Goodbye, dear friend.

Yesterday I said goodbye to Westpoint, my child, my partner, my friend. To bond with a wild 1-ton animal is an incredible experience. To gain their trust, and to gain the trust of West, especially, was something unforgettable.

I've been around horses my entire life and my first athletic career was with them. No success was ever singularly my own, but that of us as a team. First with Mimi, then Cass and Bulletproof and later with West.

He came into my life as I was rising up thru the levels of Dressage competition. In my sophomore year of college, we decided as a family and with my coaches, it was time for a more advanced horse, one that could compete at the top levels of dressage. I tried many horses and didn't feel the "spark" with any of them. Then, one winter day, a family friend and judge called and said she had the perfect horse. She knew about my background as an eventing rider, and she said she "respected my full abandon as a rider".

The horse she spoke of was older, 18 at the time, but he was full of piss and vinegar. He knew it all and is what we call in the riding world as a "schoolmaster". He knew too much, in a way, including just how big he was, and he easily intimidated and broke many riders. At an early age, he was flown over from Germany. A purebred Oldenburg. You can see a photo of his branding below. An "O" with a crown over it. Some of the best riders in the world, including 3 Olympians rode West and the greatest compliment I ever got was from one of them we ran into at a competition. She marveled that it was THE Westpoint in front of her and proceeded to tell me that he reduced her to a small child. Here, one of the best riders in the world told me about how she couldn't even get him to move forward - she kicked, she yelled, she coaxed, and he would not budge.

A cold winter day, I came down from Boston to take a test-ride. I polished my boots, put on my britches and went thru the preparation ritual, hoping this would be "the one".

When we arrived at the farm, Beth (the judge and broker of sorts) was there and told us to be careful. His last owner was inexperienced and had tried to ride him at lower levels just to win - it backfired, he was bored and essentially terrorized the women to such an extent that she took off his shoes and turned him out to pasture. Beth warned us that he was a bully, would bite and didn't like anyone in his space or his stall. In my families experience, when a horse behaves that way, it is for a reason. They are not "naturally" like that - someone has made them that way.

When we walked in the barn, I saw this enormous black beast, a single white star-like marking on his forehead. His ears immediately pricked forward, watching, listening and inviting me in. I walked right up to him and brought my heart to his, resting my head in the crease of where his thick neck met the muscle of his shoulder. We stayed this way for a while and then he wrapped his head and neck around me in a hug. I knew at that moment we were meant to be. This was my mount, this would be my friend, my trusted confidant. I groomed and tacked him up (not customary when you try a horse as usually you arrive and the horse is tacked up) and we began the bonding ritual. Once I got on his back, I knew I was in heaven. He had not been ridden for months, and yet, it was as if he hadn't lost any fitness. It was incredible and our silent conversation was like one old friends have. We just flowed together, a perfect team already. He was a showoff and I loved it.

I remember looking over at my mom and she just smiled and nodded. Here I was this tiny 5'1" person on a huge horse, and yet we fit.

The second time we went back for a test ride, we brought the vet for the final check-up. He did a heart-rate test, similar to what runners and triathletes would do. Needless to say, he was a miracle horse from the beginning. The vet couldn't believe how good a shape he was in!

The deal closed shortly after and we picked him up. Since I was away in Boston and could only return to ride on weekends, we arranged to have West stay at my Trainer's barn. A beautiful new facility with 24/7 care. Problem was, they were obsessed with sweeping every 10 minutes. It became dusty and West developed breathing problems, struggling and in bad shape. Moving him to my family's barn, he was instantly better. We did find out later that he had a hay allergy and altered his food. Of course, no matter what, he'd always sneak bites of hay.

My babaganoush, as I'd come to call him (among other nicknames) was mischievous as all get out. He could escape from anywhere, take off blankets and leg wraps, undo difficult snaps and even the intricate stall doors. Many times we'd be at horse shoes and arrive to notes plastered on his door that he had escaped (numerous times) during the night.

More than anything, he loved to be babied. He loved all the attention, all the time. If you went to walk away from him, he'd make a nasty face and try to grab a piece of your clothing to pull you back to him. He towered over the other horses in our barn and at shows and yet all he wanted was to lower his head, his nose on my thighs, my torso resting along the length of his face with my head resting between his ears, arms wrapping around his head. We'd snuggle like this often, and all he wanted to hear was that I loved him and that he was little.

Every other horse I've owned or ridden has needed a break from work. With little Casanova, we would take a lesson or work one day and have a fun trail ride the next. Westpoint just wanted to work. And work hard. He was not satisfied with a 20-minute recovery workout. He wanted a good hour of warm-up, work and cool down. He thrived on it. Each day, we'd start our silent conversation the same way. How is my body feeling? How is your body feeling? What do you think about moving this way? Should we work on the basics today? Should we go for broke, put on some music and just dance?

One hot summer night, I took West out. It was a brutally hot day and so I waited until it was dark to ride. I turned on our ring lights at the farm and we began our workout. One of the neighbors was out for a late walk and standing in the darkness, took in our fun. He later told me it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen - horse and rider moving as one, dancing in the moonlight. This brilliant, shiny black horse and his rider, seamlessly weaving together movements.

