Cinnamon

In November 2024, I spent a week in California visitng my mother, who was - and still is - living in an Alzheimers ward.

It was a hard week, but less so than it might have been, because in the midst of everything, I took a little break to spend time with my friend, Corina, and her new horse, Cinnamon.

Cinnamon was an older Missouri Fox Trotter that Corina had recently rescued from a bad situation. They were still getting to know each other, and things were a bit rocky. I've had a lot of experience with complicated horses, and I really thought I'd breeze in and quickly and easily effect some positive change for both of them.

I was wrong.

Cinnamon gave me every bit as much trouble as she'd been giving Corina. More probably. I respected her for that, but it was humbling.

Also, it was also worrisome. This was obviously a tough horse, and Corina has a complicated life. I wasn't sure the two of them were ever going to form the kind of partnership I knew Corina wanted.

Not surprisingly, things got worse before they got better. Not too long after my visit, Corina's barn owner advised her to cut her losses and move on. Corina did not take that advice. Instead, she moved Cinnamon to a different property, one that better suited her horse's needs.

Cinnamon made friends with a big, one-eyed, bay mare named Bonnie.

After that, she decided to make friends with Corina, too.

From that point forward, every picture Corina posted showed an entirely different horse than the resistant, shutdown mare I'd met in 2024.

She looked younger, healthier, softer, happier.

It was a beautiful transformation.

I was so happy for both of them and looked forward to meeting this new and vastly improved version of Cinnamon.

Alas, that will never happen. 

Corina's beautiful, red mare succumbed to the infirmities of old age yesterday morning. I am heartbroken for both of them, but also so glad they had that time together. Corina wrote: We gave her a soft landing.  She gave me healing. We came full circle. What a beautiful eulogy.

Rest easy, Cinnamon. It was truly a privilege.