He is blind. He is wary, scared of anything that does not revolve in his orbit. This goes for simple things like a lazy ride in the park, or even hand-grazing in what is for him, another galaxy.
The blindness, though it seemed to erupt like a volcano, actually came on slowly. There was the constant tripping, the sudden predilection for spooking, the reluctance to ride into our normal and cherished places. Then, one day, he ran into a wall hard and fast, and it was clear that he could not see.
He has now adjusted, thanks to the patient and devoted care of our Barn Mom. But there are changes. I can no longer just walk up and start petting him. When I groom him, I have to keep a hand on him as I move from one part of his body to another. We have to show him where his grain and hay are. And I remain anxious that I won’t give him the cues he needs to stay on course and be confident.
But Buzzy is still Buzzy, and I am still me, and together we have 17 years of priceless memories:
- Riding through the woods on snow-sparkling winter days
- Riding on trails draped in maroons, oranges, yellows and greens – leaves lush with that musky smell reserved for fall days
- Riding in shows where we brought up the rear, but had oodles of fun doing it.
- And trying to canter, only to find out his canter was as lovely as that of any breed.
I thank you, Buzzy, for being the bright shining gem in the cherished memories of my life.