Friends,
I’ve been struggling a little with how to start this post. I know what I want to say, but I feel like I have to dig deep to figure out how.
On February 5th, our 13 Hands community suffered a tremendous loss when Hitch, Equine Mayor of the Farm, passed away. His absence has loomed large, like his presence did when he roamed the property greeting visitors, hanging with chickens, and being his goofy self. For me, arriving at the rescue the first time after he died was so odd. The staff and volunteers were quiet, contemplative, somber. The only way I can describe it is that the farm’s energy had been drained.
And it wasn’t just the caretakers who felt it. Taylor, one of our trainers, noted that a mini mare who’d been making progress with her training took some steps backwards after Hitch suffered his accident. The mare is a sensitive soul, and although she didn’t witness Hitch’s fall, it became clear that she felt a shift when he passed away. Other rescues became subdued, as they too processed the farm’s loss internally.
As many of you know, for humans and animals alike, grief can become consuming. Hitch will never, ever be forgotten, but it’s clear to everyone that his legacy now lies in the gifts he left behind: his humor; his capacity for affection; his giant, giving spirit; his steadfast presence in our collective memory.
Moreover, anyone who has spent time with us knows that at the core of 13 Hands lies an indefatigable heartbeat. Rescues who are grieving might need a little extra attention. All of the rescues need to be fed, tended to, loved. There’s not one staff member or volunteer who has ever lost sight of this, even in the depths of their own sadness. Life at the farm goes on.
Just seventeen days after Hitch’s passing, on February 22nd, I was helping Wendi with farm chores, and we wandered over to chat with the thoroughbreds. Suddenly, there was news from Taylor who was working on the other side of the farm. A baby had been born to mini mare Darla.
Wendi and I hitched a ride with Angela, and we made our way over to Darla’s paddock, where sure enough, this incredible little boy–all of ten minutes old–was lying under his mom while she sniffed and licked him with such tenderness it made me cry.
Blue-eyed, shivering from being wet and cold, and somewhat stunned as newborns tend to be, Darla’s colt had arrived as the perfect gift. Once again, the farm’s heartbeat could be felt pumping optimism and joy and love into everyone who was there.
What a moment for all of us.
After some time, the staff guided Darla and carried her baby into the barn where a soft bed provided a sense of security. A vet visit the next day confirmed that with a boost of plasma for the colt, he and his mom would do just fine.
A week after the colt’s arrival, I stood with some visitors outside the pen where Darla watched her little boy race around, bucking and hopping as if he had springs in his tiny hooves. His delight in himself was palpable, and it spread to his visitors instantly. It reminded me of how visitors responded to Hitch when he sought their attention or stuck his nose in the air as they scratched the right spot near his withers. Light. Joyful.
When someone asked about the colt’s name, I responded that if he had one, it had not yet been shared. I wondered to myself what name could possibly capture this little guy’s spirit and how instantly his arrival had buoyed the farm’s energy.
As I understand it, the 13 Hands team wrestled a bit with what to call him. With the loss of Hitch still raw, they felt it was important to name this little guy with intention, to give him a name that would both serve him well and honor Hitch, who gave so much to everyone who knew him.
A few days later, I learned that the team had made the decision to name him Regalo. In Spanish and in Italian, Regalo is the word for gift.
I can’t think of any name more perfect.
With love,
Karen
