Meet my horse: Sunny Boy
It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a good horse is waiting in Heaven with their tails cut off. At the pearly gates, they are welcomed with applause, and taken to green endless pastures where they wait for their riders to come ride them again.
The whitest, wavy mane would wrap around my fingers as I urged him to fly over the pasture next to our house. I used to ride on that big plot of land for hours, exhausting my backside, but Sunny Boy would keep flying. His tail would swish away swarming summer flies, and his eyes would be wide as he made sure a startled deer wouldn’t jump into our path. He always took care of me, his small nine year old. I had been riding for nearly two years on Sunny Boy at a large lesson barn down the street on a winding road in the country of Georgia. The summers were hot, the trees were tall and it smelled like Christmas all year round. I remember the arena, the lesson horses, the jealous horse-less girls who rode at summer camp with me. At that time, I was the only one at Redgate Summer Camp that had her very own horse.
“Why would you put your small child on such a big horse?”
My parents would smile nicely at the other parents, then say, “He was made for her. He takes care of her.”
Sunny Boy did take care of me. During lessons, trail rides, and when I would lead him to and from his pasture to the wash stall for tacking up. We would board him the summer at that stable, so when I got dropped off at the butt-crack of dawn, Sunny would be waiting for me.
Sunny Boy was a large 15hh Tennessee Walking Horse, with large soul-filled eyes, and even bigger feet. His mane and tail were crisp white when I kept it washed, and twisted into course coils when I didn’t brush it daily. I loved my Sunny Boy.
He came from an auction, probably half drugged, but certainly half starved. He was shy, and skittish around men, and took some time to trust people. I spent time with him nearly every day before and after school to make sure he knew I was his girl now. I fed him, brushed him, and cooed at him. I even played in his paddock with my Breyer horses, making him apart of my horse games, just to make him feel included. The auction had his papers, but they guessed he was “around twelve”, but that translates to “he could be a baby, or be very very ancient”. We learned quickly that Sunny Boy was proud cut (half gelded if you will), so he wasn’t the best with other horses, but he was a solid mount and sweet to be around, so we didn’t mind.
He was my best friend.
I am the rare rider who loves to ride alone. I love the peace, the quiet and the connection between me and my horse. I love the feel of them, being in tune with each other with the silence. However, when I was with Sunny Boy, he became my living, breathing diary. I told him everything as we wound through the trees of our Georgia farm. I told him my dreams, my fears, and about how school wasn’t going well and my parents weren’t happy with my grades (this is Sunny’s story, but you can read about mine in this blog). His big ears would flick back, listening, as he globbed down the path my dad mowed for us weekly. The big guy didn’t have the smoothest gaits, partially clomping between a pace and walk/speed walk. Tennessee Walkers have far more gears than regular mounts, but I wasn’t too worried about learning them when I was that age. Sunny Boy and I were happy to walk(clob), trot (faster clob), and canter (fastest clobber). I had attempted to show with Sunny Boy, and we did well in Equitation, but I didn’t enjoy the high intensity of it, or the urge to win. I just wanted everyone to see how pretty my horse was, and how much I loved him. My first ribbons are from my clunky horse Sunny!
My parents were loving, but firm when it came to reprimanding. I would get told “act right/get good grades or no riding for a week!”
The horror.
However, they knew I needed Sunny Boy as much as he needed me, so very rarely was I kept from riding.
Sunny Boy became the air in my lungs, and my whole life revolved around him. When we moved from Georgia to Houston Texas, he came with us. When we moved from Houston to Oklahoma (our final move), he came with us. My loving parents sold everything we had to make sure Sunny Boy came with us.
At one point, Sunny Boy had to stay in Houston while we lived in Oklahoma until we had enough money and a place to board him. That was the worst year of my life. New school, new people, a city, an apartment, and I was missing my Sunny.
My parents found a way, and Sunny came to live with us in Oklahoma. By then we were teenagers, (Sunny was roughly an older teen), and it was either the sport sticks, or it doesn’t. However, the teenage life of woe didn’t bother me, and I remained faithful to Sunny Boy. I never gave up riding and caring for him, even when I got more horses, he was gravity pulling me back. Instead of running off in a car, football games, or dating, I would always be found in the barn with my horses. My Sunny Boy was first to be fed, first to be groomed, and first to be kissed goodnight.
Sunny Boy turned 38 in 2026, and will forever be 38. We were together nearly 28 years, and he remained at my side until August 14th, 2026. He decided he was too tired to go on. We stayed with each other until his last breath.
“Whose nicker will you hear when you arrive in Heaven?”
I will hear Sunny Boy, and know I am at peace again.
If you want to read my tribute to grief and losing my Sunny Boy, you can read it here on this blog post. I go into respectful discussion on my time during the moment of losing my horse, and the grief it stuck with me. It will probably not be the only time I write on this topic.
