Are horses capable of mourning the loss of a companion? The other day I witnessed something to lead me to believe that they do.
Here at Horspice there is a 5-acre fenced paddock we call “the track”. Inside that parcel is another fence line in an oval shape resembling a racetrack, hence the name. At one end of the track is an automatic waterer and on the other end is a feeder. The purpose of this arrangement is to facilitate movement of horses who suffer from joint ailments or other conditions and would benefit from the forced movement required to meet their daily nutritional and water intake requirements. Like the rest of us, the stretching of legs can radically alter the fitness and durability of our aging bodies.
In this track most recently were three horses, Taco, Touch and Twinkie. They shared a comradery as they wandered the track everyday from feed to water as a trio of friends, the three amigos as it were. Twinkie was the herd elder at 35 years old with Touch close behind at 32 years old. Taco is a relative newbie for Horspice in his mid-twenties. Don’t forget that EPH is mainly filled with equine geriatrics who have traded their jobs on the loading docks for being door greeters with blue vests. The two elder mares shared a unique sister-like bond who bickered as only family can. When they disagreed about who got to eat first, or where one should stand in the shade, or even who was just too close to the other (think: she’s touching me, she’s touching me) Touch was capable of a vocalization worthy to be recorded and used in a Jurassic Park movie. This lead mare guttural exhalation carried loud and far through the air and surely got her point across to Twinkie, whose typical response was to jog away in a huff, ears pinned, to create the necessary distance to satisfy Touch’s request to move. To hear this sound in a dense fog may result in the changing of underwear for a first-time listener.
Sadly though, this past week saw the passing of Twinkie, our little “Moose Baby” and energizer bunny who was the only horse on the property that we had purchased; we acquired her in our college days (very late 80’s) to be a partner for Buster, a horse who I had to pass the proverbial test to marry Charlene – if Buster didn’t like me I was probably headed for the curb. Luckily, Buster and I became fast friends, and he taught me so much about the magical nature of horses. But this brings us back to the tearful morning when Charlene discovered Twinkie unable to get up and regrettably admitting that her time on this earth was over. As the inevitable occurred, we supported her emotionally reassuring her of our love and gratitude for all the years and memories she generated for us to cling to. With tear-filled eyes, we walked away from Twinkie to gather our thoughts and as were about 50 feet away we heard that familiar grunt from Touch. We turned to see Touch standing over Twinkie’s lifeless body as she sniffed at her muzzle; she continued with two more of her signature vocalizations then lifted her head, looked directly at us, then walked away in silence. Even her hooves were respectfully quiet.
Naysayers will argue we’re reading too much into this and that our explanation is anthropomorphizing Touch’s response. The event was completely unexpected but eerily reminiscent of what you see at human funerals when people walk to the casket, pay their last respects, share a memory, say goodbye then walk away consumed by their own emotions of the moment.
All I can say for certain is that Twinkie was a remarkable being and she will be missed by people and horses alike.