Dear God,
When I get to the Pearly Gates, will there be someone to let me in, or will I have to try to work the latch with my nose?
If It Should Be
(author unknown)
If it should be that I grow weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep
Then you must do what must be done
For this last battle cannot be won
You will be sad, I understand
Don't let your grief then stay your hand
'For this day more than all the rest
Your love for me must stand the test
We've had so many happy years
What is to come can hold no fears.
You'd not want me to suffer so
The time has come, please let me go.
Take me where my needs they'll tend
And please stay with me until the end.
Hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time that you will see
The kindness that you did for me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering, I've been saved.
Please do not grieve it must be you
Who had this painful thing to do.
We've been so close, we two, these years.
Don't let your heart hold back its tears.
The Best Place to Bury a Horse
(author unknown)
If you bury him in this spot,
the secret of which you must already have,
he will come to you when you call
come to you over the far, dim pastures of death,
and though you ride other, living horses through life,
they shall not shy at him, nor resent his coming.
For he is yours and he belongs there.
People may scoff at you,
who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall,
who hear no nicker pitched too fine for insensitive ears.
People who may never really love a horse.
Smile at them then, for you shall know
some thing that is hidden from them, and which is well worth knowing.
The one place to bury a horse is in the heart of his master.
Don't Cry for the Horses
By Brenda Riley-Seymore
Don't cry for the horses
That life has set free
A million white horses
Forever to be
Don't cry for the horses
Now in God's hands
As they dance and they prance
To a heavenly band
They were ours as a gift
But never to keep
As they close their eyes
Forever to sleep
Their spirits unbound
On silver wings they fly
A million white horses
Against the blue sky
Look up into heaven
You'll see them above
The horses we lost
The horses we loved
Manes and tails flowing
They Gallop through time
They were never yours
They were never mine
Don't cry for the horses
They will be back someday
When our time has come
They will show us the way
On silver wings they will lift us
To the warmth of the sun
When our life is over
And eternity has begun
We will jump the sun
And dance over the moon
A Ballet of horses and riders
on the winds
to a heavenly tune
Do you hear that soft nicker
Close to your ear?
Don't cry for the horses
Love the ones that are here
Don't cry for the horses
Lift up your sad eyes
Can't you see them
As they fly by?
A million white horses
Free from hunger and pain
Their spirits set free
Until we ride again.
A man was riding his horse down a road, his dog padding along by their side. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that his horse and dog had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.
After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He nudged the horse toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"
"This is heaven, sir," the man answered.
"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.
"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."
The man gestured, and the gate began to open.
"Can my friends," gesturing downward towards his horse and dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept animals."
The man thought a moment and then turned his horse back toward the road and continued the way he had been going. After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.
"Excuse me!" he called to the reader. "Do you have any water?"
"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there" The man pointed to a place that couldn't be seen from outside the gate. "Come on in."
"How about my friends here?" the traveler asked.
"There should be a bowl and a bucket by the pump."
They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old fashioned hand pump with a bowl and a bucket beside it. The traveler filled the bowl and took a long drink himself, then gave some to the dog while he filled the bucket for his horse. When they all were satisfied, he led his horse back toward the man who was standing by the tree waiting for them, the dog following faithfully behind.
"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.
"This is heaven," was the answer.
"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was heaven, too."
"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell."
"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"
"No. I can see how you might think so, but we're just happy that they screen out the folks who'll leave their best friends behind"
A Christmas Fable
The old gray horse sidled up to the pasture fence with little dancing steps.
The place seemed familiar, yet somehow strange. The grass was greener than any
grass he'd ever seen, and when he looked
closely at the white paddock gate it had a kind of pearly sheen. and there was
another funny thing. A big, black cloud hovered just inside the gate. The cloud
wasn't up in the sky where it properly belonged. It was like a great puff of
black smoke rising from the grass.
Suddenly the cloud dissolved and revealed a horse. He was a small chestnut with
a blunt head and one white stocking and brownish hairs in his tail and mane.
The gray horse thought he had a kind of old
timely look to him.
"Hello, old gray horse," the chestnut from the black cloud said.
"Hey, that's a real good trick!" the gray horse exclaimed.
"Where'd you learn it?"
The chestnut disappeared into the cloud again, but emerged immediately.
