Love and the Rest of It

"How's that beautiful mare doing in all this horrible winter weather?" she asked me, as I walked towards the counter, ready to pick up the pizza that I had ordered. My eyes started to water and my throat started to tighten. It was the last place on earth that I expected to confront the sadness that I have been trying to outrun this winter. It's been 2 months since Mimi died. 2 months. What a brutally hard word, D-I-E-D, within the same sentence. I didn't think it was possible. Not for her. At least, not now. I shuddered, as I wanted to shake off the very word and all it meant from my being. I started to feel the desperation building and consciously, I summoned every bit of strength that I could muster, in order to answer her, "I, uh...she died on New Year's day." There, I said it, without making a crying fool of myself, in front of all these people. She had been smiling just a few seconds before she asked me and now, her face looked shocked. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. What happened, was it a colic?" she asked me. You know, I didn't want to talk about it. Especially, not there, in the middle of a busy pizzeria at lunchtime, with people I don't even know all around me, a million conversations all going on at once, phones ringing, people shouting pick up numbers...ugh. I should have just lied and said she was fine. It hurt too much to recall the images from Mimi's final moments on earth. It happened so fast. I was so unprepared. My heart and soul were wounded from meeting the inevitable, head on. Yet it would be awkward not to respond and I knew she meant well and that her questions came from a good place. And so, I told her about the neighbor's dogs. Gosh, the irresponsible neighbor who can't seem to keep his dogs under control and on his own property. How Mimi slipped and fell on the ice, trying to get away from the dogs and how the hock injury she suffered, was just too much to ask a 23-year old mare to recover from. I told her how it took her two and a half hours to stand up on her last day. I felt so helpless. I wanted my mare to live! I did everything the veterinarian told me to do and I still lost. I was so angry and hurt. I felt cheated and I was reeling from the overwhelming grief. I can't get past a day without some kind of memory, taking me back to the sweet days when she was alive and healthy. I loved Mimi.  

WAIT...What did you just say? Love? 

What does it mean to love horses anyway? Most people see a picture of a horse and say, "what a beautiful picture, I love it." They might be driving in their car and pass a pasture with horses grazing and say, "Isn't that beautiful? It's just like a painting, I love it." Or, how about a Budweiser television commercial, playing within a favorite television program and the person will say, "that was so touching, I love it." You never really know when a horse will turn up and cause something big to happen inside of you. For the people who are lucky to own horses like Mimi, we know this to be true. For dyed-in-the-wool horse lovers,  it goes beyond appreciating a pretty picture or an image that is pleasurable on the television set. Horses have always dominated our thoughts while we are awake and during our sleep, horses have run wild and free, calling us. Thoughts, feelings and dreams of horses are at the very core of the proverbial "training ground" of life experiences that make it possible for us to recognize the horse of our dreams, when that horse becomes real for us. Mimi was all that and more for me. She was beautiful, she was kind, she was everything I ever dreamed about, whether I knew it or not, present in one horse. She was the incarnation of all the books read and pedigrees studied. She was the living proof of all the theories and philosophies written about the desert horse. She was a "science lab" that proved how those revered characteristics we cherish, enable survival in the harshest of climates. She was a gift from another dimension that surprised me day after  day with a different treasure. On the day I said goodbye, one of the last things I remember doing was burying my nose deep into her silky mane, inhaling the very essence of who she was, hoping that I could hang onto her scent for the rest of my life. So, here I am in the beginning of the "rest of it" and well, I really miss her. 

JUST A...Bucket of Horse Treats

Maybe, I had seen them in the kitchen cabinet a hundred million times before or maybe not but there they were, all cheery and festive, just as they should be; a merry looking container for both man and horse. Its just a simple bucket of horse treats, right? When I bought them, Mimi was very much alive. I really loved my little mare and as silly and as trivial as this may sound, this bucket of treats signified how deeply I cared for Mimi. She had a special place in my life and I wanted to do things that were demonstrative of just how special she really was. It's excruciatingly painful to admit that she is gone and there's a hard, biting coldness to the realization of what forever  really means. Mimi was like an oasis of happiness, in a life that could be so...challenging. There was so much joy in her companionship and it was always the hope that some of this joy could spill into other parts of my life and make them as equally joyful, as life with Mimi was every day. That's the magic that Mimi made in this world and in my life. She was my miracle, my proof of a loving and generous God, who took all that I had ever desired in a horse and made them real; made them into a being named Princeton Maarena. That was Mimi. If she were a person, I would have sought her out, in order to win her friendship. You just naturally wanted to be in her company, in the hope that you could become more like her. So, I must keep these feelings that she inspired within me, alive. I must turn to joy and away from grief. I must embrace joy and not sorrow, because once upon a time, Mimi lived. I am compelled to honor Mimi's life with joy because that's the spirit in which she lived her life.
JOY
Anything less, would not be Mimi. I won't be able, in a physical sense, to do thoughtful things like buying treats for her. Those simple acts of reverence are over now. What is relevant is the inspiration and encouragement that I derive from these sweet memories to live the kind of life that will convey to others just how wonderful Mimi really was, and in the process, honor her memory justly. She was a once-in-a-lifetime horse...how fortunate I was to have this miracle happen in my lifetime.

