I have great respect and appreciation for Rocky’s family and the decisions they have made and are making about his care.  One of the many things I like about rural life is that people here know and understand animals in a particular and loving way, ideas that are swept  sometimes swept away in our culture’s new and intense notions of loving animals. I have learned so much about animals from the farm people here, and the first thing I learned is to listen to them, not tell them what they ought to do.

I have, of course, been in touch with Rocky’s family. They know about my visits, see the blog, know I talked with his owner,  and Maria and I made it clear that we would take Rocky at any point should that become necessary or desirable. It seems clear that it will not be. And I have nothing but admiration for their decisions and their selfless care of Rocky.

Rocky’s owner, who died recently, a farm widow who spent more than three decades with Rocky, was especially conscious of his blindness, and the broad and open pasture was meant to accommodate it. There are no obstacles when Rocky walks to his water, the stream, or the hay by the barn. He knows the path to the grass, to the tree where he brushes himself, to shelter when he needs it.  I didn’t realize how carefully this was done, but it is clear when you look at it. There are no other animals to challenge or frighten him, and no natural predators for a pony. You can see him follow well-trodden paths. He knows precisely where everything is.

It was her wish and the family’s wish that he not be moved and subjected to the great trauma of an aging, blind equine in a new environment with different terrain, rocks, barns,  brambles, hills,  water,  fences, gates, food racks and other animals. Although some might think moving Rocky would be merciful, she knew it would not be and I know it would not be. And happily, the family knows it as well. True mercy, I believe, is what’s best for the animal, not for people who worry about animals. This is how dogs end up in crates for years, often their whole lives,  in shelters while people think themselves compassionate.  As with humans, worry is not always love, and farm people know this better than anyone. In the animal world, as in the social and political realm, people seem to think they know what is best for others to do. I grow humbler every day about what I do not know.

Nothing would be easier, cheaper, or simpler than for the family to put Rocky down or give him away. Nothing would be easier than for me and Maria to take  him. How good I would look, how many lovely messages of admiration and affection, what a great story he would make. Don’t think I haven’t thought of it. But the family has chosen to maintain this property for Rocky and keep him there, in honor of his long service, as long as it is possible and he is able to move around. If the farm is ever put up for sale, they will re-consider what ought to be done. I have not discussed this with them, but if they asked, I would tell them my wish for Rocky would be that he never leave that farm. That’s how I know I am beginning to love him.

I have learned a lot about love in recent years, and the most important thing I have learned is that real love is not about what is best for me, not with people, and not with animals. It is about what is best for them. Rocky is not coming here. He will stay at home.