Sorrow Strikes

The King is Dead. Long Live the King!

Aug 06, 2022

Full audio at bottom of story.

Please Note: This is our very first, First Friday Freebie. I have decided that the first Friday of every month will be a freebie from The Equuleus Code. Yes, it became a Saturday Matinee, but once you read the below, I think you’ll understand why I had a little trouble getting it out on time…

"Grief is a matter of the heart and soul. Grieve your loss, allow it in and spend time with it. Suffering is the optional part." — Dr. Wayne Dyer

“I feel like you should be proclaiming it from every street corner,” said my friend, Pam. “The King is dead! Long live the King!”

That is when I knew without a doubt she understood. She understood him.

Tallish, dark and handsome, with a tendency towards a potbelly in his later years, he hid his blue blood well in a body that was not without its challenges. Long back, short neck, short legs, but! Hypermobile to sweeten the deal. Yes, that was a joke of sorts.

He was grumpy, given to food aggression and prone to sudden bursts of temper if someone got under his skin. He made it clear he was to be fed before anyone else and if this rule was broken, his displeasure and scorn was quick to follow, laced with incredulity that you would be so crude and completely without an understanding of proper etiquette and decorum in his barn. I mean, castle.

Seriously? You fed the peasants before you fed moi?

Taking pictures is boooring!

He found the fundamental and fussy boring but relished anything that allowed him to rise to an occasion and show off. Then he shone, and talked incessantly about his own prowess, pointing out when praise and a peppermint was appropriate before I could tell him myself.

Somehow, in him, it was endearing. Kind of like how people chewing with their mouth open is gross, but a horse, dog or porcupine chewing loudly with food spilling from their lips is cute.

He was also true to his breed, the Lusitano. He knew immediately I was his person and made sure I knew it, too. He was deeply devoted, loyal to a fault, affectionate and in possession of a cheeky sense of humor. He had my back when it counted but would challenge me all day long. He bobbed for apples with childish abandon not to mention superb skill, and ate snow for the hell of it. He gave kisses that could give you whiplash. He’d lick your face whether you asked for it or not, and having his ears rubbed inside and out was the best thing since God invented the carrot. He’d bicker endlessly with his pony (yes, his pony), Braveheart, but take the little guy for a walk without him and you’d think the sky was falling on Apollo’s head.

Still, he was my ally, my rock, and he held a space for me that I never knew was there till it was gone overnight. He had been walking me home for near on ten years and I took it for granted till I was left with a gaping hole, a strange sense of vacuum where his soul had filled my sky. We had nine years to build from what had been love at first sight, and just one long and devastating night to realize it was suddenly time to say goodbye.

Without warning, sorrow struck and grief remains. It is the hardest part of loving anyone, the letting go. With animals, it often follows hard on the heels of making one of the toughest decisions you may ever make. To willfully, purposefully, let them go, and to watch and hold them as they are administered the kiss of death. To weigh their suffering against your own and accept, this is the last and greatest gift you can give them, even as you wound yourself deeply in the giving, as you weep at the darkening of their eyes.

Much has been written to explain why it is not just a dog, just a horse. I could write volumes about Apollo, sonnets and poems about this funny, quirky horse that stole my heart when I wasn’t looking.

The fix was in before I ever got on his back - the day we met…it was a mutual case of love at first sight from across the barn aisle….he’s friendly, said Carol, but this is ridiculous.

But really all there is to say, is that I loved a funny looking horse that it seemed nobody wanted and he loved me back in his own aloof and temperamental way. And if I know anything, it is that he would be deeply annoyed if I were to suffer over my suffering. He would think I had learnt nothing from his primo example. Look up ‘stoic’ in the dictionary and you should see Apollo’s picture beside it.

That said, he would also be annoyed if I did not attach the appropriate level of importance to his passing; praise him for having blessed the earth with his presence and mourn his absence. And so I must tell you this, which would make him smile with satisfaction and give me one of those whiplash inducing kisses. Please listen closely, as he would expect you to, and please take a moment to acknowledge the importance of what I am about to tell you. Furthermore, he’d appreciate a moment of silence to honor his memory. Raise a glass if you will, and salute Apollo tonight in the following way:

The King is dead! The King is dead! Long Live the King!

Knowing his will must be done, from wherever he gallops now, I looked for someone to tell me what it means to grieve without making a meal of it, and I liked how this writer tells it, and I liked that she quoted Dr. Wayne Dyer. So I borrowed her quote, and here’s the link to her article. I hope it helps you as it did me and please give your loved ones, whether human, horse, dog, cat or pet parrot an extra hug from me and Apollo tonight.