Roxy and Omi

I blogged about it, when we first got Roxy.. I wrote about how I tried to play hardball, as the family breadwinner, that we could not buy this horse until we sold the other one. I tried to play the stern, clinical, purse-strings-clutching father saying "no". But I couldn't say no to this one. There was something about her that I knew I was not meant to resist. And even before all of the beautiful women in my life (wife, daughter, mother) lovingly convinced me it was the right thing to do, I had already decided. She was a beautiful animal. She was just perfect.

Perhaps when the agony passes, I might understand. The agony that my precious daughter didn't get to say goodbye, because fate is so cruel. A holiday which was meant to free her from so much stress, to give her some relief, ended up depriving her of some final, brief precious moments with this dear animal. We had only just sent her off to what was meant to be a time and place of joy. Now it's been rudely invaded with more pain.

When the vet said those dreadful words, all I could think about was this. It isn't fair. Any other time but this. Can my daughter take any more blows?

Roxy was so beautiful, right to the last. She accepted it graciously, she didn't struggle. She lay down softly, looking up at us. But in her gaze she knew someone was missing. I hope she forgave us, if horses can do such a thing.

Dear Roxy, you were only in our family for such a short time. Maybe one day I will understand, how it must be remembered as nothing other than a precious, wonderful time. I understand that death robs us so much. But it's cruel and unfair that my poor Naomi didn't have the chance to start her grieving and sadness, by the side of this irreplaceable companion.

Goodbye Roxy. You were the best friend my daughter had. She was at her happiest sitting on your back. Right from the start, when I tried to play tough guy, you kept softening me up. You were just like all the other beautiful women in my life.





For my precious daughter, I pray that void will be filled somehow, one day.


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