"Learned it the day I was born," he replied, with a whinny that sounded like a
chuckle. "You see, I was born on April Fool's Day
and there was a total eclipse of the sun. So they named me Eclipse. I was
always playing tricks on people too. Used to kick my grooms and try to throw my
riders and I bit the auctioneer that sold me."
"My name is..." the old gray horse started to say politely, but the tricky
chestnut ducked in and out of his cloud and interrupted rudely.
"Native Dancer," he said. "I ought to know you. I'm your
great-great-great-great-great - I always lose count of the 'greats - but anyway,
you're a descendant of mine. almost everybody is, in fact.
The Thoroughbreds, that is."
"Are you the gatekeeper?" Native Dancer asked.
"Mostly," Eclipse replied. "I'm on duty whenever one of my descendants is
coming up. That's mostly so far as the Thoroughbreds go. Old Matchem has a few
left and he takes over when one's due. And
poor old Herod, he's posted here occasionally, but there's not many of his male
line that aren't here already."
"What is this place" Native Dancer asked. "I guess I'm kind of lost."
"The Green Place," Eclipse replied. "That's what it's called. The Green Place.
Most of the horses that get lost, come here. We have to send some back of
course."
"Why?" the Dancer asked.
"Because they don't belong here, that's why. Long before I came up there was
this fellow Bayard, for instance. He was a devil-horse. Belonged to an old
necromancer named Malagigi and he did the devil's
work. Helped that villain Aymon of Dordogne to triumph over Charlemagne, they
say.
And a wizard named Michael Scott had a big black beast who used to stomp his
feet and set al the bells of Paris ringing. He even caused the towers of the
palace to fall down one day.The Big Guy doesn't want that kind here. but we
have Jesse James's horse, and Dick Turpin's too. The Big Guy says they did
nothing wrong themselves. The were just faithful to their masters, and The Big
Guy thinks that's a virtue."
"Who's the Big Guy?" Native Dancer asked.
"You'll find out!" Eclipse answered airily. He lowered his muzzle and pushed
the gate open.
"You might as well come in. You understand you're on probation though. The Big
Guy makes his decisions about new arrivals every Christmas. Let's see, it's
November 16, the way you figure things down there. So you won't have long to
wait anyway."
"I'll bet The Big Guy is Man O' War" Native Dancer said as he moved inside and
gazed over the emerald green expanses that seemed to stretch into infinity.
Eclipse snorted. "Don't get smart, boy" he said. Then he added maliciously,
"You'd lose your bet too. the way a lot of people lost their bets on you at
Churchill Downs one day."
Native Dancer felt hurt, for his ancestor had touched a raw nerve. His lip
tremble a bit as he replied defensively, "That Derby was the only race I ever
lost."
"I never lost even one race," Eclipse said unsympathetically. So don't get smart
up here. The Big Guy doesn't want any smart-alecks in the Green Place.
Remember that."
Native Dancer was a sensitive sort. He felt as if his eyes were teary and he
hoped Eclipse didn't notice. "I won 21 out of 22, and Man O' War only won 20
out of 21" he declared. "And my son Kauai King won the Kentucky Derby."
"My sons won three Derbies at Epsom" Eclipse said. "Young Eclipse took the
second running and Saltram won the fourth and Sergeant won the fifth, and I'd
have won the bloomin' race myself, only they
didn't run it in my time. So quit bragging. Somebody's coming and they might
overhear you and tell The Big Guy, and that would be a mark against you."
A bay horse who seemed even more old-timey than Eclipse ambled up. "Is it my
time now?" he asked eagerly.
"Not yet, Herod," Eclipse answered in a kindly fashion. "Old Fig's on duty now.
One of his is on the way."
"Who's Old Fig?" Native Dancer asked. "I never heard of that one."
"There's a lot of things you never heard of, boy," Eclipse replied. "His real
name is Figure, but down there they called him Justin Morgan, after his owner.
Here he is now."
A very small, dark bay horse with a round barrel, tine feet, and furry fetlocks
came bustling up to the gate. "OK, OK, I'll take over," he said busily. "Where
is that boy? Can't stand tardiness. I've got
things to do. A load to pull, a field to plough, a race to run, a trot to trot.
No time to waste. Where is that boy?"
In the weeks that followed, The Dancer met hundreds, maybe thousands, of horses.
Some of them were famous, and some of them were his ancestors and a few of them
were his own sons and daughters.
He met a snorting white stallion named Bucephalus who had been approved for the
Green Place by The Big Guy even though he was rumored by some that he was cursed
by the deadly sin of pride because he had carried a conqueror named Alexander.
