Author’s Note: “One Good Horse” is a nostalgic piece of creative nonfiction, told in a first-person narrative and stylized in the voice of an old man reflecting on his experience as a child encountering a first horse. The story sprung from my grandfather’s tales of growing up in Idaho and is as factual as I can remember. I am retelling this story as it was told to me and in my grandfather’s voice.
***
The first time I visited my grandparents at their farm in downstate Idaho was when I turned six. That was nearly ninety years ago. It was also the first time I ever laid eyes on a real horse. Back then, you’d think horses would have been everywhere, but most had already been put down. Mechanization had ended the 10,000-year-old bond between humans and horses. That’s why the first time I ever saw a live horse was at my grandparents’ farm. You see, when my mother became ill, my father took her to the hospital in Boise and sent me to live with his parents for a few weeks. They were second-generation wheat farmers outside Twin Falls. So, what I’m about to tell you is based on scattered memories and family stories as I got older.
Anyway, I do clearly remember my grandfather showing me around the place and telling me about his only remaining horse being sick and dying. The horse’s name was Papa, as in ‘Paw-Paw’ because he could do trick counting by pawing the ground with his hooves when you held up fingers. Three fingers, and he’d paw the ground three times. And so on. Real smart horse. But that day, Papa was in his stall, rolling over and over, moaning and groaning and in a lot of pain. What’s wrong with him? I asked, to which my grandpa replied, He’s got colic. There’s nothing I can do for him. I’d shoot him and put him outta his misery, but I don’t got the heart. He’ll be dead by daybreak.
Now, being only six, I didn’t understand death or colic or such things. I simply saw a horse in a great deal of pain, and there was nothing either one of us could do to help him. Watching old Papa dying deeply wounded my grandfather. To get away from the sight of his favorite horse in agony, Grandpa took hold of my hand and led me to a bluff by the river. From our spot, we could see his field of golden wheat and the farmhouse and silo and the big white barn. The land stretched as far as the eye could see. And he turned to me and said, I took over this farm thirty years ago from my pa. In those days, we was dirt poor. We had a plow and an ox, and that was it. Only tilled forty acres of bottomland. We wasn’t getting much plowed under cuz the ox always come up lame, and it was backbreaking work for a sodbuster like me to do it on his own. So, one day, I got an idea and headed south to the hills and rounded up some wild mustangs to help work the fields. That was the way it was. If you needed a horse, you went out, ran your traps, and caught a free one. Caught many a horse thataway. But in nineteen ought-one, I went down there for the last time. Already had three good ones. Just needed one more. Within a day, I’d tracked down the biggest and strongest yearling in the herd. I needed a strong horse to help pull the plow. Didn’t wanta foal or an old one set in its ways. Wanted a yearling. Easiest to break. When I caught him, he put up one hell of a fight. I cinched his legs and left him on the ground overnight till he got good and dry and hungry. I let him know from the get-go who was boss. That bein’ yours truly. Then I cut him loose and fed him, and took good care of him. Never did ride him, though. Don’t think he could ever be ridden as far as that goes cuz he never got broke thataway. That is, for riding. He was a workhorse, plain and simple. Now, you know who the horse was?
“Papa,” I answered.
And he said, That’s right. Papa. And for the next twenty years, that horse worked his tail off for yours truly. He never complained. Never wallowed in self-pity. Did his job and took his licks. Look around you. All this land. All six hundred forty acres Papa plowed under with me yelling giddy-up from his backside and him taking orders good as any soldier. Couldn’t have done it without him. A few years later, I bought the gasoline tractor and the mechanical combine and decided I didn’t need old Papa no more. He was the last of a great bunch since the other horses had already died. And I didn’t know what to do with him, so I trailered him ten miles south and took him up to the hills where he come from, and I turned him loose. Thought he’d be better off free than cooped up where he wernt needed. A few days after I got home, your grandma says, Jonathan, look who come back. I looked out the kitchen window, and it was Papa. That’s when I knew Papa’s home was this farm and not the wilds. I realized he and I were like kindred souls tied to this parcel of God’s sweet earth. He couldn’t leave it any more than I could. So, I corralled the old boy up, and that’s where he’s been these past six years. He’s twenty-eight years old and a rarity age-wise for horses like him. And now, after all this time, it looks like we’re finally gonna lose him, and I’ve never properly thanked him for all the good he’s done this family. And being his only caretaker, I am ashamed of myself for it.
I remember Grandpa falling to his knees and crying out loud and holding me tight with his heart crushed and me telling him everything would be all right. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Seeing Grandpa all upset, seeing Papa in pain, I couldn’t stand it, so I decided to steal to the barn. And I remember seeing Papa shivering and cold and frothing at the mouth. That’s when I grabbed a horse blanket, threw it over him, and laid on top of him to keep him warm. I remember telling him that he couldn’t die because Grandpa had something important he wanted to say. And I rubbed his neck. And stroked his ears. And kept him warm all night long. The next morning, Grandpa came out to the barn, sure he would find Papa dead. Instead, he found me riding the horse bareback in the corral, wearing only my PJs and a wide-mouth grin. And he asked me, What in blue blazes did you do?
“I fixed him,” I answered.
I’d never seen my grandfather so happy. He walked straight to that old horse, threw his arms around its neck, kissed it smack on the nose and said, Thank you, Papa, for many good years. You’re my friend, and I will never forget you. Ever.
Papa died a year later. Grandpa used his tractor to dig a pit for the grave behind the house. The entire family came for the funeral. Three years later, Grandpa died, and we buried him next to his horse. It’s said that one good horse is all a person ever needs in a lifetime. Guess Grandpa found his.
So, as I stand here today overlooking the family graves, I am reminded that one good horse, one valued friend, can leave an enduring mark on a lifetime. And in the end, it’s not the plow or tractor that defines our legacy but the love and care we show for those who’ve been with us through every season of life. In Papa’s memory, we find inspiration, and in his silent presence beneath the earth, we find the eternal connection that binds us to our land. Papa’s legacy is a reminder that some bonds are unbreakable, some memories are timeless, and some stories are meant to be told for generations to come.
Image by Susanne Nilsson on flickr.com, licensed under CC 2.0.
- One Good Horse - August 27, 2024
Wonderful, beautiful essay. Thank you.