When My Horse Died

When my horse died
part of me evaporated
like the fog’s mist in the morning sun.
The world as I had known it,
became still.
To acknowledge her silent journey from one dimension, 

into the next.
Someone said, I'm so sorry for your loss.
What?
When my horse died,
she left me
and now, without her 

I need to figure out where I am.

Death Claims a Queen

That's what I called Rocky...The Queen of the Thoroughbreds. No one else called her a "Queen" nor was she recognized anywhere as a "Queen". There was a time when she was a formidable racehorse but that was a long time ago. Grazing in a pasture, looking more like a backyard pet, someone driving by would see an ordinary  grey horse and thereby, miss her greatness. But to me, she was every bit a Queen and more. I saw a side of her which was positively regal.

"It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it." —Frances Hodgson Burnett,  A Little Princess

It was our LITTLE secret...Rocky's and mine. A daughter of the Thoroughbred stallion, Rock and Roll, she was named Lady Rocker but I always laughed at her name because she was no "lady". She was the ultimate alpha mare, behaving more like a stallion than a mare. She was a huge mare, towering over 16.2 hands, powerfully built, with a big body, including a very deep heart girth. She was enormous. It was a humbling experience to stand next to her. Yet, for all of Queen Rocky's power, she was an elegant horse, possessing all of the characteristics for which this breed is so revered. Nothing was more beautiful than seeing Rocky in motion, stretching her body out, nose-to-tail,  in an earth shaking, thunderous racehorse run. Then, she would take my breath away and I would shout,

"GO QUEEN GO!"
Now, Rocky is gone and there is no more majesty in the pasture. I will really miss the Queen. As a kid, I watched the great Secretariat create history, never realizing that one day I would know his great-great-granddaughter, Lady Rocker, the Queen of the Thoroughbreds.

Fakher el Din

The cross of Nazeer and Moniet el Nefous yielded two horses: *Bint Moniet el Nefous in 1957 and *Fakher el Din in 1960.

"The cross of Nazeer on Moniet EI Nefous added the presence, the brilliance, and the tremendous vitality of that extraordinary stallion while at the same time reinforcing the genetic strengths of Moniet EI Nefous herself."-Sara Loken

*Fakher el Din was a sweet-natured stallion, with a gentle disposition and I am amazed over the number of daughters he sired (as compared to the number of sons)  representing a wide diversity of bloodlines including Pritzlaff, Babson, Bentwood and Masada; even the important Davenport mare, Bint Alamein, an El Alamein daughter.

While his full sister, from a breeding perspective, was trapped within the Pritzlaff program; *Fakher el Din, by virtue of his stallion-hood, could rapidly spread his influence across a wider variety of bloodlines, leaving more choices and a wider legacy for breeders to utilize in the future. *Fakher el Din died in 1984, seventeen years after his importation to America. I find myself looking at his picture over and over, while dreaming of the possibilities that a horse like *Fakher el Din offered, in mind, body and spirit.

EnJOY,
Ralph

Bedouin Beauty: Mitbah

"Mitbah: Arabic term for the throatlatch or attachment of head and neck. The word means 'the place where the throat is cut' since it is the same for camels, sheep, and goats, and they are the ones for whom it is taken literally. A fine and long mitbah is much desired in an Arabian horse."-from the Arabian Horse Dictionary at arabianhorses.org

Pictured above is the straight Egyptian Arabian stallion, NK Qaswarah. He is sired by NK Hafid Jamil and his dam is the Salaa el Dine daughter, NK Nariman (out of the *Jamil daughter, Amarilla). He is owned by Usamah Alkazemi of Ezzain Arabians in Kuwait and was photographed by the talented equine photographer, Jenni Ogden from Australia. There are many details to notice in the above picture, all of which underscore the extraordinary elegance and refinement of this horse.

