If Tres can get over it, I believe I can too. And as she is, so must I. It is interesting to see her sadness and loneliness and healing. I turned her out with her heard so that she would not be alone. She is with her first born, Canella, and her granddaughter, Bayjura, among the others. She spent the first two days still looking and calling for her baby. Flying Crow, the stallion, stayed near her, calmly and quietly. I believe he understood the loss as well. He would not leave her as the others wandered off. Tres took great comfort from him. We watch her stand near him, just to be with him, just to not be so alone. He is her chosen partner and comfort. And he somehow knows it is his job, and appreciates his position. For a stallion, being the preferred companion of the boss mare has its perks. It means he gets to eat by her, so gets to eat first, rather than his usual position of allowing all to be fed before him, as he stands backwards and behind his herd, waiting for me to bring him his food last. But there is far more to it than food. With all his mares, we know none are more special to him than Tres. When we ride one or the other, then turn them out together again, they run towards each other in this brilliant display of affection. Even when they have just been separated for an hour or two.
Yesterday, I found myself keeping busy feeling sorry for myself, but doing little else. I have never accepted that well. I briefly reflected on some of the hard times I have been through, and how I have been able to get over them all. I have tried, taken risks, chosen to take that bumpy path off the main road. Always. As such, I have had my share of thrills and spills. It will not keep me from trying, from striving, from continually reaching for more. It will not turn me back to jump on that paved road, I promise you that.
We can not get slapped down if we do not stand up. I will still stand up. As my vet wrote me last night, only those that have, lose.