I had a bit of a sad moment by myself this morning. I was up and at the barn early, despite having no power (I have to sleep with a fan on, I'm so used to the noise, and not having one made it hard to sleep...). It was crisp and cool out, and I shivered a little as I got out of my car and was greeted by Stella, cheerfully eating apples that had fallen to the ground overnight. After she ate breakfast I watched her nap in the sun, the hair on her rump all fluffed up. I thought of Ernie...
He'd probably look like a fuzzball already. He grew more hair than any Thoroughbred I know. The joke used to be that he had a grand-dam a few generations back that was crossed with a yak.
There's a new horse in his stall now, but the nameplate Donnie had made for him still hangs there, at the top of the sliding door. I can't bring myself to take it down. To me it means that's it: there's no other remnant of him in the barn besides my memories and the grooming box that I haven't been able to bring myself to get rid of. It still sits on the shelf with all the others, right where it used to.
I sat in Stella's doorway and let the sun warm me. I thought of him standing in his doorway, his eyes closed and his lower lip droopy. He liked to sunbathe, and this morning would have been a beautiful one to do so.
I miss him so much. It hits me in waves, it seems. I've been able to think of him and talk about him, make jokes about the things he used to do, all without crying. I cried this morning. I'm tearing up as I type now. I'm staring at the shadowbox I made in his memorial, the one that hangs on my bedroom wall with his shoes, a lock of his mane and tail, and a picture of him, one that shows just how proud and handsome he was. I'll have to try and get it uploaded. It's a beautiful photograph.
God bless you, Ernie. I miss you, buddy.
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