Yesterday I was there when Charlie died.  I had stopped by to meet Pamela, the founder of Blue Star Equiculture, and then suddenly there was an emergency.  Charlie was down.  We walked into the barn and he lay on his side, thrashing, huge raw swellings over his eyes where he had crashed into the stall walls. I knew that he was dying.

Charlie had been a New York City carriage horse for fifteen years.  A good boy, always steady, even though blind in one eye.  Except for 9/11, when he refused to pull, could not settle, and was returned to his stall just as the planes hit.  Charlie knew, like the elephants that fled to the mountains before the tsunami in Phukhet.

We piled blankets around him, and stroked his ears, and tried to keep him quiet while waiting for the vet.  Two hours later, it was finished.

Here is what I remember:  Charlie, quiet after being tranquilized by the vet, with six children and adults lined up behind him, sitting with him, singing softly, stroking, loving.  Other members of the Blue Star community standing and holding the space, loving Charlie. The quiet, the reverence.

When he went, I could feel an icy chill, as if the air around  us was silvery with cold – a clear, shimmering cold that felt like his spirit enveloping us all.

Thank you Charlie.  Thank you.