In Maya's Memory
Donation protected
Before you read the post below, please know that I have a home on several acres and a hole in my heart I am trying to fill. The more I raise on this fundraiser, the more horses I can pull from the lot. The more horses I can rehab and find a permanent home for.
On Wednesday June 7th at 5:50 PM, I put down my best friend of 10 years. She was the greatest horse I have ever owned, and my best friend. Below is a Eulogy I wrote a few days after I lost her:
Maya has never been my #1 girl. She has never been the first horse that crosses my mind when I want to go riding. She has always been my go to girl. The horse I put anyone and everyone on. She's never missed a beat and done everything I asked of her. She's never been my #1 girl... She's always been there for me though. My go to girl is an absolutely insane mustang mare that stole my heart when I was 14. Maya was the first horse that I gave her as a pasture buddy that she didn't beat up on. The first horse that she got along with. Their bond was instantaneous. Over the years the two of them followed me across the country and across my soul seeking journeys. Many horses came and went, but they were always there.
Maya, however, was special from day one. Her first night with me she jumped the fence ( she was a show jumper ) and spent the night running up and down the pasture next door screaming for her former pasture mates. It took us several hours to calm her down enough to catch her. I finally got my hands on her, haltered her, and walked her home. When the sun came up she was still standing where I left her, looking lost. I took pity on her and saddled her up, western of course, and took her for a stroll. She was so calm, so relaxed. I had never ridden a horse that was so care free. She didn't spook at any of the new sights or smells and kept her head high, taking it all in. I was in love.
She had only one flaw - you couldn't touch her face. If you moved to fast near or around her face, she set back and reared. I spent months desensitizing her to things around her face. Ropes, tarps, noodles, you name it. I tried everything. One day I reached up and stroked the soft spot between her eyes, where that moon shape in her mane was. She relaxed immediately. I rubbed that spot until she went to sleep. It became a daily routine.
When I broke my back in 2009, Maya was the first horse I rode when the doctor gave me the go ahead. It took me over an hour to saddle her. She never moved, never batted an eye. When I finally got the courage to tighten the girth and pull myself into the saddle, she stood tall and proud. She waited on me to be seated and asked her for a step. It took my breath away. I was in so much pain. She waited. She listened. She under stood. As the months progressed and my rehab back into the saddle healed my soul, Maya was there for me. Every day. We ended each ride, however long or short it was, with a rub in that soft spot.
Maya taught both of my nephews to ride. She taught many kids all over Texas how to ride. She was a gentle horse and I was always willing to throw a beginner on her back. She took care of everyone.
I decided one day to see what Maya would do if I carried a flag... again, she never batted an eye.
Our entire decade together that's just who she was. A special mare with a special heart. Those big, brown eyes always forgave when I did something stupid. Always forgave a rider when they didn't know what they were doing.
She was a special horse. We had a special bond.
Two years ago Maya got hurt in an accident at the stable we were boarding at. One of the other horses cornered her and beat her into a bloody pulp. Shortly after that she bowed a tendon. Maya was 'retired'. The occasional small child rode her, and every now and then so did I, but she was retired none the less. She spent the last several years plodding around the front yard getting into all sorts of trouble. Stealing grain from the goats when I was milking them, getting into bales of alfalfa that I had stashed, breaking into the feed room... you name it, she was a houdlum! Maya followed me around as I was feeding every evening and stole bites out of all the buckets. When I was filling hay feeders, she plopped around and took a bite out of each feeder. Ensuring that no feeder had more or less than the one previous. When I got done she would wander over to the weanling pen, lean over their fence, and munch away on the alfalfa with the babies until she grew tired. Then she would wander over to the large bales and either lay or lean on them, depending on her mood.
The day the vet came out Maya knew. I don't know how, but she knew. That unspoken language between us. She followed us around while we collected fecals from the goats in the pastures. When I grabbed her halter she didn't run away, a usual game for us, she stood and looked me in the eyes. I stroked that soft spot between her eyes and laid my head on her shoulder while the vet prepped the shot. She sighed and looked at him, asking him to get it over with. She was in pain and tired of being that way. She was gone in 30 seconds. Even the vet was amazed at how quickly she went. Most animals gasp for air and struggle, sometimes requiring a second shot. Not my Maya. She put her head on my shoulder and then she was gone.
It took me two days to cry the ugly cry. I almost lost it several times that afternoon. I almost lost it when the tractor began moving the dirt, but I didn't. I laid on top of her and stroked her neck and shoulders. I laid beside her and stroked that soft spot between her eyes. I cried softly into the hair on her side as I stroked her cheek. When it was time to move her into the hole, I politely excused myself and went for a walk. I did not lose it then. I came close when my husband pulled me into him and wiped away the tears, but I did not lose it. I did not want her to see me cry. When it finally hit me I cried the ugly cry until I could not breath. I cried the ugly cry until I fell asleep. My husband held me and handed me tissues as I filled the ones in my hands. He would squeeze me tight and remind me to breath by taking exuberant breaths and exaggerating his breathing. He would do that until I was breathing normally again, and then continue to let me cry. It was nice.
Every day I look for her as I head to my truck on my way to work, looking over to where the hay is stored expecting to see her amongst the bales happily destroying them to find only the pieces she wants. She is not there. She is forever in her favorite resting spot under the oak tree. She is free.
I could post a thousand pictures, but I wont. It doesn't take a thousand to show who Maya is.
It takes one.
Organizer
Kate Louise Ferguson
Organizer
Trinity, TX
