Old Friend

Folly is turning thirty years old this year. We celebrate his birthday on April 9th; carrot cake and cream cheese frosting for all, but Folly won't eat his share of the cake. He likes his carrots raw, straight up, no sugar added. He's always been kind of a tough guy. Maybe I'll eat his portion. I love carrot cake and cream cheese.

I'm proud of the way he looks. A little sway-backed, to be sure, but overall chunky and solid for his advancing years. He still loves a good roll in the snow and mud. The other day he trotted past Belle with his tail flagged and his head held high. "Look at me! Don't you think I'm handsome?" Belle is already smitten by redheads so she gave an approving nicker and a shake of her mane.

I believe that having gotten this far, Folly could go on forever. After all, at thirty years old he's already beaten the odds. Horses have it tough; they aren't at all like dogs who tend to stay mostly with one owner. Horses are passed around from home to home so that throughout a lifetime a single horse finds himself having to adjust to several owners. Some good, some not so good, and some, I'm sure, Folly would rather forget. With each move, there is a new set of rules, a new herd of horses, and new living conditions to get accustomed to.

The horse stays the same while all around him everything changes. One owner believes in all day turnout, the next keeps you locked up in your stall. One owner is gentle with the bridle, the next jabs you in the mouth and kicks you in your gut. One herd of horses is kind and welcoming, while the next simply won't accept you. If you're the adaptable type, you survive and live to a ripe old age like Folly.

In his heyday, Folly was a trail horse. He had a stint as a barrel racing horse, too, but I bet he wasn't much good at it. Just too much excitement for him. I am forever indebted to him. He was very good at showing novice trail horses the ropes and helped us introduce both Morgan and Mighty to the trails. He liked to be the leader horse, but in his later years, he gave up that spot and was content to bring up the rear, an equally important position.

What I like most about old horses is their level of acceptance of all things. Folly hangs his head over his stall door and all around him is quietude. He sleepily closes his eyes and gently smacks his lips as I clean stalls across the aisle. I feel tranquil when I am around him. This is what it feels like to no longer feel you need to change anything or direct anything or save anyone from anything.

What a relief that must be....