As I drove away from work today, a dull pain entered my chest, like millions of tiny needles grazing my heart. Bitterman, my gentle, lumbering giant, no longer graced the front pasture with his presence. It was as if the mountains had been removed, that's how much he was a part of the scenery. And, unlike students, volunteers & even staff, who fill our barn for only short spans of time, he has always been there, like the constant rising & setting of the sun. I wanted to cry for the thought of it.
You don't really know Courage Reins unless you knew Bitterman. He was the heart of our mission, tall, commanding, even majestic at times. Many titles could have been bestowed on Bitt: The Conqueror of the Impossible, The Queller of Fears, The Faithful White Steed that many a young knight, cowboy or cowgirl would ride in on, and, on rare occasions, The Buckin' Fool. He could even perform magic, granting access to those without the proper use of their bodies or minds the precious, life altering, ability to fly.
Bitt was never impatient. At times, he could have taught rocks a thing or two. He would stand, for what felt like eternities, as a small child dug up the courage to mount. You could tug on his ears and he would never flinch. He could even bare the shrill screams of a frightened child and take it all in stride. If you fell off, he would stop, look down, and wonder why you were on the ground instead of enjoying the fine ride with him.
In all the time I have worked at Courage Reins, I never remember a single instant where he stepped on some one's foot. He would let you bury your face in his soft fur and just let you cry. It didn't matter who you were: an old friend or a new acquaintance, he loved everyone. He was the highest caliber of friend anyone could want or ever need. Bitterman had an old, knowing soul. Just ask anyone who really looked into his eyes. He always knew his duty and preformed it to the best of his capacity.
Bitt loved to be brought into the breezeway and be brushed, given his supplements or just stand there. He would wait by the gate or follow you around until it was finally his turn. It gave me much pleasure to watch new volunteers dodge him, not knowing that he just wanted some attention. He didn't care what kind of attention it was, he just wanted some for himself.
This morning Bitt slipped peacefully away but, not without a fight. Even at the last moment, I believe, he didn't want to give up. He would give his all and then give more. That's just the kind of horse he was.
"Horses leave hoof prints on our hearts"
- Author Unknown
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