The Last Gift ~

By: Cheryl

Johnny Gage led Warrior across the pasture, the old gelding’s painstaking footsteps slowing the paramedic’s stride. A lump pushed up in Johnny’s throat and he stopped, Warrior obediently halting next to him.

While still proud, a quarter century of years had finally caught up with the chestnut gelding. His withers prominently stood out from his back, and the once well-rounded haunch now had a hollow look to it. Gone was the impressive muscling of Warrior’s youth.

Johnny’s eyes drifted down to the knobby knees of his life-long friend. Large, bony lumps protruded from the front of Warrior’s knees, when only a year ago they were smooth and limber.

Unbidden tears blurred Gage’s vision as he let his gaze settle on Warrior’s wise eyes. Looking deep into their brown depths, Johnny searched for the spark of youth and vigor those eyes had always held, but, just as he had realized only a week ago, the spark was nowhere to be found. In its place was the tired expression of an old friend who had reached the twilight of his years.

Johnny swallowed hard, one teardrop zigzagging down his face, as Warrior lifted his head and pricked his ears, brightening a little. He blew softly once, in recognition of his lifelong friend, the grassy scent of his breath reaching Gage’s senses. Johnny lifted his hand, stroking Warrior’s neck softly as he let his head fall forward, his forehead coming to rest on the bridge of the old gelding’s nose.

Gage inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of his friend sparking 25 years worth of memories. The unique smell of the horse was comfortable and familiar, and Johnny knew he’d never forget it the rest of his life. He let his eyes close as one memory stood out to him.

From the free side of the gate, Johnny stared out over the moonlit pasture. After a day of stifling heat, the midnight coolness was refreshing. Unlatching the gate, Johnny walked through and closed it securely behind him. He started across the pasture, his leisurely steps crunching over the dried July grass.

Near the center, Johnny paused, his gaze shifting to the bright moon above him. The night was quiet and peaceful, the silence only broke by the occasional cricket or distant coyote’s howling.

Johnny took a deep breath and sat down. The earth beneath him was warm as the dirt held onto the last remnants of heat from the daytime sun. He looked out across the pasture, barely making out the form of Warrior, grazing in the night. Johnny leaned back on his hands and stared up at the stars.

His attention was drawn back to earth by a slow, heavy set of steps coming his way. From the corner of his eye, Johnny watched as Warrior made his way over. He smiled as Warrior snorted softly. While his scent was familiar, the horse was unused to anything being in his pasture at this time of night.

“Hi, buddy,” Johnny said softly, smiling as the horse immediately recognized his voice and walked towards him.

Somewhere in the back of Johnny’s mind, an alarm went off, reminding him of the hazards of sitting down in the presence of any horse, but Johnny turned away from it. To him, there were horses, and then there was Warrior. Unmoving, Johnny inhaled the cool night air, his smile turning to a small grin when the gelding carefully walked up behind him, and lowered his head over Johnny’s left shoulder.

Silently, Gage reached up and scratched his friend’s jowl, receiving a gentle nudge on the side of his head in reward. Carefully, Johnny scooted back, until he was leaning against the front legs of his friend. Letting his head fall back, Johnny rested it against the strong forearm of Warrior. He chuckled softly, thinking of what his father would say if he saw him in this compromising position.

For the better part of an hour, Johnny sat there, enjoying the cool nighttime air, and the comfortable companionship of his life-long friend, who stood like a silent guardian over him.

Coming back to the present, Johnny stepped back from his friend and swiped a quick hand across his damp cheeks. That night, and so many times before and after it, stuck in Johnny’s head. Through the course of his life, the horse had given him so many things; unconditional love, friendship, stability, and had taught him so much about responsibility, loyalty and accountability. Warrior had been there for Johnny through everything, and the dark haired paramedic couldn’t imagine his life without him.

Johnny stared into the eye of his friend, realization dawning on him. At last, in the twilight of Warrior’s life, the old horse had bestowed his greatest gift upon Johnny. Memories. Warrior had given Johnny a lifetime of memories to cherish, and that was the greatest gift of all.

