It was a crisp spring morning when Mom and I headed to NH to take a look at a horse that was "too
big to be a Hunter." Boy was he ever. A solid 17 Hands and at least 1,700 lbs he was a mammoth compared to
all the petite TBs, or should I say a Moose. His name was definitely fitting and as my memory serves me I knew he was
"the one" as soon as I sat on him. Mom corrects me though and says that I stated "I think he is the one"
the moment I laid my eyes on him in the grooming stall. And so the friendship blossomed and proceeded to grow for 18
years.
We taught each other a lot over the years; patience,
trust, commitment, hope, and most importantly love. Our bond was stronger then most things in my life. He was
always there for me, someone I could lean on when I was hurting and depend on through thick and thin. He was with me
through many major life events; high school graduation, obtaining my A in Pony Club, many boyfriends and two potential husbands,
two moves to GA and one move to VT, Griffin's death and Dad's passing. His fur dried many of my tears and his presence
always brought me comfort. He was my rock when I needed it and I was his on his final day.
It
was a sad moment when I walked out of the barn and he whinnied to me. I knew instantly something was wrong and when
I saw his shoulder it was confirmed. He touched many lives and was adored by all who met him. His memory will
live on in the stories we tell and my love for him will never die. He was my special horse. He was my Moose.
