Natalie hugged both their legs and hid her tiny face between them.
My twelve-year-old grandson, Sean, asked why horses don’t live as long as people. The easy answer is, “Well, they just don’t.” But he wanted some- thing more than that. He needed something more. Maybe I needed to say something more. After a while, I added, “It is my belief that animals, particularly horses, are on the earth to bring us humans a message. The message is that it doesn’t matter how long you live but how you live. Maybe their shorter lives are to tell us to live every moment as if it were our last because some day it will be. Perhaps the message is to live and love every day. Or is their shorter lives a guarantee that we humans get to wit- ness what it feels like to lose life while we still have some of ours yet to live? Trying to dry his eyes with his shirttail and be a brave man, he looked embarrassed that he had somehow shown weakness. Kneeling down in the now quiet arena, I took his hands in one of mine. With the other hand, I lifted his small face until his eyes met mine. He was surprised to see my tears that were beginning to run down my cheek. I said, “Do not hide your tears, son. There are times in life where tears are appropriate for any one…any man…and this is one of them.”
It began to look as though they were going to remove Ravel’s remains with a chain and tractor until someone with better sense arranged for a large plywood slab to be obtained and his massive, still body was moved onto it. He was lifted from the ground, covered, and left the arena for the final time like the champion he was and with the dignity he so richly deserved. The next day a memorial service was held for Ravel. It was a beautiful affair befitting Ravel’s elegance. The flower wreath was laid where he fell and his eulogy recited. Natalie is still too young to understand but not Sean. He cried again and held my hand but when he saw my face, he was shocked. He asked, “Grandpa why are you smiling? Why aren’t you crying? This is so sad.” Looking at his young innocent face I replied, “I am smiling because for, just a little while, we had him. Had his grace, shared his energy, mar- veled at his talent, and respected his integrity. To want more would only be selfish. After all he gave us all he had to give.” He faked a small smile in return and at some level knew what I was trying to say.
On the following morning, I returned to the arena, alone. Something in the way I feel about horses needed to be voiced and I could only summon the courage to do so alone. I had no idea of the words I wanted to say. The lights in South Point’s arena have now been dimmed and the stands have fallen silent. The eventors have gone with their horses to another event, another show. The silence in this horse coliseum was overwhelm- ing. Standing where we had sat the evening he left us, I thought and thought but in the end could only think of two words to say. “Thanks Champ”. And I tried to smile. To do less would dishonor an honorable life. As I smiled, I then knew what all those that love horses know. Ravel is still there performing and dancing…dancing in the dark… while illuminating our souls and spirit. Thanks Ravel. Thanks Champ.
WT
Top - Ravel performs a pas-de-deux with another Andalusian. Center - Ravel bows to the audience.
Bottom - The author, Larry Palmer, and his two grandchildren, Sean and Natalie.
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