I loved riding West, he made me work for everything, but that horse made me feel like a million bucks. I felt regal and confident as soon as I sat on his back and his antics, while scaring other riders, only made me laugh with delight. After cruising over jumps at 40 mph on the back of an eventing horse, a dressage horse getting worked up was just entertaining.

The difficulty with West, was that he anticipated movements and wanted to constantly show off. If we were supposed to do 3-tempi changes (where you change the canter lead every 3 strides), he'd do 2-tempi changes.

We came home with championships and blue ribbons wherever we went and no one could believe his age - they all thought I was riding a young horse.

In September, my Grandmother turns 92. It was at her 90th birthday party that I had my last ride on West. We performed my newest musical freestyle for Intermediare I, in anticipation of competing the following year. We used a combination of Nina Simone's "Feelin' Good" and "Fever". I put on my FEI competition attire, my beaver skin/fur tophat, shadbelly coat, tie and pin, white britches and gloves. West wore his double bridle and we danced to the music. We did full pirouettes, double and single tempi changes and every movement under the sun.

A few days later, West came up lame. We must have had 4 different vets check him out and no one could find out what was wrong or what had happened. As a result of the injury, he developed problems in his hooves. The blood flow was limited and he foundered. His coffin bones began to rotate and move lower, eventually they would go thru the soles of his hooves. With special shoeing, massage and other treatments, we made him comfortable and for a while, halted the progress of further damage. The Vet and Farrier commented that he was a miracle of modern science. Many days, we'd arrive to see him running around in the field, perfectly sound. On good days, I'd tack walk him and we'd meander the fields behind the farm. On bad days, we'd simply spend time together. I'd dote over him, feed him treats and we'd just wait until it passed.

At the beginning of last week, he was looking great, his new shoes had even more padding and he was in great spirits, as usual. Then, suddenly, like a storm coming over the horizon, he took a turn for the worst. He could no longer bear weight on his left front leg and was putting such extreme pressure on his hind end and right front leg, it was only a matter of time before he'd collapse. Pain killers were doing nothing and the next day, the vet came out and told us it was time.

I think part of me was in denial. I didn't care if I could ever compete on him again, or even ride, I just wanted him with me. We took care of each other. He became a part of me and me a part of him. Seeing him in pain was awful. To go from being the envy of all, to a frame reduced to suffering was never what I wanted. If he was happy and comfortable, that's what mattered and then here we were, the pain would only get worse and I couldn't bear to see him deteriorate and lose that light in his eyes. The vet gave him a stronger pain killer and I spent the day with him. I gave him a long bath and we played in the water - one of his favorite activities. He drank from the hose and in classic fashion, grabbed it from me and sprayed me with it. I trimmed his whiskers, mane, tail and cleaned up his legs just like I did before we went to competitions. He loved every second.

I think he knew what was happening as did the other horses at the barn. Even though he was always turned out alone and really, didn't like the company of other horses (and he hated small animals and children), he went around to each horse, or they came to him as if to say a final goodbye.

For hours, he stood with Shiney, Cass and Red - they'd nuzzle each other and then stand scratching one another's whithers. It was a beautiful site and I grabbed my camera to take a few pictures of my boys together.

That night, West was not up for going back in the barn, so I put some water out and let him stay in the courtyard of the barn. The next morning we arrived and Mr. Mischievous had one last night of fun - the haybales were picked up and placed around the barn, ribbons and halters were strewn about and every last sunflower I planted was torn out of the ground. As my Mom would later say, "If he wasn't going to get to see them bloom, no one was". And it was perfectly fitting. He knew he wouldn't get in trouble and so he had one last hurrah. It made me beyond happy, seeing his night of debauchery. He then spent the morning in Merci's stall - a bright stall with lots of windows next to Redeemer. I came early and groomed him, gave him tons of treats and we just snuggled in our way, my torso resting on his enormous head.

When it was time, we walked out together. Him on my right as is customary when leading horses. As riders, we do this with our mounts to show them our respect - they walk to our right to show that no one is of greater importance, no one is more trusted, valued or treasured. We give them our trust and they give us theirs, along with service and devotion. As we walked out, I recited the horse's prayer, which we have posted in our barn. I told him I loved him, that he taught me so much, he taught me about parts of myself I didn't know existed and that surely he would be the best looking horse in heaven. As we stood in the rain, he kissed me, I stroked his face and he lowered his head as if to say, "I'm ready".

The vet gave him the injection and he slowly lowered to the ground, I curled next to him and just let the tears come. "Momma loves you, Baba" I kept saying. I held on and stroked his face long after he was gone and kissed his beautiful star on the center of his forehead one last time.

He was one tough cookie and I was closer to him than I've ever been to a human. To connect with a horse is something people have been doing for thousands of years and yet it is still one of the most profound experiences.

I will always love West and think of him fondly. His heart, his determination and his fun-loving attitude. You work with what you've got and you make it great. And I will West, for you.