February 07, 2012
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Arabian Horse Association

Our Beloved Dulci

"...Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened..."
~ Anatole France

When Maile was nine, family friends invited her to meet their horse, RP Dulcinea, a snow white classically beautiful Arabian mare. Maile's life changed that afternoon. Within weeks, Dulci belonged to Maile, and her schedule now included lessons, practice rides, and visits to the barn for every imaginable reason. Maile discovered something quite unexpected: that she belonged to Dulci every bit as much as Dulci belonged to her.

Soon after, Maile's teacher, Danielle, drew me into a private conversation. "You realize, don't you, that this isn't normal." Then came the "good" news: "Your daughter is gifted. It has taken her six weeks to accomplish what most riders learn in a year or two. But it's more than that. She makes Dulci happy, happier than she has been in a long time."

If you were to see their rides, you might question Danielle's judgment. At 22, Dulci was a very smart pony - way too smart to listen to a novice rider. Once Maile progressed to intermediate lessons, their rides became a battle of wills that were often painful to watch. This angelic-appearing horse, calm, patient, and affectionate on the ground, transformed into a stubborn trickster the instant Maile put a bit in her mouth. Eventually Maile learned to anticipate Dulci's tricks, and Dulci learned to trust Maile. Their bond deepened beyond affection to hard-won cooperation.

Danielle taught Maile how a horse thinks and feels, and that insight allowed Maile a freedom in her relationship with Dulci that many horse-owners never achieve. After a time, Danielle told Maile that she had accomplished more with Dulci than anyone ever had.

In August, two years later, Dulci turned up lame. We were leaving on vacation the next day, but Danielle reassured us that she would set things right in our absence. We came home to terrible news: Dulci had full-blown laminitis in her two front hooves, and was living in excruciating pain. Dulci's laminitis was a side effect of Cushing's disease, an inoperable pituitary tumor, but there was hope we could save her life if medication could control her Cushing's.

Several members of the barn community gathered in support as Maile let herself into Dulci's stall. Dulci was facing the back wall, full of tranquilizers, pain medications, anti-inflammatories, and rigid with pain. Her exquisite black eyes were lifeless. Maile took in the enormity of Dulci's suffering at a glance. Wordless, she wrapped her arms around Dulci's neck in the most tender of embraces.

Dulci's sense of smell brought her back from the abyss. She wrapped her neck around Maile, and began to sniff her from the top of her head to the tip of her feet - over and over again. Then Dulci began to knicker, a very deep chest murmur, especially for so small a horse. The knickers grew in volume and intensity until it seemed that Dulci was yelling, "Where were you? I needed you! Don't ever leave me again!" Although every adult watching this reunion had tears streaming down their cheeks, Maile was calm, saying "I know. I know. I'm here. I love you." Finally Dulci calmed down, and her face came to rest gently against Maile's chest. Maile held Dulci's head in her arms, while Dulci relaxed with several drawn-out sighs of contentment. Maile learned that as much as she loved Dulci, it was possible that Dulci loved her more.

Love heals. Every day after school, Maile spent hours in Dulci's stall, grooming her, scratching her back, hand-feeding her allowable treats, and sitting quietly, doing her homework. One joyful day, the tests came back showing that the medication was working. After six weeks of stall confinement, Dulci's return to physical activity had to be carefully managed. Danielle and our vet decided that Maile should be in charge; they knew that Dulci would cooperate with Maile. Six weeks later, while Maile was trotting Dulci carefully around the ring, Dulci attempted to pull off one of her old tricks. Maile cried for the first time - tears of relief and joy. Dulci had made it all the way back from the abyss.

Dulci's best years were ahead. When the time was right, Dulci retired from barn life and went to live with dear friends in the foothills. There, she expressed her alpha personality by anointing herself queen of the barn. Her working days were past, and her love of leisure was infectious. Early last spring, she hurried our friend Dionne out to the pasture - new grass to eat! - and began galloping and bucking the minute Dionne let go of the lead rope. Up at the top of the hill, she dropped to roll enthusiastically, grinding dirt into every square inch of her alabaster coat. And then she was up again, cantering, snorting, and flagging her tail like a filly. A 29-year-old retired kid's pony with a chronic debilitating disease: ageless, joyful, and glorious.

And then, seemingly overnight, Dulci turned fragile, weary, and terribly old. In August, Cushings finally caught up to her. We waited for Maile to see what Dulci was showing her, and it did not take long; love may be blind, but compassion is not. Maile drew on all her strength when she decided to let Dulci go without suffering, with her dignity intact. For one last week, she spent every afternoon with Dulci, tenderly renewing their loving bond. And when the last day came, she cut a lock of her hair to braid into Dulci's mane, so that part of her could go with Dulci forever.

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