What was that?
Published in
4 min readAug 8, 2024
Apache never really got over Dunnie’s death eight years ago.
Not until last year, when they finally had to dig a hole under him, did he finally get over her.
In horse years, Apache was, well, almost a miracle.
But miracles can be so fragile, so easy to break. Even when you’re talking about a hardened old horse.
I stopped by Apache’s pasture Tuesday afternoon while on my way to pick up hay.
I stopped by to snap a picture of his grave marker, which I’ve been meaning to do for a while. I wish I had taken a picture of him on one of his good days.
Sometimes, you need something solid, like a picture, to hold on to if you want to remember something as fragile as life, even if it is just a picture of a cross with skewed letters made of old painted planks from barn boards.
Looking at pictures can be a simple way to help you better understand a relationship, just like something as simple as smelling a flower can help us better understand our relationship with the complex universe.
This pasture, with its rusty fence and rotting corner posts, is where Apache and I spent a lot of time together under the shadowy reaches of an old oak.
Out here is where I’d trim his feet most of the time.
That is until the final months before he went on to catch up with Dunnie.
During that time it hurt him to walk because of leg problems, so I’d work on him where ever he happen to be standing, even if it was in the summer sun or the winter shade.
I figured that was the least I could do for a soft-tempered creature tormented by weak fetlocks and a broken heart.
Underneath those same outer reaches of that water oak is where Apache’s grave marker is now driven into the ground.
I never knew Dunnie. She died a short time before I started trimming Apache’s feet 8 years ago.
“He just never got over Dunnie dying,” said Apache’s owner, Rainy Parramore. “They had been together for over 20 years.”
I guess that is why the whole time I knew Apache, he seemed to always be hock deep in melancholy.
He was missing Dunnie.
I’m not overthinking this when I say the loss broke Apache’s spirit.
Yes, horses can mourn the loss of a longtime friend just like we do.
Experts tell us that all animals share the same core emotions as humans. They call them “Blue Ribbon” emotions.
But of course, no expert had to tell any animal person that. We already knew it.
Seeking, rage, nurturing, anger, fear, frustration, and panic are a few of those shared emotions.
And yes, I believe mourning a lost companion is another one.
I’ve seen horses gather around the grave of a recently buried pasture mate, standing in silence, sniffing the air for memories. Maybe even praying in a way that we humans will only one day understand, if we are lucky.
Some people might tell you that Apache is now an angel. I can say that was not always the case. On some days, his attitude could be a bit tangy — somewhere between peach brandy and sour mash. After all, he was an appaloosa. But mostly, it was because of the pain and not because he had a hard heart with rusty barbwire wrapped around it.
Sometimes, striking out in frustration at the pain is all you have left. And the target is usually the people who are trying to do you right.
Life and relationships can be that way. Fragile!
But no more pain for Apache — neither joint pain nor heart pain.
Underneath a water oak in an open field is a good place to spend an eternity of seasons. The trees are covered in leaves and shades all beneath during the summer. And in the winter, the leaves are stripped, allowing the sun to trickle through and spread warm puddles of warmth to thaw us all.
Not a bad setup. But I do think it could be improved upon.
A wind chime on a steel stob stuck in the ground would make an excellent addition to Apache’s grave marker would be nice.
That way next time I stop by and feel the wind and hear the chimes, it will remind me that, even though I can’t see them, they are there
And in the breeze and in the warmth of a sunny day, Apache and Dunnie both will be like wandering shadows, the kind of shadows that sometimes dart by when you’re not expecting them, catching the corner of your eye, making you jerk your head around and leave you wondering, “What was that?”
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