Last week I lost my off the track thoroughbred, Hondo Lane. It was sudden, tragic, and has left me devastated. I want to be as brief about it as possible, not to be cold or clinical, but to protect myself from additional grief which has already ravaged me.
After a fun morning outing with hounds (we were training to become whippers-in for a fox hunt), in which Hondo had more power and enthusiasm than was required by the event (he loved anything to do with hunting), he showed clear signs of colic. Any horse owner knows the signs. The vet was close by, I took him there directly. They gave him a fast exam, extracted what they could, administered banamine, electrolytes, the whole drill. After a rectal exam, the vet told me “he has a twist” and advised me to take him immediately to the equine hospital. I did. After an exam there, the vet told me he would need immediate surgery, that he had a torsion and possibly would need to take part of his colon. At the most optimistic, a $14k-20k surgery with a long recovery and 50% survival rate. There were no other options.
I don’t have that kind of cash right now. And here’s the truth: even if I had it, I knew he wouldn’t have tolerated the recovery. He was a hot, high metabolism Thoroughbred. I called him “my orchid” because he was, as a horse, not the least bit hearty. In an apocalyptic emergency, my other horses would likely be fine, scavenging food and water as needed. Hondo wasn’t ever that way. It took him a while to learn how to even graze. Not his fault, just the fault of being raised on a track. Furthermore, his metabolism was crazy. He’d blow through sedation in no time and, even sedated, was strong as an ox. There was no way, no physical way, he would’ve taken stall rest for a month and not pulled stitches, gotten an infection, or had more stomach problems post-op.
It was a hard call, but not the wrong call. I let him go peacefully. He was nine and full of fucking life. I’d only had him three years.
It’s now been four days since his loss. I’m crushed. Heartbroken. I didn’t expect this one, not like this. I have a 27 year old horse, Dante. I thought he was next. He’s an old man now, the best years well behind him.
But a nine year old? No.
But it’s not just how young he was. Nor was it the short time we had together as a team.
Hondo was foundational to a future I was building toward in my new life. This goes beyond symbolism, though he was very symbolic of the person I was trying to be. I picked the area where I moved to in order to be close to a fox hunt. I wanted to hunt with Hondo. I wanted to whip with Hondo. I wanted to become the next version of myself astride Hondo.
Now that future is gone. Poof.
Not only am I contending with a great loss of an equine partner I loved, I’m destabilized.
He meant so much to me. I told him so before I said goodbye, or I think I did. I hope I did. This horse brought out a part of me that no horse or person every had. Ever could.
Hondo Lane made me feel like the woman I was always supposed to be. He made me feel like a warrior princess. Bold. Brave. Strong. Important. Dangerous. He unlocked those parts of me, like little secrets kept so well even I didn’t know they were there.
And he did it all with complete enthusiasm. He spoke in all caps, he questioned little. He was brave even when he was unsure. His danger was wrapped in glee, and only Thoroughbred owners can understand that, I think, though maybe not.
I always thought of him like this:
A little boy just having a damn good time, whatever it was.
Even our last morning together was just like this. Enthusiasm on steroids. I dripped sweat from holding him back, but smiled through all of it. He loved to go. He loved to be out. He loved a job.
He was tall, dark, handsome. Goofy too, with a droopy bottom lip and a habit, probably from the track, of sticking his tongue out until real work began.
I’ve written many posts about Hondo, and I have many more stories I hope I’ll remember forever. We were robbed of a great life together. It wasn’t supposed to be so short, I wanted more time. I wanted more speed, more jumps, more “Oh shit I hope he doesn’t rear up” moments as I held him back from racing ahead.
I miss seeing him in my field. I miss rolling my eyes at his air-cribbing weirdness. I miss having to pull him out separate from everyone so he could eat lunch without getting pushed around by everyone else. I miss him pawing as he waited the four seconds to be fed. I miss his little whinny. I miss his left wall eye, always looking suspicious. I miss how he’d come over to me for no other reason than to just stand beside me, leaning his neck on my shoulder, just to be close to me.
I miss him. I just miss him.
So long, Hondo Lane. You guided me to a new life. You showed me who I really am. You made me believe in myself like no one else ever did. You meant more to me than you may ever know. I wish things could’ve been different, that I could’ve saved you or prevented this from happening. I am so sad and so sorry that you’re gone, my sweet, wonderful boy. My tall boy. My powerful, confident boy.
Your tummy will never hurt again. No more gas. No more stress from days long past. No more being pushed around by Nisha and her bitchy face.
But know I will miss you for so much longer than is probably reasonable. I’ll think of you every time I hunt. I’ll see your ghost every day. I’ll remember you when I feel afraid, or unsure. I’ll call your spirit to me when I doubt myself.
Thank you for choosing me to be your person. Thank you for being patient with me when I wasn’t always. For understanding me when I tried to understand you. We weren’t always easy to understand, but that was okay. Because we had so much fun. We loved each other. You tried so hard. All you wanted was kindness. Love. Understanding. I hope I gave you enough. And I’m so sorry when I didn’t.
Farewell, my boy. You were the prince I didn’t know I needed. I will not be the same without you, but I endeavor to be the person you showed me I was.
