Big John, R.I.P.
February 11, 2008
My trusty old horse, Big John, died on Friday. He was 23 years old. And the best damn horse around. Period.
Friday started out like the perfect day. It was mild. The fresh snow was hanging in the trees and the sun was making everything magically sparkle. And we had work to do since a neighbor, friend and client had put in an order for firewood.
My partner in crime and horse logging, Boots, arrived and we harnessed up Big John and his partner, Big Jim. The first order of business was to open up the logging trails by hooking the team to my small sled and taking a joy ride. It’s a way to knock the snow down, warm up the horses and get one hell of a beautiful ride through the woods.
But as we climbed one of the hills, Big John started coughing. I thought he just had something stuck in his throat – a hay remnant from breakfast, perhaps. We got to the top of the hill and I noticed his head was getting lower and lower. I stopped the team, peered around the side to get a look and see if he got a line tangled or something. Instead, I saw blood. Big John was bleeding rather profusely from his nose.
Boots quickly unhooked the team from the sled and I started to ground drive them toward home with thoughts of a plan upon our return: call the vet, get him in the barn, get towels to clean him up, etc. We were a half a mile back in the woods. And we only got about 30 feet before I noticed John wasn’t going to make it home. He was leaning on Jim, almost walking sideways, barely able to hold himself up.
I stopped them, sandwiched myself between them, feeling John’s 1800 pounds now pushing me against Jim, and unhooked them. Boots took Jim and set off for the house. I stood in denial with John, talking to him and trying to coax him to walk home with me. This was the first time he had ever stopped when I was saying go. He shook his head, as if to say “no” but also to shake the blood from his nose. But he listened to me for one last time and struggled to walk another ten feet or so. And then he laid down.
He took several last gasps of air with his huge head in my lap. And then his massive and gentle body became still. It was over. Big John died, only minutes after being the willing worker he had been for his entire life. All I could do was wail. And wail.
My vet said the cause of his death was most likely an aneurysm, not that uncommon for an older horse. Working him and keeping him in shape was the best thing I could have been doing for him, he told me.
And John liked to work. He was more of a people horse than a woods horse – the opposite of Jim. He loved to pull people in my big sleigh. He loved parades. And he loved kids.
His biggest vice was not wanting to be caught while he was hanging out in the pasture. It drove his previous owner crazy, and it didn’t make me too happy either while chasing him around and around in the morning when we first got him. But then my daughter offered to help. Presto. Big John would never run from a kid.
Since we live right on the road, people are always stopping to look at the horses. And we love to talk about them and show them off. Oftentimes people will ask — or we’ll offer — to give them a ride.
“Oh yeah,” they’d say, “which one can I ride?”
I’d point to Big John, the biggest of the big horses, who stood 18 hands – a good six feet high to the top of his back. Yep, a ladder was useful – if not required – to get up on him.
“Very funny,” they’d usually respond.
But it was no joke. Big John was the gentlest of giants. He never did anything to hurt anyone or anything. When kids or scared adults got near him he wouldn’t so much as breathe hard, almost as if he was trying to reassure them that everything was fine. And it always was. He had dozens of people get up on his back, most of them kids, and he’d very slowly walk around and give them a thrill of a lifetime.
In the spring and fall I would often put John’s famous double saddle (yes, a two-seater saddle!) on him and ride him to the elementary school to pick up our daughter, Isabel. The school’s secretary even joked once that she was going to amend the parking lot signage to include a horse sign since the current signs offered a place for “cars” and “busses” only.
Nothing fazed John. He’d ride between the busses, through the parking lot, and around the excited children – even letting the kids surround him and hug his leg. We got there early one day and he even let me ride him around to the back of the school and put his face to my daughter’s classroom window.
“Isabel,” I heard her teacher say, “your dad and your horse are here.”
Big John also did parades. Isabel and her friend rode amongst the fire trucks and other mayhem in the Worcester Fourth of July parade – with John’s hair braided and flowers in his tail and mane. I will never forget the looks on people’s faces when they saw these little girls on such a big horse.
He was also my teacher. Before I had John I only had Jim and a dream of being a “teamster.” John made that dream easy to attain. He stood patiently as we figured out the ins and outs and buckles and straps of hooking up a team. And off we went, high stepping through the fields, into the woods, through town, up to the town green, to the school and, of course, to pull wood, too.
