June 12th. A day I will never forget. I grew up a horse-crazy kid, who, unfortunately, lived in the cities, nowhere near horses. I spent many summers at horse camps, and when we finally moved further out to the country, my dream came true the day my mother signed me up for riding lessons. I took many lessons and worked at many barns, then finally, June 12th, 1999, my dream came true. Roy, a seven year old quarter horse, had become my life and passion. Fortuna Farm, the place I took lessons at, bought him as a school horse, and I got to ride him twice a week. He stood sixteen hands tall, and had a deep chestnut coat that shone a deep red in the summertime and autumn. His face was accentuated with a lopsided star that stretched in a narrow strip down his face, ending with a pink snip between his dark gray nostrils. His large brown eyes were kind, yet his face was worried. Having many illnesses as a child, life had been rough growing up. Roy had all the classic signs of abuse in his life, along with arthritis at a young age, a rough start for a young horse. There was a special understanding that we would often share, a bond that seemed to stretch beyond our minds and hearts and go directly into our spirits. I knew what kind of day Roy was having before I even could drive out to the barn where he was boarded. We had many trials and tribulations together. I worked on making him fit and balanced so we could work on some dressage tests. I spent many hours on trails, just bonding with him and enjoying him. In March, we had to deal with a lot lameness problems, and so we went through a lot of horse medication to keep him free of pain. On June 12th, 2000, I was working my first day as a riding instructor at YMCA Day Camp Manitou, the place that got me hooked on horses in the first place. I felt uneasy all day, and couldnt put my finger on it. I stayed late with the staff at camp to work on lesson plans for the summer. When I arrived home from camp, my mom met me at the door, saying we had to go see Roy, my instructor had called saying he was ill. My mother told me he had colic, and knowing the disease to sometimes be lethal, I broke down in tears as my mother drove me to the farm. As soon as I got to Fortuna, I jumped out of the car and raced to Roy. My instructor was holding him while the vet was examining him, I smiled as he nickered his low greeting to me. The vet explained that it was minor colic, and that he will probably be okay within the next hour or so. I sat, and waited. Nothing happened. I phoned the vet again, and she said there was nothing she could do if she came back out, and to put him in the indoor arena so he could lie down without getting stuck as he would in his stall. As soon as I let him go in the arena he laid down in the soft footing in front of the doorway where the breeze was coming in. I sat down near his head and stroked his clammy neck for the next few hours. Cold, sticky sweat lathered his neck and he lay moaning. My instructors son, Bobby, who is around my same age, convinced me to go home for the night, and that he would come check on him in the middle of the night and call if there was any change. The next morning, Roy stood in the corner of the arena, the footing all messed up from where he had been rolling, and the boards kicked out from him trying to put his feet up on the wall in the middle of the night. He made an attempt to greet me as I walked in the arena, but a moan came out instead. He was no better. Another vet came out to look at him, and referred us to the University of Minnesota Large Animal Hospital immediately. Bobby trailered him over to the hospital with us and helped us bring him into the horse intensive care room. After many tests and examinations, it was determined that this "minor colic" was life threatening and needed surgery, or to just put him out of his misery. Since surgery is so hard on horses, I decided long ago if faced with the situation, that I would have him put down humanely. Our good-byes were said. I couldnt think of anything special enough to say to him, so I just sat with him for an hour with my arms around his neck, the way I always did. When I left the room for the last time, all I could say was "see you later, boy, goodnight" the way I always said goodnight to him. The vet who was taking care of him cut some of his mane and tail and gave them to me to keep. Since Roy was at the University, they used him as a teaching case, they found massive amounts of bacteria and infection, a hole in his esophagus, along with eighteen inches of dead bowel. In other words, he was a very sick horses. Horses as sick as he was usually acted out by thrashing around and showing their pain, the vets all said that Roy was a very brave horse, since he acted so normal. This is what lead all the vets to believe he was "going to be okay," because he acted pretty normal. I was proud of Roy in everything that he did. He even made me proud that he died so courageous. I mourn the lost of my best companion, and I owe him so much, he gave so much extra spark in happiness in this crazy life. He made my junior year in high school bearable, and gave me the opportunity to have that extra "soul sharing" with another being. Most would say he was just a plain horse, but he was much more than that to me. He was my life, for a whole year. There is a void that I know can never be filled again, but I have taken all I have learned from my dearest Roy and put it to work on a young paint mare named Gracie. I am so very lucky to have him for the time I did, although it was only for a year. Roy, youll always be my wonder horse.