I think I knew from the first that I was drawn to writing about animals not just because I love them, but because of what they tell me about people, about me. I think of the gifts of Rose, Orson, Simon, Lenore, Frieda, Izzy and I see that each of them touched something deeply in me, connected with a part of me, brought me to a new understanding of myself, of life. I knew from the first what Rocky’s gift to me was – helping me understand the beauty and power of acceptance.

Acceptance – and denial – is all over the Rocky story. From the first photo of him on the blog, I began receiving urgent and dramatic messages about Rocky. Was he safe? What was he eating? Why didn’t he come to my farm? What could be done to help him, to save him? There was a tension, almost from the first about him in many people’s minds. It was as if he could only be seen as a drama, a crisis, a mercy project.  This puzzled me from the first, as Rocky is well-cared for, and has been for more than three decades, and even though his barn collapsed last winter, he has another barn and is quite will fed and tended.  Just this morning I saw a message posted on Facebook demanding to know if Rocky was getting special high-protein grain for older equines in the winter, and if not, why? This was none of the writer’s business, nor any of mine, I thought. No one in the family is asking my advice or anyone else’s on his feed, or seems to need any. I have permission to photograph him, not invade his and their world. I respect boundaries. Remember the dumpster?

What’s going on for me? What is Rocky’s gift to me? It is acceptance, I think. Rocky and I are in different places, yet not so far apart. I am heading into my mid-60’s and Rocky has profoundly touched the part of me that is trying to accept where I am in life. Everyone makes their own decisions about life and aging, and death, and mine, increasingly, is acceptance. I do not accept the corporate medical-technological idea that medicine and medications will stop me from aging, or that I can replace enough of myself to live forever in ways I am comfortable with if I’m willing to spend enough money. A person e-mailed me yesterday saying she was very worried about Rocky, as he looked old. Well, I thought, he is old. And getting older.

I see that acceptance and fear are related. What is denial but an expression of fear?

If I cannot accept who I am and where I am in life, then I will spin and scramble in fear to deny the truth of my life. To accept it. I understand that these messages will not stop, because so many of us have been conditioned to deny the reality of our lives, and even more so, the true nature of the lives of animals. We have conditioned ourselves – usually for money – to deny the very reality of life. We have bought into the corporate idea that we need not ever suffer and die.  There is always a pill or procedure or plan – or rescue – we can buy or activate to get ourselves out of the beautiful and awful and relentless thing that is life. But Rocky cannot escape his life, and why should he? It has been a good and rewarding life. It will come to an end soon enough.

And I cannot escape it either.

That is the big story, the nature of life itself, the thing that draws me to Rocky. One day, I wondered, somewhat wickedly, will Maria will be getting messages demanding to know what I am being fed? And why I am not inside in the winter?  God help me. She will toss me into the creek.

So there it is, I thought. That is Rocky’s gift for me. I see in him the acceptance I seek for myself. He knows every inch of his pasture, and even though he struggles with sight, he moves confidently from one place to another. He loves his apple, but has plenty of his own food. I believe that our gifts to others are almost always selfish. We give for ourselves. Do I go to see Rocky every day because I am a hero, an animal lover, a saintly man? I know better than that. Too cheap, too easy. I know better than to believe helping animals means I am a good person. Not so simple.

I go to see Rocky because he is helping me get where I need to go. To accept that I am getting older. To learn from this stoic and adaptable and uncomplaining spirit.  I accept where he is in life, and no amount of scrambling and drama and crisis will alter that. I will not seek to alter that.  That is my gift to him. The apple, too.

If I can accept Rocky, then perhaps I can accept myself. And others. And life. And what great peace and reward there will be in that.