There’s nothing like the bond between the teamster and his horses. Imagine the trust – or, if you’d rather, the leap of faith – required to take a one-ton prey animal, hook him to another one-ton prey animal, hook them to a heavy piece of equipment, and then drive them with a one-inch leather strap in your hand through all kinds of scenarios that are completely and totally contrary to their instinct to flee. It’s remarkable. And powerful. And moving.
While I’m sad beyond words about John’s passing, I’m thankful for the six years we got to work together. He taught me so much about patience, trust, teamwork and a singular focus one needs when working in tandem with such large animals. And I’m relieved that he died quickly in one of the most beautiful areas in our woods.
Getting John buried was no easy task. There’s more than two feet of snow on the ground and, as I said earlier, he died a half of a mile in the woods. We made all kinds of calls and visits to people we knew who had the big equipment necessary to both get to him and dig the hole. All but one couldn’t make it for one reason or another. Having been raised around horses, he knew what we were going through.
If I helped him dig out his trailer and load his excavator, he said, he’d help give John the burial he deserved. And so he did, crawling his way back over the trail and digging the giant hole.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said to me as he prepared to put John in his final resting place, sensing that I didn’t want to be around for that part of it. “I’ll say a prayer for him,” he added while giving me a caring touch to my shoulder and a motion for me to leave.
Later, when we all went to see the grave, we were moved by the makeshift cross he had made with two branches and a shoelace. Isabel and her friends later added to the simple shrine (see photo below).
It was a long weekend for all of us, including, of course, Big Jim and the other three horses. For much of the day after John died, Jim stood and stared at the trail that leads into the woods and about every ten minutes would let out a loud whinny, calling out for his teammate or some answers. We had none.
Thank you, John, for giving us all so much joy. We will never forget you. Rest in peace — you earned it.
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13 Responses to “Big John, R.I.P.”
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So sorry to hear about that. Losing an animal is never easy. Hang in there.
So sorry to here about big Jim. My thoughts go out to you and your family…..
ooophs! I typed the wrong horse. sorry to hear about big John…
sorry about your loss…. be well.
What a beautifully written elegy for Big John. Though I never met him, I was moved to tears by your description of such a noble and brave horse. I’m so sorry for your loss. Love, Your Brother.
Thanks for sharing your eulogy to John. Hopefully, we, as humans, will contribute to life as fully as part of a larger circle.
Oh Michael, I’m so sorry. We make this bargain when we get our animal friends and we know they’ll go before we do. But it’s so terribly hard.
You made me cry. I’m glad you and your family loved him so much. And I’m oh so glad you were there with him when he died.
But it hurts.
Take care.
Mike, Stacey and Isabel:
I was so sorry the day Stacey called the school to say Big John had died. Stacey was so concerned about Isabel not finding out until she was able to come to school. I respected her wishes and did not let on to Isabel about Big John.
Mike, you wrote a beautiful eulogy for your wonderful horse and the pictures were awesome. It made tears come to my eyes and just imagining what you were going through during the time in the woods was so sad.
I\’ll miss seeing Big John in the school yard when you come to pick up Isabel. Also, seeing that magnificent beauty on the hillside from the village will be sadly missed.
I am truly sorry for your loss and know that Big John will never be forgotten.
Hi Michael, Isabel and Stacy,
Judy told me about Big John dying and told me that you posted this beautiful thing on your blog. I just read this today and was moved to tears. John *WAS* the most beautiful horse I had ever seen. So large and strong and I loved looking at him and the other horses as we walked by. What a beautiful 6 years you had with this horse. Thank you for writing it, thank you for offering the sled rides for the kids and us. I always tell my NJ family about those horses, the rides and that you picked up Isabel on the horse. Some of my brothers can’t believe I’m living here but I love it and I’m so happy to know you guys.
Take good care and let us know if you need anything,
Linda
We’re so sorry to hear of your loss. I will miss seeing him and watching his antics when I walk down the hill.
I’m so moved, many condolences.
I ran into a copy of Wild Matters from 2003 wanting to subscribe as it seemed to fill part of the void left by North Country Anvil when it folder. Alas, no more. With some doing, then, I found you here.
This is a wonderful site, THANK YOU!
I’m sad for your loss. He sure was a beautiful soul. I think that having such a wonderful frind like John is one of the great blessings in our lives.
I hope you and all are well.
Thanks for doing John justice-he was loyal and devoted to the end. Its comforting that you were together at the end, and wonderful that you had each other for the time you had. You were each other’s blessing.