A Horse Named Velvet

“What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose; all that we have loved deeply, becomes a part of us.” – Helen Keller

We said “goodbye for now” to a beloved family member last week, my granddaughter’s horse, Velvet. I had dreaded this day, and knew it was inevitable. Death and loss are bitter parts of life on this side of eternity.

We brought Velvet home one icy Christmas Eve as a gift for our granddaughter. She was a beautiful sorrel colored horse with a stout quarter horse build. I’m particularly fond of the Quarter horse breed. She was a registered paint horse without a mark on her body to show for it. And, stunningly beautiful. Her eyes were gentle and kind, and spoke of an abiding wisdom she carried within. She was a trusted soul from the beginning.

It took very little time before it felt as if Velvet had always been here. She made our hearts home quite naturally. She was ready for a slower pace and so were we. She had served her people well all her life and now was her time to be saturated in love and respect.

She deserved to be saturated in love and respect in her senior years—and that is what we gave her. She gave us so much more.

On Christmas morning, we walked Maizey out to the barn and to the stall door that had the name “Velvet” freshly painted on it. Her mother, our youngest daughter, had painted Velvet’s name on the door in big, bold letters. We walked Maizey to the horse stall and opened it to show her what lay behind that door: a horse. And not just any horse—her horse. Here stood a 1,000-pound, living, breathing, four-legged friend that would be hers to feed, groom, attend to, and, most of all, love. I watched this small four year old girl look at the big beautiful mare with awe and wonder.

If, there is truly love at first sight—this was it.

She wanted to brush her right away. Brushing your horse isn’t merely grooming—it’s a bonding of sorts. Wild horses will rub, nibble, and scratch each other as a form of bonding and trust building. Grooming your horse is the same bonding ritual. From the beginning there was something about touching her horse that ushered a certain stillness in my granddaughter. I would watch her brush and rub her horse many times in total silence.

I’m not sure what Maizey enjoyed more, grooming her horse or riding her? She would brush Velvet with such tender care. She truly loved just being with her. It was in those places that I watched my granddaughter settle into a quite place. She would linger long—touching, smelling, seeing, hearing—and loving.

Horses have a innate way of whispering calm in the midst of a world filled with noise.

It wasn’t long and the barn was Maizey’s favorite place to be. If she wasn’t decorating Velvet’s stall she was dreaming of ways to make our old barn better. I was presented with more than one draft of plans she drew up for complete restructure of the barn and ways to make room for even more horses.

Maizey rode Velvet on the property, weaving her in and out of orange cones and dreaming of going to the fair together someday. Sometimes in the saddle and other times bareback. I loved watching Maizey lose herself on her beloved friend. Sometimes singing and other times throwing her hands in the air as if flying. And. Always building trust upon trust.

My hope for Velvet was that we would give her the best home in her senior years. A place where she would be loved extravagantly and given permission to—be a horse. My hope for Maizey was that she would experience the goodness of loving your horse well. The simple art of being present with her. No lofty ideas, only time and organic relationship. Where one learns to love the smell of their horse and where being with them makes the world right.

There were the moments where Maziey would walk up to Velvet in the pasture and gently touch her. And, the times where she would be riding her bareback and stop to simply lay on her in silence. An audience of one. A young girl and her mare and a whole lot of love. Velvet gave Maziey the wealth of her experience and Maizey gave her the gift of innocence.

Velvet came to us with arthritis in her front knee. We did everything we could to help her, but as the years passed her arthritis grew worse and the pain untreatable. Eventually medication and care were no longer enough to rid her of constant pain. It became clear that the kindest thing we could do for her was to let her go. With words that were hard for me to speak, I called our vet and scheduled a time for her to be put to sleep.

We were able to schedule the vet for a date that allowed us to have precious time to say our sacred goodbyes. We groomed her, and hugged her, and told her how special she was. Maizey sat on her bareback and hugged her neck and sat quietly taking in her essence as a forever imprint on her heart.

