Mourning Royalty
February 16, 2010
Duchess was a queen around our place.

Duchess in October 2009
I stroked her supine burgundy-bay neck, gently running my hand over the haircoat that lay the wrong way, running from withers to poll. No one had ever told her it was supposed to go the other way.
Just like no one had ever told her that horses weren’t supposed to live to be 40. Or that they weren’t supposed to die the day after Valentine’s Day, with three children peering out the window and preemptively mourning the loss of their “grandma horse.”
She had been my mom’s horse, having outlived her owner by almost 14 years. Taking care of her — with three meals a day of senior feed gruel, a pink blanket to stave off the cold, a fan in the summertime and plenty of wither scritches in between — had been a way to honor my mom, to say thanks for all she had done for me. After all, it was she who bequeathed to me my love of horses, the thing that has become my therapy and my life.
Duchess was one of our first horses, the one we bought nearly 30 years ago from a low-end auction before we knew you weren’t really supposed to do that. If I remember correctly, we paid $650 for her, at a time when “good” horses were going for much more than that. She turned out to be golden. She was a gaited horse of unknown origin, and when our 4-H horse club went trail riding, Duchess and my mom were right there, gliding over the ground beside me and my Quarter Horse.
She was sound right up to the end, although her eyesight had begun to fail, and she could no longer eat hay or solid grain. The first time she went down was also her last; she was unable to get up, and our vet came over quickly and confirmed what I already knew: It was time.
Examining her gum color, he marveled at her teeth. The lower incisors, which slant forward as a horse ages, were laying straight ahead, almost parallel with her jaw bone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse that old,” he said, stroking her on her cheek.
Today, it’s noontime as I write this – time for Duchess’ lunch — and I almost got up to go soak her food. But she doesn’t need it today. Last night, I talked to the kids about how heaven has wonderful, lush green pastures where she can eat all she wants. She can run again, maybe even buck if she wants to. And if she misses her senior feed, I know my mom will take care of that.
Vaya con dios,
Holly Clanahan
Editor, America’s Horse magazine
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We’ve been 
Amount of house-cleaning done this weekend: Zilch.


This past weekend was about all about the future. I attended a 




Holly Clanahan