He met another gray horse who limped because he had stepped on a rusty nail back
home just before he became lost forever. His name was Traveller, and he was a
war-horse too, in the days when a man named General Lee had owned him. There
were other
soldier steeds, two of them descendants of the bustling little stallion they
called Old Fig up here. One was Phil Sheridan's black Rienzi and the other
horse called both Fancy and Little Sorrel who had been the mount of Stonewall
Jackson.
Native Dancer found Man O' War an amiable sort despite his proud aristocratic
bearing, and he grew especially fond of a bony old fellow named Exterminator,
who patiently answered all but one of his
questions. He asked the question of everyone: "Who is The Big Guy?"
And the answer was always the same: "Wait till Christmas."
He met Messenger and Hambletonian and Hindoo. He met horses that had dared the
dreadful fences of the Grand National. He met a horse who stared blindly into
the emerald darkness. His name was
Lexington. He met horses who had pulled circus wagons and horses who had pulled
brewers' trucks and horses who had drawn man's ploughs over the fields of earth,
and he met others who had been the mounts of kings and captains.
Always the answer to his question was the same: "Wait till Christmas."
Eclipse fussed over him and kept a watchful eye on his behavior and said he
neighed too much and asked too many questions. Eclipse could not stand the
thought of The Big Guy banishing one of his descendants from the Green Place.
And Native Dancer did not wish to leave. He doubted he could ever find his way
to Maryland again if The Big Guy disapproved of him. And the Green Place was
very pleasant in all respects. The grass was lush and he met so many
interesting horses. Back home he had sometimes been troubled by nightmares, for
a Dark Star haunted his dreams, but now he slept peacefully and rarely
remembered the Derby he had lost. He became nervous though, as the weeks went by
and the stars grew brighter.
And finally it was time. On a night when the skies burned with starlight all
the horses gathered as near as possible to a little hillock of the vast paddock.
There were hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of them, a murmuring and
expectant throng that seemed to stretch over the emerald grass beneath the
diamonds in the heavens.
Eclipse was very tense. He hovered over Native Dancer, whispering, "Look your
best now. Be quiet and humble. The Big Guy will be here any minute."
Suddenly the vast throng was silent as the stars themselves.
The Big Guy stood on the hillock in a blinding blaze of starlight, and Native
Dancer could barely contain himself. He choked back a whinny of derision and
whispered to Eclipse, "Is he The Big Guy?
He's so little! And he's not even a horse! What did he ever do?"
Eclipse whispered, "He's a donkey. He carried a woman heavy with child to a
small town on another night when the stars were bright.
"It was a long, long time ago."
Twas The Night Before Christmas
author unknown
T'was the night before Christmas,
And all through the barn,
All the creatures were sleeping,
All safe, snug and warm.
The feed pails were hung
By the stall doors with care,
In the hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there.
The ponies were nestled
All warm in there beds,
While visions of carrot cakes
Danced through their heads.
The Morgans, the Thoroughbreds
And even the Apps,
The jumpers and hunters were
All taking naps.
When out in the paddock
There arose such a clatter
I awoke in my stall
To see what was the matter.
I moved to the window
Quick as I could
To see where the noise
Came from, if I could.
The sight I beheld
As I gazed out that night
Was a beautiful horse
All whiter than white.
He wore a red blanket
So nice to behold,
His hooves how they sparkled
All glittery-gold.
With swift certain motions
To our barn he came,
And silvery moonlight
Danced from his mane.
More rapid than racers
His hoofbeats they came,
And he neighed and he snorted
And called us by name.
He was our Christmas,
A ghost-horse of white,
Who has come to all horses,
Since that one special night.
Who served man so well,
Especially those with whom
A baby did dwell.
For those special horses
who shared stable and stall,
To give comfort and warmth
To the Savior of us all.
Now thinking of them,
He entered the door,
To distribute among us
His gifts and more.
Down the aisle he came
His hoofbeats so light,
And he stopped by each stall
In our stable that night.
Gifts he did give
To all in our barn,
More heart or more courage,
Or to be free from harm.
He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work,
And he filled all the feed pails
Then turned with a jerk.
And nickering softly
On gold hooves so bright,
And giving a nod
He went into the night.
And I heard him neigh
As he went out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all,
And to all a Good Ni-i-i-i-ight!