"The neck is a model of strength and forms a perfect arch that matches the arch of the tail."-Homer Davenport, from his book, My Quest for the Arabian Horse

His neck is gracefully arched, rising gently to meet the head, at an angle which forms a most beautiful mitbah.

The classic Egyptian Arabian Horse is very harmonious and visually, is comprised of gently curving lines, which flow smoothly from one circular line into another. The angle at which the head and neck meets, forms the mitbah. Look at the underside of the neck on NK Qaswarah, just before it goes into the throat to meet the back of the jowl. Do you see the curve? It's like an upside down "u". Starting here, place your finger on this upside down "u" and slowly, trace your finger along this line. Get acquainted with it. Feel this area with your finger, so that you understand the mitbah better. Remember the length of this area. That's important. You want this area to be long, as opposed to horses who are thick in the throat, as if the head was pushed down onto the neck, with no area of connection between the head and the neck. NK Qaswarah, as refined as he is, gives us reason to marvel over the mitbah. He is beautiful. Use him as a model in order to visually understand the mitbah. A neck with a fine mitbah is very pleasing to the eye, as we see in this stallion; however, functionally, a fine mitbah, allows the horse's head to be flexible, which is important for someone who wants to ride a horse who seeks and accepts contact willingly with the rider.

May the horse continue to inspire you,

Ralph

Carl Raswan

Earlier this week, I received a surprise, in the form of a comment left by Mark Miller of Al-Marah. I hope that Mark will not mind that I moved his comment to the front page of the blog, so that more people will enjoy his words as much as I have. 

I did not ever meet Carl Raswan, though I have heard the stories about him so many times I sometimes feel like I must have. He was a friend of my father and mother. 
I've always thought it ironic that his "Raswan Index" has been used to help define the "purity" of the Straight & Blue List Egyptian Arabian Horses. Ironic because the horse that Raswan loved most of all was *Raswan, said to be the best son of Skowronek. Until *Raswan died, Carl Raswan was known as Carl Schmidt. It was when *Raswan died that Carl Schmidt became Carl Raswan. Skowronek, of course, is not considered to be acceptable in "Straight Egyptian" pedigrees.
Raswan was certainly a larger than life character. My father, Peter Miller, told me that when he first met Raswan in Tucson in 1942, Raswan was telling him about his Ruala blood brother, Bedouin Prince Fawaz as-Shaalan. My dad said he believed Raswan was exaggerating when he told his tales of the desert.
My dad, however, was not the horseperson in our family. My mother, then Bazy Miller, was. She had already purchased some horses from the Selby Stud lines (heavy in the Skowronek son *Raffles), it was her that Raswan had come to see in Tucson. 
My parents had bought an irrigated farm on River Road in Tucson, and in the early 40s irrigated farms there were rare. When Raswan arrived on the farm, he turned to my mother and said, "This is a real Al-Marah!" My mother asked the meaning of Al-Marah and Raswan said, "The Oasis!" Thus the most famous Arabian Horse farm of the 20th and 21st Century was named. About eight years later, after my sister and I were born and my parents divorced, my mom remarried "Tank" Tankersley and started along the road of making Bazy Tankersley an Arabian Horse legend herself.
My mother always thought that Raswan loved the same kind of Arabian horses she did: beautiful, athletic and with great endurance. I have always thought of them as war horses. Spirited, athletic and brave enough to go into battle; personable and calm enough to share your tent in a sand storm. And, of course, the most beautiful animals on earth. I believe she learned a great deal from talking with Raswan about the desert horses, and that knowledge was important to her because she wanted to be sure to preserve her band of horses, who trace directly from Abbas Pasha to Ali Pasha Sherif to Sir Wilfrid and Lady Anne Blunt to Lady Wentworth to her, was not only the right genotype, but also the right phenotype.
My parents moved to Peru, Illinois shortly after Raswan named the farm, and not long after that, Raswan brought his Ruala blood brother to Chicago to meet my parents. After meeting Prince Fawaz, my dad told me he apologized to Raswan for ever doubting him, as Prince Fawaz backed up all that Raswan had told him and also told my father of the great influence Raswan had when he brought many Bedouin leaders together in the late '20s.
I hope your journey helps you find what you are looking for. The search for the perfect Arabian, whether it is a search of finding the existing horse or, in my family's case, trying to produce it, is a wonderful journey that can last a lifetime. 
My journey includes keeping the core Al-Marah herd in tact for my lifetime, as it remains the most unique and wonderful herd of horses in the world in its 199th year. 

Many thanks to Mark Miller for sharing his thoughts and memories. This is powerful stuff.

Ralph