NAMED COMANCHE Written by: Gilbert L. Jones Copyright © 2000 Gilbert L. Jones "I love you little man. I hope that someday we’ll meet again." It was with these whispered words on my lips and bitter tears blinding my vision when I pulled the trigger. I knew in my heart that there was no other choice available, but that didn’t make this dreadful task any easier. I had deliberately taken upon myself this agonizing responsibility, because I knew that there was literally no way that my heart-broken little girl or her compassionate husband could do it. Besides, as an old friend I owned it to Comanche to do him this service – to help his pain-wracked body pass beyond the threshold of death and to speed his gentle spirit along its path to Horse Heaven. As the echo of the retort from my pistol faded, so did another small piece of my heart sicken and die. July 4th, 2000 had been a pleasant travel day for us, as we drove with our horses to our favorite riding spot in California’s Tahoe National Forest. My adult daughter, her husband and I had been talking about this week of camping-out with our horses for the previous nine months and now it was finally here. Our campsite of first choice was available right along the banks of Lindsey Creek and we were all delighted at the prospect of spending the week exploring the back-country with our horses and fishing some of the remote lakes. Little could we have guessed that disaster was hovering so closely. Immediately upon our arrival in camp, we backed our two mounts out of their trailer and tied them to separate overhead lines, just as we have done with them so many times in the past. Both of these horses had been born into our family many years before and both were highly experienced with being tied to overhead lines while in camp. For over twenty years Comanche had been my daughter’s closest equine friend and partner - since his birth when Natalie had been an eleven-year-old child. She had raised and trained Comanche herself. His first back-country camping experience had been in the Mendocino National Forest, with riding in the adjacent Yolla Bolla Wilderness Area, at the age of three. Comanche had closely accompanied Natalie throughout all of their growing-up years that followed, and as the old saying goes, ‘they were tighter than the bark on a tree’. Every Christmas morning Comanche received a sock from Santa that was stuffed with presents and goodies. And on each of his birthdays, Comanche always got a present that he eagerly helped Natalie unwrap with his sensitive nose. Pepsi Cola had been one of his favorite party drinks, and when the company phased out bottles in favor of cans, Comanche quickly figured out how to drink efficiently from these containers also. Even when Natalie had married Jay, Comanche had been part of the agreement, for it had been a package deal. Camping out and exploring the wilderness together had been a passionate love that both Natalie and Comanche reveled in. And just the simple joy of being together and sharing a quiet moment at the end of each workday was something that they never took for granted. If you read my article in ‘Trail Rider’ magazine about ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ horses, you could easily recognize the special combination of traits that made Comanche just such a lifelong companion. For his human friend Natalie, Comanche consistently displayed a determined willingness to please her. He truly had that rare mixture of intelligence, personality, curiosity, stamina, coordination, courage, and loyalty that it takes to make a once-in-a-lifetime horse. Throughout their lives together, Natalie had always recognized that the love and mutual understanding that she shared with Comanche had been a very special gift. Immediately after being tied to his overhead line, Comanche laid down to roll. We were all in close proximity and none of us saw anything unusual occur, but upon standing up we discovered that Comanche had somehow broken his right front leg – a truly bizarre occurrence. We immediately immobilized the leg, while discussing what we should do next. When asked, I mentioned that there appeared to be only two options available. One was to somehow load Comanche into his trailer and get him to a veterinarian in Grass Valley. This drive would take well over an hour by way of the twisty mountain roads and there would be no guarantee that we would be able to locate a veterinarian on a holiday. The other option went unspoken. Ultimately the final decision was Natalie’s to make, as she wept quietly for her ‘little boy’. Natalie had been professionally trained and had worked for several years as a State certified Animal Health Technician, so medical problems were not strange to her. For the past two years she had desperately fought the incurable Cushings Disease that Comanche became afflicted with during his later years. The treating veterinarian had told her that the slightest infection, no matter how minor would likely result in his death, due to a weakened immune system. So Natalie knew that Comanche had been living on borrowed time. If the broken bone were