Standing a few feet back, Johnny squatted, his head level with Warrior’s nose. Unbidden and by free choice, the old gelding hobbled towards his friend, his painful knees restricting his stride to a shuffle. Once more, Johnny’s throat tightened as Warrior nosed him gently. For everything they had given each other, Johnny knew there was one last gift that he had to give. It was a humane gift of compassion, and something that he owed Warrior. I give you a peaceful death, my friend. Johnny sent his thoughts to Warrior. It’s the last, best thing I can do for you.

Slowly standing, Johnny once more headed across the pasture, his friend following beside him. For all the grief and sorrow Johnny felt, deep in his heart, he knew he was doing the right thing. Like a set of hinges succumbing to rust, Warrior’s knees were rapidly, and painfully losing their ability to bend. But where hinges could be replaced or repaired, there was nothing that could be done for Warrior’s knees. Johnny knew his old friend was in pain, and he knew he owed him an end free of suffering.

Crossing through a thin stretch of trees, Johnny and Warrior entered a small clearing, dominated by a large, deep hole. Standing nearby, “Dr. Bob” Canfield, DVM waited silently, a large syringe of pink fluid in his hand.

On one side of the hole, a gently sloping ramp had been constructed and Johnny led Warrior down that ramp to the bottom of the hole. Dropping the lead, Gage pulled out his pocketknife and quickly cut a small section of hair from Warrior’s forelock. He rested a shaking hand on the old horse’s forehead for a moment, before stepping back. Silently, he looked at Dr. Bob, giving him a slight nod.

As a small child, Johnny had been there when, still wet from his birth, life had come to Warrior’s eyes. Now, as an adult, Johnny watched as that same life, left his friends eyes. Unsnapping the lead rope, Johnny slowly walked back up out of the hole. Tears silently streamed down his face, as Gage made no attempts to control his grief. He turned, staring at the hole as his neighbor started up the backhoe and began filling in the gravesite. Johnny glanced over at Dr. Bob as he fumbled for his wallet. His actions were stopped by the veterinarian’s hand on his wrist. Unable to find his voice, Johnny looked up at the older man, his expression questioning.

Dr. Bob shook his head, giving Johnny a long, understanding look, before turning and walking away.

Johnny looked back to the gravesite and watched for a moment. He closed his eyes. Rest well, my friend. Clutching the rope close to him, Johnny turned and walked back across the pasture, his heart heavy with sorrow, but strengthened by knowing he had done right by his friend.

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Author’s Notes:

This story is dedicated to the dear memory of Bostonian’s Banjo, my friend and companion for 21 years. They say that in every horse person’s life, if they’re lucky, one horse will come along that will stand above the others, a “horse of a lifetime” as it’s been called. For me, Banjo was a horse of a lifetime. There was a special bond between Banjo and I that began one cold February morning in 1982, the first time this 9-year-old girl, made eye contact with a 4-year-old chestnut gelding staring back at her from a box stall. As I look back, I realize the connection was immediate, I was instantly comfortable and familiar with him. I seemed to always know what he was thinking and he seemed to always know what I was thinking. We had a harmony that was uncanny, and while it showed in the great success we enjoyed in the show arena, I most cherished it in the quiet time we’d spend together.

The moonlight scene is based completely on my own personal experience from July of 2000. That memory stands with so many others Banjo gave me, and in the end, I cherish those more than all the trophies, ribbons and awards we won together.

Crippling arthritis settled into Banjo’s knees swiftly, and by the time the summer waned in September of 2003, it became painfully clear to me that Banjo had lost a significant amount of quality in his life. Unable to do more than painfully shuffle around, I could no longer stand to see my dear friend suffer. I realized that preventing him from a peaceful ending any longer would only be to serve my needs, and that would not be fair to him.

We let Banjo go on September 25, 2003 at the fulfilling age of 25. His end was peaceful, and while I still grieve for him, I know deep in my heart that this was the last, best thing I could do for him. It was my last gift to a cherished friend, whom I loved dearly.

In the words of the immortal Bob Hope: “Thanks for the Memories” Banjo, Rest in Peace, My Friend.

Redgirl: Thanks for posting this story for me, and thanks to my close circle of friends for their support and encouragement through everything.

Cheryl