I too, loved this mare deeply. It was an honor to be her people; my heart began to miss her long before she was truly gone. I spent my evenings with her, grooming her and assuring her it wasn’t too much longer.

Friday, April 24, 2026.

I woke on Friday, April 24th, knowing today was “that day.” I had spent the night before with Velvet, making sure everything in the barn was in it’s place. I felt as prepared as I could be for that day.

I kept telling myself “this is about her” and it was. She needed to rest and no longer live in constant pain.

In my imagination, I saw myself heroically standing beside Velvet until the bitter end—alone and angry. While in reality I wasn’t going to be alone, that is how I truly felt. Sorrow has a way of doing that. Angry—because that is how I do grief. I know this well about myself. The “alone” and the “angry” are armors that have served me not so well in life; and yet they were my premeditated “go-tos” on that day.

Only, on this day my armor would take a hit. A few hours before the vet was scheduled to arrive I received a message from a new friend. I opened my phone and read her message: “how are you doing? Can I come and be with you?” I replied and let her know I was fine and wouldn’t be alone and thanked her for checking in on me. I assured her I would not be good company anyways. By the grace of God, she didn’t accept no for an answer and gently persuaded me to accept her offer. Even assuring me that “she would be great company.” And she was indeed great company.

Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13 ESV

Shortly after that I arrived home and went to bring Velvet out of the pasture where she had been grazing. I tied her to the hitching rail and groomed her ever so slowly and with great intention. She was shedding her winter coat and I felt an insatiable desire to help her shed out all her long hair and be comfortable. I stood beside her and softly assured her that perfect peace awaited her: “Not much longer, sweet girl.” I touched her and looked at her and smelled her—all in hopes of imprinting her deeply in my heart forever. If I had to let go, I didn’t want to ever forget her.

As if choreographed, my friend Marlene arrived in perfect time. She is well acquainted with love and loss, and has been in similar situations many times before. She greeted Velvet with the love and understanding of one who knows horses deeply. Together, we braided Velvet’s tail and mane. She prepared me for what lay ahead, and what I should expect in the moments and hours to come.

It wasn’t long after that when the vet arrived. My image of me standing heroically beside Velvet—alone and angry—all but dissipated in that moment.

My husband stood vigil as a source of strength and solid support. The Vet and her associates were gracious and tender and keenly aware of the sacredness of this moment. And. My friend. She stepped in and wrapped me in perfect love—without judgment or conditions. My big emotions did not intimidate her. I instinctively leaned into her understanding of this moment and drew great comfort from her presence.

Marlene seemed to anticipate every step before it happened and gently walked with me through each stage. Together we watched as Velvet received the first and second dose of medicine. And, then as this gentle giant fell softly to the ground. Her tired body had no fight left in it. She was ready for perfect peace.

There was a sacred beauty of being with this sweet mare until the end. I can’t remember who let me know that I could come and say goodbye to velvet at that point. I only remember the urgency and relief in being given permission to do so.

With my husband standing over me, and Marlene at my back, I entered sacred ground with permission to love and let go with dignity. I knelt, lowering myself beside our beloved Velvet who lay still on the ground. Wrapping my arms across her strong neck. I rubbed her face and neck as hot tears ran down my face. And. I breathed ever so deeply. Every sense in my body and soul desperately needed this moment.

I touched her, and smelled her, and rubbed her, and desperately tried to imprint her into my heart forever.

Despite the grief and pain of losing you, I would love you all over again. – Unknown Author

Velvet taught her girl what silent strength and the simplicity of loving large truly means. She exemplified what loyalty and love look like. She left her with the warmth of a million memories. In Maizey’s words, “She is my life horse.”

This sweet mare gave her heart to her people. In the end, she showed me how to lay my armor down and be loved and understood. I’m grateful for the lessons I learned this day about the mirage of armor that no longer serves me well. How the gift of being seen and loved in every messy stage of life—is a rare treasure.

It was an honor to love Velvet well. My heart misses her deeply. I hold tight to my hope of seeing her again in eternity. Until then I hope she is running free in green pastures. Free at last, sweet girl.