If you have read any of my horse stories, you know that my younger daughter was a horse rider and barrel racer. I have learned, through many years of observation, that girls and women who love horses and work with them have a special relationship with their horses that men and boys just don't have. It is almost a spiritual, oneness, relationship between girl and horse. You have to witness it to understand what I am talking about. All you horse folks know, I'm sure. 

My daughter has a great affinity for animals in general, and especially dogs and horses. But her relationship with her favorite barrel horse, Red (his full name was Red Texas Flash, because he came from Texas and was shiny and fast), was something special beyond words. When we got Red, he had no papers and no name, that we knew of, so we named him - or, more precisely, my daughter named him. He was the best horse, all around, that I have ever been around - not only a good, solid barrel racing horse, but also a good trail horse, with a great disposition and temperament. He was solid, gentle, and dependable, and he had great heart. How he and my daugther loved one another! And we all loved him - the whole family. Red had a coat like no other horse I ever saw. He glistened in the Sun like he had metalic flakes in his coat! And he had that old-time classic quarter-horse head and build. He was a beauty! There were no flaws in Red, inside or out. Without papers or pedigree, he was, nevertheless, a nobleman!

At the time we had Red we also had a palomino mare named Fancy, perhaps the most worthless horse, at least for our purposes, we ever had, but she was beautiful. Horses are herd animals, so she and Red were very close. Red was also one of the smartest horses I ever knew, and he figured how to open gate latches. He did this more than once, to our great consternation. One night, just after good dark had set in, Red got the gate open from the pasture just behind our house in Stansel, Alabama, and he and Fancy took off! Fancy, in front, ran across the highway, with Red following right on her heels. 

Tragically, just as Red was crossing the highway, a big old automobile, driven by an old black man, hit him, totaling the car, and breaking Red up really bad. We heard the crash and knew instantly that something dreadful had happened. As we ran out of the kitchen, at the rear of the house, we saw Fancy, frantic and beside herself, trotting around in the open field just over the road, and there, lying in the middle of the highway, was Red.

As I got to him, I could see that three of his legs were broken, one foot only hanging by a strip of hide, and one side of his head and face were gone.  Instantly I knew it was totally hopeless. God, what a sinking feeling that was! Especially knowing how very much my daughter loved this noble fellow. Amazingly, Red was fully conscious. Lots of people were all around, but none knew what to do. Red was trying to get up, not understanding the extent of his injuries. As all those people stood around, actually a little afraid of Red, for fear he might somehow lunge and hurt them, I knelt down by his head and soothingly talked to him and stroked his head. He immediately calmed down and laid his head down, listening to my voice. Even in this terrible state, Red was still Red, still noble, still gentle.

A police officer was there, too, and I told him that he would have to shoot Red to put him out of his misery. He said "I don't know how to shoot a horse", so I said "Give me the gun and I'll do it". Actually, I felt it was more appropriate for someone who loved him to put him down, but that didn't make it any easier. The pistol was a Glock, with seventeen rounds. I took the gun, bent down once again and spoke softly to Red, telling him everything was going to be alright, and positioned myself just behind his front legs, so that I could point the pistol directly over his heart. 

Men started telling me that was too dangerous. He could start thrashing and I could get hurt. I matter of factly told them I didn't care. And it was the truth; I didn't care. All I cared about at that moment was Red, and at that moment it was just me and Red. Pointing the gun directly at his heart, I began firing as rapidly as I could pull the trigger, moving the barrel ever so slightly each time I fired, so that his heart would be shattered and he would not have to suffer more than a few seconds. When I stopped, someone said "Did you know you fired all seventeen rounds?" I had no idea. My only thought had been Red - and my daughter!

A neighbor got his tractor and pulled Red's broken body up into the pasture, underneath a giant oak tree where we chose to bury him. Fancy stood guard over his body all night, and was there with him at dawn. I tried to feed her, but she would not eat, nor leave Red. That morning, another neighbor dug a grave with his backhoe and buried Red. Then came a sight at once both beautiful and incredibly sad: Fancy stood over Red's grave, mourning him, for two weeks, during which time she would not eat and would hardy leave to get a drink of water. We feared for her life as well, but after two weeks she began to return to normal (tho I think she never forgot Red).

It was the same for our whole family. None of us could talk about Red, or even speak his name, without crying, and it was this way for a long, long time. For years after that tragic evening, I could be driving down the highway and think of Red, and tears would come running down my cheeks. There are tears in my eyes now, as I write this story, even tho this happened many years ago. That's how special Red was to all of us, and especially to his soul mate, my daughter.

That Christmas, I gave her a rodeo-style belt buckle, upon which I had engraved her name and his, and the words "Friends Forever". When she opened it, she broke down in tears, and so did her mother, her sister, and I. Red will always be special to the memories of each and every one of us. He was a special horse. Very special!

 
Copyright 2008 by Tom Woodard

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