treated an infection would undoubtedly be one of the side effects. Another problem was that Comanche could barely move, let along climb the ramp into his trailer. When the amount of pain that he would have to endure and his quality of life were both factored into the decision of treating the broken bone or not, Natalie decided that it would be kinder to put Comanche down. We tried to move Comanche out of the camping area, but after a hundred feet or so he refused to move further. We didn’t have any injectable painkiller available, so Natalie administered some intravenous tranquilizer to make him more comfortable, while I went to the truck to retrieve my pistol. I told the other equestrian campers of the decision that had been made and they understood the hopelessness of the situation. Returning to Comanche’s location, I cut several strands of hair from his tail and gave them to my daughter as a remembrance. Giving Comanche one last hug, Natalie handed me his led rope and then hurried away. Even when it is a kindness, death is never pretty. For it not only steals life, but it can also spoil a person’s memories of the physical beauty and vitality that its victim once possessed. It was for this reason that Jay took Natalie back home in the Jeep, while I took on the responsibility for burying Comanche’s body. I had to drive the truck approximately three miles from camp to find a location where my cellular telephone would operate. It was at this point that this nightmare vacation took a dark twist. It took a lot of phone calls and even more time, but I finally threatened and shamed the United States Forest Service into sending Fuels Officer Donn Thane to the scene. Since the Forest Service administrated the public property that Comanche’s body was laying on, I had hoped that they might provide a backhoe to bury him with, and I had no problem with paying them for this service. Officer Thane turned out to be a gentle and understanding person, but he did his job by advising me that it was the ‘owner’s responsibility’ to ensure that the horse was quickly and properly buried. That of course had always been my sole intent. I was just asking for a little help in locating the equipment necessary, since I was in an unfamiliar area. Officer Thane next selected an adjacent location that would serve as a burial site, without polluting the nearby stream or offering too many immovable granite boulders. Donn Thane then went well beyond his duty by spending the next couple of hours trying his best to locate a backhoe and an operator, while I stayed in camp tending to my horse Flashy, who was having a nervous fit over his best friend’s demise. Not having any luck with locating a Forest Service or commercial backhoe, I suggested to Officer Thane that if he could notify just one member of the local chapter of the BackCountry Horsemen, the Gold Country Trail Council, or the local Sheriff’s Mounted Posse that they could get the word out to the other horse owners of the area. I have never met a member of one of these types of service organizations yet who wouldn’t go out of his/her way to help another equestrian who was in trouble. More time on his cellular phone resulted, and Officer Thane returned with news of a location where I could board my horse and with several phone numbers where I could inquire about obtaining a backhoe. I stabled Flashy for a night at Oak Tree Farms (phone 530/432-1556), which is a very nice boarding facility in Penn Valley. Pete Brennan (the owner of the facility) and I both got onto separate phones in his house and began calling equipment operators and rental yards. Since the building season was at its peak, nothing was available. I was literally down to my last call when I located a backhoe at the Hansen Brothers’ rental yard in Grass Valley. Early the next morning I moved the backhoe to the Lindsey Creek site, on its own flatbed trailer and was finally able to bury Comanche’s body, approximately forty-four hours after I had put him down. A very special thanks to Donn Thane for his compassion and his valuable help. Also, my gratitude to Bill Slater, who was the Forest Service archeologist who came out the next day. He made sure that the site picked out by Officer Thane was not of historical interest and he kept me in good spirits, while I tried my best to operate a backhoe for the first time in my life. The site that these two officers agreed upon is a lovely spot and it will be easy for us to return year after year to visit with Comanche and relive our individual memories of days gone by. This article is dedicated to Comanche’s memory. With its writing I hope to celebrate his life and to describe how a ‘Once-in-a-Lifetime Horse’ named Comanche shed his physical body to become the ‘Spirit Horse’ named Comanche, who will always live in the memories of those who love him. Indeed, I hope we will meet again someday and explore a different kind of wilderness together. "Go with God little man – I love you." |
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GILBERT L. JONES - Email: WordCraft@saber.net
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