09/06/2025
I promise my horses love til the end. My precious lesson horses are aging gracefully and when they retire, they will live happy in safety
Sometimes I need to take a break from social media because all the sadness of what happens to horses weighs too heavily on my heart and soul. We received a grant application for a horse that was in desperate need of help. This poem makes me think of her. I will be sharing her story soon, I just needed time to put my thoughts together.
I Was Only Meant to Be a Friend by Ruth Waken
(The voice of a non-ridden companion horse)
I wasn’t there to carry weight, or gallop through the fields.
I wasn’t made for ribbons, rosettes, or showground thrills.
I was the one who stood beside, while others chased their dreams,
A comfort, soft and steady-eyed, stitched into the quiet seams.
They said I wasn’t “ridden,” but I mattered all the same.
I was the heart that held the herd, the peace beneath the name.
They promised forever, that word, so wide and deep
A home where I could just exist, and age, and rest, and sleep.
The field was calm, the water clear, the hands were kind and true
I memorised the shape of days, the faces that I knew.
But then came change the money tight, the reasons vague but grim,
And though I limped and couldn’t heal, they passed me on a whim.
She cried, my person, yes, she wept. I felt the trembling in her grip.
She said, “You’ll find another home,” and gave one final groom.
But I had only ever asked to stay where I belonged
To be a friend, not passed again… and oh, how she was wrong. Passed to a home that passed me on.
They led me to a dealer’s gate, with concrete, cold and bare,
Where pain was masked and truth was blurred, just sell him, they don’t care.
“He’s quiet,” “Sweet,” “No trouble much” the labels changed each time.
But no one said, this horse can’t work. This horse is past his prime.
Still they tried to ride me, crop in hand, as if I’d never hurt
I flinched beneath the pressure and my hocks ground in the dirt.
Each stop I made, the care declined, the fear became my skin
A “companion” they kept calling me, but no one let me in.
They didn’t want a soul like mine who couldn’t earn his hay.
A horse who needed gentleness, and time, and space to stay.
So they passed me on again, again until I barely stood.
And no one said, “He needs to stop.” And no one understood.
The truth? She should’ve let me go when I still felt the breeze,
When grass was green beneath my feet, and time moved with such ease.
Yes, it would have broken her, to lead me down that field to say goodbye ,
But better kind hands at the end than what I never got back.
Because now the lorry waits in dusk, with rust along the side,
And voices loud and hands too rough will take me for that ride.
The one we all know far too well, the final, cruel route
Where once-loved souls go silent, and the last lights flicker out.
I was only ever meant to be a friend.
Not bought, not sold, not forced to bend.
Not pushed through pain to prove my worth
My only gift, a gentle birth.
This is happening every day
To horses kind and thrown away.
To non-ridden friends, whose jobs are done,
But still get passed till there’s no one.
If love is real, then see it through.
Don’t send us off, we live it too.
And if you can’t, then let us sleep.
It’s better that, than wounds too deep.
Forever should be more than words.
It’s care, it’s choice. It’s what we’ve earned.
So let the next one be the end
And not like me, who broke to bend.
(copied from a Facebook post)
