also wasn't exactly an asset, hanging limply in sad pigtails. When not at school, I was in dirt-appropriate clothing, like patched jeans or bib pants, worn with old T-shirts or jumpers, and old hiking shoes that needed to be outworn before they were outgrown. I certainly wasn't about to win any kind of beauty or popularity contest myself. And so, back then, when we first started working together, we made quite a sorry pair to look at.

This was taken perhaps two months after the purchase, still at the breeder's place as our own facilities were not yet ready. I remember we decided to take this first photograph of her and me because she was finally starting to respond to the supplementary feeding and had stopped looking completely skeletal. I still shake my head looking at this portrait.


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## SueC

Around a year later, things were looking more promising:










This is the result of many months of careful feeding, plus hours of in-hand walking and accompanying riding horses at liberty, combined with almost daily work on the lunge.

A little note on the unusual dress style on my nearly-13 past self: We wore whatever cast-offs were still good enough for working on outside, "dirty" tasks - in this case I am sporting some gym shorts and an old top of my mother's from the 1960s - good combination, no? :rofl: Also, my mother, who was amazingly worried about poisonous snakes, insisted we wear gum boots at all times, even in midsummer...and this really caps the picture here!


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## Remali

I really enjoy reading your posts, I sure can see why the pretty filly caught your eye! And what a transformation, she looks so fabulous in your last photo there.

Oh, and I laughed, I used to wear the same thing too... shorts and boots!


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## CowgirlCasseay

im sorry for ur lose!


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## SueC

Hi, *CC* - thank you; unfortunately we can't have them forever. :-(

*Remali* - :rofl: ... In my case, there was a blessed unconcern about appearance. My classmates were reading _Dolly_ magazine, painting their faces and trying out 1980s party frocks, while I spent my spare daylight hours out grooming, educating and exercising my filly, and my spare bits of evenings with my nose deep in books about horse training, most notably Tom Roberts' excellent volumes. When it was photo time, I would polish my horse until she shone and appear dusty and dishevelled beside her without even giving it a thought. It was my horse who was the centre of the universe...

Another portrait of her as a two-year-old:


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## Northernstar

^^She's _absolutely_ _breathtaking_!!^^


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## SueC

Thank you. I thought so too, and was, of course, totally unbiased! ;-)


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## hannah 321

I'm so sorry for your loss! Best wishes to you!


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## SueC

Thanks Hannah!  Welcome to the forum!


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## shetland

I just read your post for the first time. How lucky you both were to grow up together and to have such a special and irreplaceable relationship. Your words demonstrate your tribute to this beautiful girl!


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## SueC

Thanks, Shetland! Yeah, that's a once-in-a-lifetime thing...

I will be posting more photos and continuing the story of our adventures... just as soon as I can find a missing photograph of my first ride on her, which is not where it should be and probably in a box somewhere. As we are still finishing our house build, we have not yet unpacked all our things. I'm sure I'll find it. I have this thing about wanting to go chronological here and not skip around in time, that's why there has been a hiatus... also my father has a CD of digitised old horse photos he want to give me when we next meet up at Christmas...


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## SueC

My mare would have been 33 on December the 10th if she'd made it. Here's a favourite photo from the time we were both young:










RIP Sweet Girl.


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## gunslinger

She sure was a beautiful horse.
_Posted via Mobile Device_


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## Northernstar

Sue, her birthday would have been yesterday (here), and I'm sure that no matter what work/tasks were going on, thoughts of her were paramount in your mind. Just sending a hug from one kindred spirit to another.....


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## sunnyone

Thank you so much for sharing.


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## SueC

I still haven't found that early riding photograph - and will post it when I do. But I did find this:










...along with other photos over 30 years old I didn't know existed, from our early time with horses. I put those on the journal here:

http://www.horseforum.com/member-jo...-sb-harness-riding-479466/page10/#post7401618


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## SueC

...still no success finding that first ride photograph, but we are unearthing all sorts of old photographs at present, and we did find these, of when my mare was in her shaggy-yearling stage:



















No wonder my mare never blinked at water crossings when I rode her. Been there, done that when growing up! I used to find all sorts of situations we could go into together, to teach her that the world wasn't scary. Here I put on my wellington boots and waded into the water, and let her watch me splash from her vantage point on the shore first. When she looked comfortable, I encouraged her to join me, and she did.


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