It was the Summer after my Freshman year in High School, when my family moved from East Tennessee to West Tennessee. I did not want to move, after all I had everything there that I had ever wanted. I had been taking Dressage lessons for four years, I had good friends, and was looking forward to my sophomore year at my current school. Moving would mean I had to give up all that I had worked for at Crystal Heart Acers. But it had to be done, so we (my brother, sister, mother, and father) moved to West Tennessee.
I immediately started looking for somewhere to ride, people looked at a Dressage saddle (or any English saddle for that matter) as if it were a foreign object in which they had never seen (perhaps because they hadn't). So I rode for a barn that bred paint horses. That only lasted for a few weeks, the owners seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth.
My sophomore year began, and I was the new girl. But evidently I was stuck-up due to the fact I was not willing to sit in a corner and hide my face. I celebrated my Sweet Sixteen alone with my family, because friends were hard to come-by. I often came home from school and went to my room and cried.
The middle of my sophomore year I began working at McDonalds and made a few friends. None with the pure love of horses that I had, but at least I was not alone all the time. You see, when we moved we were supposed to end up with some land so that daddy could buy me a horse. At least that is what the original idea was. No, it was not the REASON we moved, but it didn’t happen. We moved into a gaited community, where any type of farm animal was not aloud.
It was now the end of my sophomore year and I pushed my life into the internet where I could talk to my 'horsey' friends back 'home'. A couple of years before we left, I made a posting on a horse classified (in hopes that daddy would buy me a horse of my own) saying that I was looking for a 'spirited, green broke, mare or gelding'. I wanted a horse I could ride, but that was not a push button. I wanted a horse that would give me a challenge when I asked for it. Just when it seemed that my hopes to have my own horse, or to ever compete again was dashed, I receive an E-Mail. 'I may have the perfect horse for you' read the subject heading.
I figured it was SPAM, but opened it anyway. A lady had looked at my positing of nearly three and a half years before and had an Arabian Gelding for sale. KSH Cyrgai was his name, and Endurance was his game. 'Surge' was an Endurance horse and this lady was ready to sell him. I didn’t ride endurance, never had, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be 'retrained'.
Daddy was not ready to buy me a horse, so Surge's owner and I came to an agreement that I would 'lease to own'! I could make payments on my dream come true! Daddy was weary to say ‘ok’, but he did agree. Surge was to be mine, mine to pay for, mine to feed, and mine to pay vet and farrier bills for. I was 16 years old, and ready to buy a horse before I even thought about buying a car.
A trailer in tow Lance, my boyfriend (now my husband), my mother, sister, brother, and I traveled the 70 or so miles to see him. As we pulled into the driveway, I saw a spirited Dark (almost mahogany colored) Bay Arabian, head high, tail flagged, moving at an extremely extended trot through a pasture to our right. 'Wow' I said, looking at Lance. 'I hope that is him'. Surge came directly to the fence as we got closer looking wearily at the trailer, wondering if there was a new comer.
His owner haltered him, and tied him outside a stall inside the barn. I groomed and saddled him. Picking up his feet, poking his sides, none of which he cared about. He had impeccable ground manners. That is where the manners ended! As I lifted my foot into the stirrup, he sidestepped. When I got mounted and asked for a walk, he threw his head in the air and jigged. The Trot? His trot was one of two paces, the jig, or extremely extended. I asked for a canter, but I got a faster trot, a buck, and then a couple strides of an unbalanced canter. HE WAS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED!
We loaded him up that day and took him to an arranged pasture a few miles outside of the gates where we lived. I sat with him that night watching him trot around the pasture wondering where he was. I could not afford a saddle or any tack (although I had a bridle that I had bought for the horse I rode 'back home'). So we rode bareback. There were six gates that led into his pasture, and out of other fields. Surge could open four of them. He was lonely, so I moved him where we could do real training, and he could be part of a herd. I spent every minute that I could with him even if it was just sitting in his stall while he slept.
After a few years and a few moves, he was at home. Lance and I married, and had 18 Acers for our Four horses (Surge, Fancy, Champaign, and Tequila). I had exactly what I had always wanted. But everyone has to realize that when you have reached the climax of a story, there had to be a downgrade. At least that’s what we were taught in school.
November 23rd 2004 Surge did not come up for breakfast. It was no big deal, because he did it all the time. When dinner time came and I still had not seen him I asked Lance and one of his friends to go and look for him. I stayed in the house. When Lance returned, he was alone. 'Where is Brad?' I asked. Lance just looked at me. 'Did you find Surge?' Lance just looked at me. I didn’t need to ask any more questions. Lance asked if I wanted to go see him, but I didn’t think I could handle it.
The next morning I went on a hike, to look for what was left of my best friend. The one who, when I had no one else, was always there to lend a shoulder to cry on. I found Fancy, she was standing still head high and very alert, she dared anyone to come close. When she saw me, she lowered her head, and nickered at me. As I got closer, I saw what she was guarding. There he laid, my best friend. I looked him over, and I wish I could say he looked peaceful, but he didn’t. He had suffered. I fell to my knees beside him and cried for hours, Fancy again stood guard. I startled her when I yelled at her. 'Why didn’t you come get me?! If you cared so much about him, why didn’t you come tell me he was in pain?!' She stood there and let me vent my sadness and anger of losing my friend. And then like a best friend she reached her soft muzzle out to me, and she lent me her shoulder, mane, and neck to cry on. And cry I did until there were no tears left.
He was shot, allegedly by a hunter. An accident. But I could not stand-by and let another 'accident' like this happen. I called a friend at my vet’s clinic, and she referred me to someone at the local newspaper, who asked me to come in to tell her the story and bring some pictures. That week Surge made the front page of the BOLIVAR BULLETIN. I wanted hunters to be more careful. Maybe it was an accident, maybe Surge scared off a deer and the hunter got mad. I don’t know, and will never know. But what I do know is that Surge was my best friend, and did not deserve to die at eight years old.
July 4th 2005, I bought a QH yearling colt. Tango is my new friend. Day by day the pain of my loss gets less. Tango does not have Surges spirited ways about him, but he is a lover none the less. He will never take Surges place in my heart. However, he is working on making his very own spot. RIP My baby boy, you will never be forgotten. I will see you again, on Rainbow Bridge.
Cassandra D Doyle