Gradually she matured, and, increasingly disgruntled, at being left behind as the family mounted up on the other horses, and rode off, she began to try to shoulder her way under a saddle as she watched us prepare to leave. As a three year old we sent her for training, and she became an indefatigable trail horse. On the return from a long ride when the rest of the horses were wearily dragging home, Idiot was just beginning to wear the edge off her energy. One memorable day I was riding with my friend Pam; Idiot leading the way through an unfamiliar field, where the corn towered above our heads. We were riding a path between the rows, doing no harm, but the overhanging foliage made visibility difficult. Suddenly, my horse's whole front end disappeared, dropping away in front of me. A deep, unseen ditch had bisected our path! Heart in my throat, I leaned back, tightened the reins, and urged her skeptically, but hopefully, "Back, girl, back". Amazingly, she engaged her rear end and slowly, steadily, unflappably, backed up the precipice. Pam and I were white with anxiety. I don't know how many more degrees of pitch it would have taken for her to have somersaulted on top of me, but it couldn't have been many.

In midlife she slowly went blind. Watching her adaptation was amazing. On fifty acres of pasture, with all the rough terrain, steep embankments, creeks, ditches, holes, boulders, and other unpleasant exigencies of Jefferson County, she never got hurt. Very quickly she learned to use her front feet in the same way that a blind person uses a cane. She would extend a foot, and if it did not settle on solid footing, she'd withdraw it and try to the left or right. She got so good at it that we had a hard time convincing folks that she actually was blind. Her 'radar' was excellent and she rarely bumped into anything. She could have remained in the pasture forever, I guess, but we had a couple of geldings, who, as she aged, began picking on her. I was afraid that she would get hurt evading them, so we moved her to the foal pasture.

She was my husband's horse, and John being more a 'petter' than a rider, spent most of his time with her just enjoying her sociability. In late life, she achieved her most valuable purpose as a 'grandma' horse. Each year, as we raised a new foal, she was a fixture, with 'Mom', in the foal pasture. Then, on the fateful day, when Mom was removed, Idiot was still there, initially an insufficient comfort in the first few frantic days, but gradually, the warm, nurturing grandma. Foal after foal came to her warm reassurance. At first, they all tried to engage her in play, but soon they realized that her real value was just in being there; steady, warm, unflustered by fireworks, gunfire, barking dogs, the frolicking deer who frequently leapt the fence on their trek across the farm, or any other distraction. Her lasting gift was that she helped them to know they were 'safe in the world'. We've been able to haul her charges long distances to unfamiliar locations, and have them emerge, secure and confident, into a show ring filled with strangers. They've all excelled at their endeavors.

A week ago, three months shy of age 39, she suddenly stopped eating. It was a black and white situation. She didn't taper off, or get sick, or anything like that; just effectively said "I'm done now." Not so wise as she, we tried to encourage her with every blandishment imaginable. Idiot, obviously no fool, was having none of it. She was grateful for the companionship and petting, but totally dismissive of food. "I'm done now...." Sadly we acquiesced to her plea.

She's buried in the foal pasture, where it is my hope that her spirit lives on for next year's babies. Rest in peace, Idiot. Thanks for the memories.