The late September mid-day sun warmed the mountain air that the Tehachapi (California) wind fought to cool. I sat on the tightly compacted decomposing granite one acre pasture floor using my blood bay gelding’s front legs as a backrest. My hands lay in my lap, fingers and palms discolored by the oil and dirt picked up minutes earlier while running my hands across Tigre’s (Tee-grah’s) coat. My father’s 18-year-old Arabian gelding had come to live with me on the newly fenced family farm. He was one of 20 head.

            I sat in silence, Tigre my motionless sentry. The only sounds I could hear were of nature: wind blowing, oak leaves crackling, branches creaking, hawks’ screeching in the distance, ground squirrels chattering and the other horses in the same and neighboring pastures. My mind drifted to past quiet times; times I had spent with my childhood horses, my pals. Tears welled in my eyes as I found myself wishing my bay Mustang-Morgan crossed stallion, Jade, could have lived long enough to enjoy this peaceful ranch. I longed for the afternoons spent watching Tigre and Jade frolicking together in the arena.

            My mind played memories like old home movies. I saw myself, as a teen, riding Jade bareback in the California summer heat. Not a worry in the world, just two friends covering ground – the hills of Sunland … the flats and the trails around the dam. Then I could see Jade and Tigre taking turns rolling in the dirt. Both in the arena, the old stallion dropping to his knees then lower his hind-quarters and scratch his back in the dirt. The younger bay gelding would stand still, waiting his turn. Tigre rolling while Jade stood by waiting and then they would tear around the arena together, all awhile Tigre making sure he did not overrun the older. I smiled at the graceful example of respect I was treated to many, many times.

            I knew I had been given a gift with the eleven years Jade and I had been granted, but I could not help but wish his 24 years had lasted longer. Selfish as that might be.

            “I miss him too,” I heard a male’s voice softly, kindly say.

            Without thought or looking up I replied softly, “Yep, me too … miss him a lot. Miss him so much it hurts. I soooo wanted to bring him up here.” The tremendous ache in my chest was minutely soothed as the muscles in my chest released the clutching that had built up around my heart, tears welled in my eyes.

            Tigre lowered his head, his chin gently meeting the hair a top my head. It was then I realized who had just admitted to missing the old stud horse, it was the gelding.

            I raised my right hand, without looking up, lightly stroking the gelding’s jowl. The tears ran down my face as I realized that I had overlooked the lost friendship that ended for the horses too. They were mates, pals, and companions. When Jade, age 24, when we were twenty-four, passed away six months earlier, his death ended the eleven years of companionship the horses had come accustom to as well.

            “Sorry old man, I forgot you’d miss him too …. He would have liked it here … being here with you … too.”

            Tigre raised his head only to lower it again letting his muzzle caress the side of my face. After minutes I stood facing the 16 hand horse. I wrapped my arms around the gelding’s neck and hugged him. He lowered his head over my shoulder gently applying pressure after his jaw bones meet my back side, hugging me like I was one of his mares. Our hug lasted for minutes. We were not alone.

Tigre and I were blessed with twelve more years of daily contact, spending many an afternoon in silent companionship, the California sun warming our bodies, our friendship warming our hearts.

--30--

Keyword: A Lasting Love

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