09/30/2026
These are words that touch my heart ❤️
What measures how much a horse means?
I’ve had a lot of thinking time over the past few weeks since losing Finn, and I really do believe that he changed me when he was here… and he’s changed me again now he’s gone.
I remember when he went to sleep. I was stroking him, and one of the things I kept thinking was, I don’t want to forget how he feels.
I’d not long lost my dog, who I’d had for 16 years, and I remember stroking her too. Everything happened so quickly, and there was just so much to process. And then, over time, I realised I couldn’t remember what she felt like anymore.
I couldn’t picture it.
So when Finn died, I spent an extra long time stroking him. I wanted to remember everything. The feel of his coat. His mane. His nose. His soft muzzle.
And yet, here I am weeks later, and I can’t remember the exact feeling anymore.
I remember doing it. I remember how important it was to me in that moment. But the familiarity of him is already starting to fade.
It’s such a strange part of grief.
I’ve recently seen horses who have passed away online and underneath their names you often see a list of achievements.
The competitions they won.
The level they reached.
The scores.
The championships.
The things they achieved during their lives.
And I’ve found myself looking back through my own phone at Finn’s achievements. The results. The shows. The photographs and videos.
And honestly?
They don’t mean very much to me now.
What I find myself looking for are the moments where we did absolutely nothing.
The moments where we were just together.
Him standing next to me.
His head resting near me.
The quiet moments.
The ordinary moments.
The moments where he was completely free and happy, just being Finn.
The riding means even less to me now that he’s gone.
And I think that has taught me something.
We spend so much of our lives measuring horses by what they achieve. What they can do. What they win. What they provide for us.
But when they’re gone, especially for me none of that matters.
I’d give anything to have Finn standing next to me again.
I’d give anything to stroke his coat, run my hands through his mane, feel his soft muzzle and just have him here.
Not riding him.
Not competing.
Not achieving anything.
Just him.
And perhaps that’s what measures how much a horse means.
Not what you achieved together under saddle.
But how much you would give to have one completely ordinary day with them again.
Just being here is enough.
So when you’re thinking about what your horse means to you, think long and hard about it.
Because they mean so much more than their achievements ever could.
