Lost Horse: The Story Of My Pony

My pony in the photo. It was taken about March this year.

Well, technically she wasn't horse. I had a white pony when I was between the died because my my first named Milky ages of 6-8. She dad shot her. He did it because she was blind in one eye and the crows ate her socket out. It's and completely horrifying, I know.

I don't remember her more than maybe a little bit. I only know because I saw photos of me riding her and my dad told me the history ... terrible and tragic.

I remember riding her very few times. Probably not more than 10 times in the years I had her, though I now regret it. We had two other horses - a gray adult mare named Star and her black foal. I don't even recall his name.

But this story isn't about Milky or them. It's about the first horse I had events with worth talking about, smiling about, being proud about and remembering. Her name was Cheeky.

When I was barely 16 years old, we first got her. She was a dwarf or semi dwarf pony, about 11 hands at the shoulder, yet my 16th birthday present. I remember feeling unhappy that my dad's friend arranged her to be bought to our sheep farm - for free - (because of her being so small.) I was and am quite short. But did they really think I couldn't ride an almost normal sized horse at age 16?

She arrived a few months late and with a moderate hoof injury. She had blue eyes, a gray and black coat, and a black mane. She was quite or very fat and about 4 inches lower than my 5'2 height, except when she raised her head.

The first day she arrived, I gave her a syrup and butter sandwich to calm down her nerves. I used to feed Milky that. That and the fact that she had green teeth was about the only thing I remember about her.

Cheeky was fairly docile at the beginning, as far as I remember. She just showed an over abundance of cheekiness right from the start - she wouldn't go to her new little camp on our farm - at all, for say, the first 20 minutes.

Apparently, that was why her name was Cheeky! Her previous owners gave it to her. Me and my dad and older brother, Dries, had to chase her - by foot - to make her go into the camp.

She just hated being petted or caressed on her face, and very oddly and even sadly to me, never looked me directly in the eyes when I stood very close to her. Her eyes were powder blind-like blue.

The first few times I rode her, she didn't really want to move much. A pat on the behind got her to canter off in a bolting manner, but I was so scared when she did that that I probably accidentally halted her - she usually or always stopped about 10-15 seconds later.

At first, Cheeky thought the juicy apples and carrots I gave her might be poisonous. She was also suspicious, yet kind of loving of the syrupy sandwiches I gave her. But then she began biting me accidentally at the speed she gobbled down those apples in two seconds.

For the first few months, I didn't ride her much at all. And then I basically stopped riding her. Like twice a week or once in ten days and sometimes more often, I'd walk 400 m to her csmp to offer her a snack.

Cheeky always stood at attention, ears pricked, staring attentively and directly at me with her baby blue eyes when she saw me. She soon - or later - began approaching me IF I had a snack, but always started bucking, jumping around and threatening to kick, blue eyes wide as saucers, if I dared look like I might mount her. She DID kick me a few times. I seldom even tried to mount Cheeky out of sheer terror, nevertheless actually rode her at all. The idea of falling off her was literally my worst horror.

Cheeky, at first, breathed and blew nervously on my hand when I came near to hand over a carrot, and snapped her head away little nose. when I wanted to stroke her

My older brother Dries - 19, at the time - however, could saddle her up quickly, jump on her and get a fairly fast gallop and a canter out of her for a few kilometres. Despite the fact that he's 5'9 and about 150 lbs, he could ride her at a gallop for a little more than 2 and a half miles.

He in the first 3 months or so - often demonstrated to me how to sit the run, by rocking your torso up and down, but I didn't get the hang of it. I didn't want to get the hang of it and now, I am ashamed of myself. Even back then I think I was.

Then, about August of the year I got her - I got her in like January or February - I started to try to saddle her up, mount her, get her out of the camp and move her forward at a slow walk.

Cheeky ran away every time I approached her in the wrong way, old horse saddle and rope halter in hand. She was especially terrified when I made any noise at all, like the clinging of the stirrups as it swang back and forth when I walked to her. I almost always got her saddled up, mounted and got Cheeky out of the camp quickly after that in the end, though, because I was so determined to start doing something with life.

She couldn't easily move away more than about 20-100 metres from the camp at a walking speed. It may have taken about 15 minutes to get her 300 metres away. Soon I started the habit of riding her in circles around the house. She froze about four times a minute. She'd often stand still in one place for what felt like 10 minutes.

