United States Eventing Association

When you’re eight years old, you should be able to ride your pony, your best friend, and not worry about tomorrow, the world’s problems, or mortality. On your pony, you’re the king of the world – the lord of all you survey. It doesn’t matter if others are older or stronger or bigger – you’re seven feet tall on your pony, you can even look Shaq straight in the eye.

Eight-year-old Grant was riding Fluff with his mom and sister on Friday when Fluff trembled and fell dead. Hugging his best friend’s body, he tearfully asked “Why.” When the pony was buried, he asked “Why?” Sitting on the pony’s grave late that night, he asked “Why?” When he called me the next morning to ask “Why,” none of my adult reasons seemed good enough to share. He did take some comfort from the story that I had lost the first horse that I’d ever foaled that same way, when she was 17; Fluff was 20. Shared pain helps, I guess, to assure us that we’re not alone.

Fluff was Grant’s best friend. Grant competed in his first show last year (with a little help from Mom) with Fluff and was a star. In only 18 months he had gone from fearful to confident--that’s the bond we all cherish as horsemen, having a partnership with another living being can give that confidence we’ve all felt when riding a particularly special partner. And then that partner is lost suddenly and in a very traumatic manner.

Mom e-mailed us: “We came home last night and planted flowers on his grave. Grant came inside with me, then disappeared; I found him laying beside Fluff's grave crying again. Why is it always ones we're attached to? Why not the ones we WANT to sell, or find new homes for? Not that I wish harm on any of them, but Grant's best friend???”

There are some things in this world that are simply unacceptable, and this was one of them. Not long after dawn on Saturday, Megan and Quin hit the road with the horse trailer on a quest--they vowed not to return without a pony. They covered much of Ohio and Indiana in the next 10 hours seeking the holy grail. Megan called me at 6:30 p.m. and said, “We’re crossing the Ohio River for the sixth time today. We don’t need to cross it again.” They not only had found a pony, but they had found THE pony – a beautiful bright chestnut gelding with a snowcap blanket and socks. Kind, gentle, 4-H experienced; 13’3” hands, small enough for Grant but big enough for a long, long time. And he was exactly Grant’s age, 8 years old, for a special long term friendship.

When Megan and Quin delivered him on Saturday night, I doubt there was a dry eye on Wind Ridge Farm--except for Grant’s! I had warned Megan that frequently a child will initially reject the replacement, but not this time. This was a match made in heaven and both boy and pony knew it--perhaps the immediate bond helps us in part to answer “Why?”


Grant took charge, hugged and kissed him, took him to his stall, and took him to Fluff’s grave to introduce him. After the girls left, Grant’s mom e-mailed “Grant sat next to me on the sofa last night and "tried" to muster up some tears. He whispered, "it's a miracle, a miracle blessing." I had to drag him out of the barn at 9 last night and he went to Fluff's grave and sat down to tell him about the new pony. He will still grieve for a while, but has someone to look forward to now. Someone who is full of baby carrots and groomed twice already.”

Grant has one more responsibility. “Somehow” no one had ever named the pony, so Grant will have to decide what his name should be!

Megan got home about 11:30 p.m. crawled into bed, and the foal alert went off at 12:20. Rushing into her clothes, she drove to the barn to see a beautiful baby being born.

Another night with no sleep but perhaps another answer to “Why” as a new young life begins on the heels of one that ended. Who knows, maybe we’ll call her “Fluff.”

Photos courtesy of Team CEO Eventing