WHERE HATH THY GONE MY NOBLE FRIEND

He that has walked upon the earth with me, dragged my plow, shared my luck, and misfortune, served me well, never betrayed me, stood ever before me as a noble beast. How could I not love thee? Proverbs 12:10 states, "The just regardeth the life of his beast, but the bowels of the wicked are cruel."

All of the words, in all of the books, in the entire world could never teach me what watching my father taught me. I was a young boy observing, listening to every sound of his voice, watching his every move, studying each line of pleasure and displeasure in his face. He instructed me as we walked and talked together. This man who couldn’t read nor write, imparted to me the truth of the universe, as he understood it. I’m now, as he once was, in more ways than even I might know.

In the 1940's and through the early 1950's, we lived in that rural part of the South dependent upon the animals that surrounded us. The chickens were for meat and eggs, the cows for milk and butter, hogs for pork, and the dog to protect and warn us of danger. The most important thing of all was the horse. The horse was our livelihood. It was the power that drove the farm equipment, provided transportation and entertained us. Our survival and way of life depended on this noble beast.

My Daddy grew up in a country where the animals that surrounded him weren’t for pets, but for service. He came from a time and place where all things needed to be useful, if one was to survive. Things not carrying their own weight were discarded in one way or another. Life was hard, and all things needed to fit into the scheme of the ever-changing cycle of life.

I never knew My Daddy to have a pet. Perhaps, as a boy he did, but not in my lifetime. I had seen him, from time to time, look at a dog or a cat with a great deal of tolerance and compassion. The cats lived in the barn and kept the mice down in the corncribs. The dogs were for hunting, or a warning device for danger. He knew I loved Ol’ Pal and viewed our relationship with a soft smile. I never saw My Daddy touch any of the cats or dogs or form a bond with an animal, except one.

I don't remember when he got this white mare. He called her Ol’ Gray. When I reached the age of knowledge, she was just there. I couldn’t remember when she wasn’t. There was an Ol’ Maude too, but she wasn’t Ol’ Gray. Ol’ Gray was a special animal. She was gentle with a kind nature. She’d nudge you with her nose gently when she was hungry. She followed My Daddy around in the barn lot like a puppy. My Daddy would stop, rub her gently, and talk to her in a low voice. He’d often take a brush and curr her lovingly, removing the loose hair. She’d stand very still looking content on those occasions. You could see the love that existed between them. They seemed content just to be spending time together.

Ol’ Gray had a nice level loin. You didn’t even need a saddle when riding her to be comfortable. Ol’ Maude was a different story. She had a bone for a spine so sharp that it would cut you almost in half. We had no saddle so the anatomy of the back was very important. My Daddy would mount Ol’ Gray without a bridle, and she’d carry him all around. He’d guide her with his knees and hands. She’d carry him to the store and all manner of places that he needed to go. When it was muddy, as it often was, my beloved brother and I would ride her to catch the school bus. My Daddy he’d say, "When you get off, turn her around and head her home." We’d dismount, give her a slap on the rump and off to the house she’d go. My beloved brother, at the age of twelve, bought a saddle for Ol’ Gray giving us a little style as we rode her to the movies on Saturday night. Sometimes, on Sunday, when the General or a family member was sick, the family didn’t go to church together. On those occasions my brother and I would often ride her double and go alone.

My Daddy toiled in the long, hot summer sun with Ol’ Gray. She pulled the breaking plow and he walked along behind her. Later on in the summer, she’d pull the one row cultivator to plow the cotton. They worked from sunup to sundown in those long, hot, dreary days. There were times, when hired hands and other horses would come and go, but Ol Gray, she remained. My Daddy always preferred her over the other horses that he owned. They were like peaches and cream. They went together, and they stayed together. The day was a little less difficult for him with her company.

A good rest at noon was always required. He’d come to the barn and take the heavy harness from her back. She’d lay down in the warm sand in the barn lot. I’d watch her put her hoofs in the air and roll from side to side on her back. She’d then stand and shake off the excess dirt. It was quite a sight to see such a big animal act like my dog Pal. She was a happy part of our daily life and a trusted companion.

She’d occasionally go into season, but there not being any ol’ stud horses around, it posed no real problem. My Daddy said it would be rough for her to have a colt, as she had to work so hard in the fields. He feared it might kill her. He not only loved her, but he depended on her for the planting and gathering of the precious cotton crop.

Ol’ Maude went somewhere and I don't remember where. Suddenly, Ol’ Gray had a black teammate for the first time. Ol’ Gray was the constant in our lives. We could always depend on her. She worked in the fields, carried us on her back, pulled the green wagon, and brought a little color and security into our lackluster lives. It would’ve been hard for any of us to imagine that there was another mare in the whole wide world like our Ol’ Gray.

