Miramar

Miramar died Thursday, May 28, 2009. She was 35 years old – foaled in 1974. She was a registered half-Arabian, although the folks I bought her from over twenty years ago said she was really a purebred. She had not lived with me for the past year. Friends were keeping her on their farm in my hometown. I retired from running a lesson barn because I am just to old to be lifting hay and unloading bags of feed, and the cost of keeping horses had become more than I could make teaching lessons. I was very blessed that my friends wanted Mira. See, Tara had taken lesson on Mira as a little girl. She, like many others of my students, loved Mira. She said yes when I asked if she wanted her, and I realize they did that for me as much as any personal reason. They knew how important it was for me to know Mira would be loved and cared for the way I wished I could do myself. I rested easy knowing Tara and Wyatt would do that for me. What a blessing to have such dear friends.

A perfect example of the kind of good folks they are, Tara, and her husband Wyatt drove all the way to my house – about a two-hour drive – to tell me in person that Mira had crossed over the rainbow bridge. “We just didn’t think it was the kind of news to give you over the phone,” Wyatt said.  I just love them for being them.

They told me the vet suspected Mira died of a heart attack. I was somewhat relieved, because I could see over the winter Mira had failed quite a bit. Winters have taken a toll on her for the past several years, but when spring rolled around she would seem to bounce back. But she always was just a little older looking and acting than the previous year. I’d been thinking about whether or not the time had come to talk about putting her down. I am glad nature took over where we did not want to go.

Tara and Wyatt spent the night and left Friday morning. That is when I gave myself permission to take the day off to grieve for my old friend and business partner. I pulled out the scrapbooks and photographs. My youngest daughter called after reading my email. We talked about how many kids and grownups have been taught to ride by Mira —hundreds I suppose. We also laughed a little as we remembered some of Mira’s antics. She was a good broodmare and a wonderful lesson horse. She could be a great show horse, but nine times out of ten she’d find a way to make us look like idiots at the horse show.

She was not a good trail riding horse. She did not like stuff touching her! So woodsy trails through weeds and vines irritated her. Even riding through a field of tall grass that tickled her belly sent her into crow-hopping and even bucking. We could ride down a road without too much ado, unless we passed by cows. Then it was “Nelly, hold onto your hat!” Mira would spin around, leave you hanging in the air, and run toward the barn before you could even think about gathering leather and reining her in.

There are two Miramars being remembered now. The gentle, sweet old gray mare who tolerated little kids bouncing on her back until they learned to post, and bumping her mouth with the bit until they learned to ride with a fluid hand. Those people knew Mira as she reached her late twenties and early thirties.

But, others, who knew the Queen of the Barn in her younger days, remember a horse full of “presence and attitude.” She was the mare who when she trotted looked like a helium balloon dancing in air. She was the horse that beat the local favorite quarter horse stallion in a halter class at the Albemarle Circuit Horse Show in Windsor, NC many years ago. She was also the crazy Arabian mare who ran away from us as we were tacking her up at the NC State 4-H Championship Show. She didn’t stop running until she reached the main arena’s in-gate, snorting and prancing and scaring a bunch of kids on their horses who were gathered at the gate waiting to go into their class.

Mira let me cry into her neck many nights when I slipped out to the barn for the solace I knew I could find there. She kept all my secrets. I think we had an understanding by the last leg of her life. We knew we’d weathered some storms together. She talked to me. Even bystanders could see her tell me where I could go with that horse wormer, and that the only reason I successfully got the dose in her mouth was because she decided to let me. And when it was time for a lesson to be over, it was over sister. OVER!

I will miss the old girl. Miramar, you were The Queen of the Barn.