(This post is from a story I wrote about my beloved Tomahawk Red. It was originally published in Western North Carolina Woman magazine).

When I was three years old I balked at walking down the aisle as the flower girl in my cousin’s wedding.  I was terrified at the prospect of being the center of attention in such a large event.  My mom finally promised me anything I wanted if I would take those tiny steps from the back of the church to the altar.  She got her wish and I got mine.

My red cowgirl outfit was a child’s dream come true.  The red and white checked shirt, red vest, boots and hat made me feel like a cowgirl, as I rode for hours on my rocking horse Champ.  It was not until many years later that my dream of being a real cowgirl manifested with a new best friend, Tomahawk Red.

When I was fourteen years old my dad purchased a young Appaloosa colt.  Since Tommy was too young to ride, I worked with him every day in our backyard.  We became great friends as I spent every spare hour with him.  He became a regular visitor to our patio, much to my mom’s dismay.  She lived in terror of him getting spooked and shattering her sliding glass door.

We had a large fenced yard so often Tommy would be allowed to graze in the yard.  He would always find his way to our patio and step onto the concrete slab so that he could peer into our family room from the large glass door.  I begged my parents to let him come in the house, but to their credit and good judgment, Tommy remained an outdoor horse.

My father was seriously ill when he paid the $300 for Tommy.  Dad was not able to do much with me due to his debilitating illness that left him in a wheelchair, but he would spend time watching me work with Tommy from the patio or he would go with me to Appaloosa club meetings and shows.  Tommy became a link between my father and me that bridged the distance teenage attitudes and physical illness creates between parents and their maturing children.

When Tommy became old enough to ride I put the saddle on him and rode him.  It was not a big deal and there was no ‘breaking’ of his spirit as some horses experience when learning to carry a human on their back.  Tommy and I were so connected, the first time I sat on his back was a non-event for him.  It was just the next logical step in our relationship.

Every day after school I would ride Tommy.  We would journey through open fields and dirt roads of coastal Alabama.  He was my best friend, my therapist and the love of my life.  I loved the smell of his sweat and the feel of his warm breath on my face as we kissed, nose to nose.  Without hesitation I can say that Tomahawk Red was my first love.

One night, after flooding rains had soaked the land for days, our stable began to flood.  Our five horses decided to come to the stable rather than wait out the flood in the higher pasture.  In the middle of the night, my younger brother and I had to wade into chest deep water to unlatch the stable door so the horses could come into our backyard to safety.  I know we saved our horses lives that night but in so many ways Tommy saved my life every day.

Expressing my feelings about my father’s illness never happened until many years later in therapy, but the hours spent with Tommy helped me stay open to experience the world and life as a young woman.  Tommy carried me and my emotional pain for many years.  I credit him with helping me stay sane as a teenager.  And for keeping me out of typical teenage trouble.

Dad never saw me graduate from college or never met my daughter.  His disease claimed his life when he was only 43 years old.  But my friend Tommy knew of the milestones in my life.  He met my daughter and introduced her to the smell of horse sweat and sweet, horse breath.  He understood the demands of motherhood, a career and a marital relationship.

After us kids left the house and loss interest in riding, all the horses were sold except for Tommy.  How could I sell my best friend?  Instead, I chose to retire him and let him live his life free and easy among the cows on my grandfather’s farm.  I did not see Tommy so much after adulthood grabbed me, but I continued to love him and hold a special place for him in my heart.

When he was almost twenty years old I got a call from my mom about Tommy.  Something was wrong.  I called the vet and met him at the farm.  The diagnosis was not good and I knew the end was near.  The decision I faced was horrible.  How could I choose to kill my best friend, my first love?

I chose to spend the night with Tommy and ask him what he wanted.  He had to be a part of the decision-making process.  As he lay on the grass, grunting from pain, I rubbed him, sang to him and thanked him for many years of friendship and love.  When dawn arrived the choice was clear.

I stayed with Tommy as the vet administered the doses of drugs that would end his physical life.  I knelt on the ground and felt his last breath as it blew warm against my face.  Tears fell against his beautiful spots as I stroked his strong neck.  Grief ripped through my body as I said goodbye to my loyal friend.

But Tommy was not the only one for whom I grieved.  Finally, after many years of being emotionally shut down, sadness over my dad’s death was freed from its dark hold on my life.  I never realized how my father’s love blanketed me through the relationship between Tommy and me.

Tommy taught me how to be strong as a horsewoman.  He modeled loyalty and commitment in relationship and most of all, Tommy taught me how to love wholly and completely with my entire self.

As I walked away from his beautiful brown and white spotted body, I gazed into the sky.  I felt a rush of warm wind as it carried his spirit onward, free to run amongst the wild horses who never knew illness or pain and who dwelled in the eternal fire of unconditional love.  I think I saw my father there, riding his old horse, Prince.  They were all free and happy.