Sylvia Says This Is No Winter for Old Horses

Sylvia
By Anne Sullivan

After we came into the house, brushed the snow off onto the floor, and blotted the floor with old newspapers, Sylvia asked me for paper and a pen. She settled onto the rug in front of the fireplace, completely ignoring the ten dollar dog rug I’d bought just for her. She wrote silently for some time before she handed the result to me. This is what she wrote:
We didn’t walk down to the barn today,
We’ve always walked down to the barn
Every day.
We didn’t walk down to the barn today,
I’ve never not walked down to the barn
Every day.
There’s no one at the barn today.
Brandy is gone.
Brandy fell down in the snow.
Brandy is gone.
Brandy could not get up.
Brandy was down.
Brandy will never get up.
Brandy is gone.
Does the spirit of Brandy live in the barn?
The barn she called home for 23 years?
I wonder.
“What do you think?” Sylvia asked after I’d read her paper.
“I think it’s the best poem you’ve ever written, Sylvia.”
“I hope it’s good,” she said. “I don’t know if I really liked Brandy but I was used to her grouchy ways. I know she didn’t like me. Sometime I barked at her just to irritate her. But I’m kind of sad that she’s gone.”
“I’m sad too.” I said. “And I know she never liked me. Whenever she came close to me, it wasn’t to show affection; it was to bite. But she was part of our family and she was what she was.”
“How old was Brandy?” Sylvia asked. “I know she’s been here forever but I never knew exactly how old she was.”
“Since horses have a birthday on January 1st, Brandy was 33.”
”Is that in people years or dog years or horse years?”
“In people years. Brandy was born in Lemitar while I was working in Chicago. That was in the winter of 1977. So if my math is correct, that was 33 years ago. I don’t even know what horse years are.”
“That’s old, isn’t it?”
“Yes, 33 is old for a horse.”
“And with all this snow and cold, this is no winter for old horses.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Do you think she’s in a better place?”
“Oh, I expect so. Bound to be. She’s probably in a spotless barn with central heating and an endless supply of Equine Senior.”
“She’d like that,” Sylvia said. “I imagine she’s even stopped being grouchy.”

Sylvia Says This Is No Winter for Old Horses