Ol’ Gray is going to have a colt. How this came about I don’t rightly know. Probably, I was away at school when some ol’ stud horse made his visit. No one ever told me the details. The General was still telling me that the stork brought babies. I knew better, but I didn't expect any explanation along those lines. I knew a colt was coming and that’s all the information I ever got. I was now in my 13th year and Ol’ Gray was nine. My Daddy seemed worried, but I had great hope. I'd take care of that ol’ colt and make a great stud horse out of him. I had read My Friend Flicka. I knew I could do it, if I was given a chance. I'd train him and break him to ride. We’d be a grand sight going up and down those ol’ country roads. He’d be fierce. We'd strike fear in all their hearts, as we passed by. Ol’ Pal had pretty well dominated the Dog Kingdom. We’d be known far and wide, no doubt about that. I could see it all in my mind’s eye, and so I became very anxious.

Ol’ Gray had no time for maternity leave. She just couldn’t be given that liberty. Money had been borrowed to make a crop. The debt had to be paid, if we were to survive and farm another year. Well, she just lay right down there in the horse lot one-day and had this little colt. It was in May and couldn’t have happened at a worse time. The weather was perfect for working, and not a lot of time could be spared. Ol’ Gray was given one day to recuperate, and then she went right back to work, dragging that plow.

I loved that little ol’ red colt. He had a star right in the middle of his forehead and a black tail. Otherwise, he was a red roan. He sure could run and kick up his heels. When he was only a week old, he could run like the very wind. He’d get hungry, and I’d see him taking off looking for his mommy. My Daddy would stop and let him nurse Ol’ Gray. He’d sit on the handles of the cultivator and we’d talk while the colt nourished himself. Looked like things were working out just like I planned. Once my prize stud horse had finished his meal we’d take off again.

Sunday mornings, we’d always sleep late. We didn't have to leave for church until around 9:00 A. M. I got up about 7:30 this warm July morning and bounded out the door. Ol’ Pal jumped off the porch to go with me. We headed out for the barn to see Ol’ Thunder, that was the name I had given him. Right behind the barn, just out of sight of the house, stood Ol’ Gray. She was bending down trying to move Ol’ Thunder with her nose, but he was as still as a stone. I was no stranger to death by this time. My heart skipped a beat, as I looked at him lying there stiff, and cold. His tongue protruded from his mouth, frozen in death. My little feller's eyes were wide open. My dreams of riding a great stallion had died that Saturday night without giving me any warning. A great darkness fell over my soul and I mourned for days.

My Daddy told me the milk from Ol’ Gray was just not what it should’ve been. Her having to work so hard and all. “Her milk just dried up I reckon,” he said. My good friend, not big enough for grass and corn, had grown weak and died. I didn't understand that at all. He had seemed fine to me the night before.

The crop was cultivated and gathered. Ol’ Gray had lost some of her previous energy. One day she refused to carry us on her back. She didn't buck or get real nasty. She just refused to go. My Daddy took off his belt and spanked her like he would a child he loved. Not with a stick or a check line, but his belt from his Sunday pants. She took on a real sad demeanor. “Okay. I'll do it, but I don't feel good,” she seemed to be saying. Her decline continued. My Daddy had the veterinarian out to look at her. After the examination, they had a long conversation. They were out near the barn and the rest of us couldn’t hear what they said. My Daddy seemed sad after that and refused to speak about it anymore.

In the spring, after a difficult winter of seeing her grow weaker, My Daddy announced to the family that he’d be buying a new horse to replace Ol” Gray. She was to be retired. He turned her out into the vast woods of the Company Farm. He hoped she’d graze, find water, and perhaps live a few more years. He suspected she needed to be put down, but he couldn’t do it. It was beyond him. It was now between Ol’ Gray and God.

We’d walk in the woods on rainy days looking for the evasive gray squirrel. My Daddy would stop and look at the fresh horse tracks we’d come upon. "Ol Gray’s been here," he’d say. He seemed pleased she was still alive. He’d always be quiet a few minutes afterwards. I knew he was hoping she wasn’t suffering and he’d done the right thing. On a warm, sunny morning after a rain shower, we weren’t able to work and took off to the woods for our hunt. We had entered and walked about a mile on our usual journey when Ol’ Pal stopped. He lowered his head and moved cautiously forward, lifting his legs one at a time.

There she lay, dead. The opossum and the buzzards had come to claim the carcass and to clean her bones. I looked sideways at My Daddy, as we walked forward to where she lay. Upon reaching her, he hunkered down on his haunches. He then slowly reached out and touched her head lovingly with his right hand. Tears ran down his cheeks and dropped silently onto his overalls. "We walked a many a mile together. Didn't we ol’ girl?" he said, and wiped the tears from his eyes.