Happy Birthday Wilma

Today is the birthday of my beloved Friesian mare, Wilma. If she was still in a body, she would be 34. She passed away at 26, which is old for a Friesian, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. She was my heart horse.

A friend got me interested in Friesians, and that same friend found Wilma for me. If I had not bought Wilma, she would have. That’s how special this horse was. She was small for a Friesian, standing just 15 hands and 1/4 inch (very important, that quarter inch). These days, Wilma would not have even made the studbook, because she would be too small. A shame, really, because she was perfect - the right size all the way around, the right personality for me, and patience galore.

Our first meeting

She was stout, and while opinionated, was willing to go along pretty much with my agenda, which was “take my time getting to know you.”. When I first got her, I was terrified to even get on a horse. I was getting older and the ground was getting harder. I didn’t want a looney tune equine partner, and I had experienced plenty of those before Wilma came into my life. She waited for me. More on that below.

When we bought her, she was pregnant with her last baby, Number 9 (we called him Patric). She was 13. That’s a lot of babies, but because she had so much experience with recalcitrant children, she could get an entire herd to listen to her with the flick of an ear. She knew when to apply pressure, and when to back off. We had a well-mannered bunch when Wilma was around.

She became a riding horse after a lifetime of being a broodmare, and came back from her training with enough skill to carry a passenger. I got on her with some trepidation - after all, the only thing she knew about being under saddle was what the trainer had taught her. She patiently walked around a round pen with me, 15 minutes at a time, and then I’d get off. At last, two years after she came home from the trainer, I rode her down a trail to the neighbor’s house. She plodded along, never twitching an ear, and gave me the ride of a lifetime. It might not seem like much, but she was doing what she had done with her children - she knew what I needed (confidence), and she provided the best wa for me to grow with her.

First ride outside the round pen

After that, we started riding all over the neighborhood, and as my confidence grew, so did her feistiness. She became more lively as I could handle it. She waited a long time to show me her true under-saddle personality.

She hated to canter, so we mostly walked and trotted. The few times I asked for a canter, it was hilarious - she would crowhop along, letting me know in no uncertain terms that this was a gait she wanted no part of. I listened, and didn’t ask her again. I liked going slower anyway.

Eventually, she indicated she was done being ridden, and was an integral part of our coaching program. People loved her. She always knew when to give a hug, or when to be a little aloof - whatever the client needed. She helped so many people in the round pen.

One nice spring day I asked her if it would be okay to get on her and go for a little ride around our indoor arena. She agreed. I was only on her for 10 minutes tops, and all we did was walk around, but it was heaven to once again be on her back.

Last ride

She died not long after, and in typical Wilma fashion she did it her way. She was fine, and two hours later she colicked so severly, with what’s called a torsion, that the vet said there was no way he could save her and we let her go. The vet was a kind man; he cut off part of her tail, braided it, and gave it to me. I was bereft, and didn’t really want that tail piece, but years later I realized how wonderful it was to have a physical piece of Wilma still with me.

Of course, she’s with me all the time. She looks over my right shoulder and gives me advice. We talk. She sent a Fell Pony to me who is so much like her it makes my heart hurt and sing at the same time. 

Wilma was one in a million, and I was so fortunate to have her in my life. Happy birthday, dear girl. We’ll celebrate together - you over there, and me here. I love you.