Later that year I got to stay on her while she cantered and loped about half a mile - a couple times, and eventually, I could lead her on her halter a mile or so away from home and then ride her back at a walk, and canter or jog a little.

I also started running alongside, behind and in front of her mile after mile, leading her with the halter's rope, even over and down hills and river and dam banks and down through and up dry ponds and rivers. I also started riding her at a gallop or jog up and downhill.

a Few months after I got Cheeky, Dries got a new horse named Bella. She still lives. She's a beautiful, docile caramel Palimino pony about 15 hands higher the shoulder. She was incredibly thin, but also pregnant, though we didn't know yet. Dries rode her about daily at a gallop for miles during her pregnancy. They got on very well from the start.

Bella and Cheeky soon grew inseparable. Checky was completely silent at the start, but then she began neighing like a horse hired for Beethoven's orchestra.

Bella always tagged along all the way when I began riding cheeky for about 2-3 miles 5 times a week. They ran for miles together and reared side by side when our sheepdogs charged at them barkingly.

A couple times she even went along to splash in the mud while Cheeky was ridden and played like she was angry in the big dam. Once they ran about 2.5 km after me, including up- and downhill - because I had their feedpail in hand. I taught them to run after me when I ran to their food bowls to fill it. She even automatically ran around and around the camp in circles, through and under trees and around a large plant - chasing me, because I held her food pail full of horse feed.

But I loved it. She was a special horse, and I suppose I'll never have one exactly like her again.

Checky also had a habit of galloping full speed with me on her - after Bella being ridden through the fields by Dries, like when we went lost cattle searching in the mountains about 4-5 miles from home.

Once I mounted her bareback, and she bucked with all her might, but I managed to stay on barely. Another time she bolted in the night at about 40 km per hour till I flew through the air. There were a few other terrific falls as well. Quite a few times I managed to stay on her while she flew away with me at full might and top speed. Once for about 600 metres, bareback and halter less.

Then I started riding her to a mile or two away from home at a walk. Always bareback it worked much better for me. Then I started riding her at a super and/ or decent galloping and cantering speed over the hills. She usually blew extremely after hard work when she should have become fit.

Soon before her death, I found out why. Even at a walk she huffed every 3 seconds, though Cheeky became muscular and quite fit. It was because of her age. She was 25-30 years old.

And then, 5 days ago, Checky supposedly suddenly choked on an apple and couldn't get it out. At first, she seemed to be going blind in one eye.

She bolted around in circles with no rider on her, ran into fences, zigzagged slowly with her head held crooked and appeared to see ghosts. The right eye blinked way less than the left when waving a hand in front of her eyes.

Then we discovered it was the apple. Dries put Cheeky in a kraal with Bella.

Friday afternoon I pushed Cheeky onto the wagon to take her to the vet. We had dozed her canola oil and gave her penicillin in the butt, I attempted the Heimlich maneuver on her 100 times to rid her of the apple piece or pieces in her esophagus. And I didn't even know where the windpipe was relative to the swallowing tube in a horse.

30 seconds after neighing joyfully at the other horses, being pushed and pulled at and then easily led, she collapsed after the vet injected into her some type of laxative.

Her lungs are dead, her oxygen dropped from 80 to 60 due to our cooking oil injection - and the stress of the wagon trip made her legs give in; she was most likely going to die from equine pneumonia, the vet told us. But, probably, it was her who killed Cheeky, and she didn't have the guts to admit it. I'm not really angry, although I am saddened.

The next morning at around 8:30 p.m. the vet called to tell us the news. She was dead. Ice cold. I knew because I caressed her dead body when we drove to pick her up at the vet's ... to come bury her at home.

I still can't believe it. I still can't accept it. She was the type who farted you away. She was the type who bolted strangers and charged at cattle to drive them away.

She wasn't the type who went away ... by ceasing to breathe. She wasn't the type who went away by dying ... laying stiff and lifeless, forever on the ground. At least she's going to Heaven one day, where she'll never have to suffer one bit of sorrow ever again.

We nailed her grave's cross and had her burial finished this afternoon. 2 years and 7 months I had with her; she gave me so much delightful joy and so many long hours of sorrow, and now she's gone forever.

I loved her too much.

God be with everyone who loses someone. Be it horse, be it dog, or be he/ she human.

I'm so sorry she had to die.

And blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted Matthew 5. 4