Nestle

I never planned on Nestle being my favorite pony. Cocoa was my favorite. Tall, fat, geldings were what I had an affection for. They were reliable, hardworking, and easily bribed with treats of sandwich crusts and apple cores. Cocoa was the center of my world. A fat paint with chocolate brown patches and a clean white tail. He nuzzled my hand and gave kisses freely. He loved everyone, but he loved me more. He was an alpha in our herd and played favorites with the mares. When Cocoa was caught easily, it seemed, everyone was caught easily. He led by example, and sometimes catching ponies would take forever.

He was my dream pony, my everything, so when he died, I was at a loss. I had lost dogs and cats and goldfish before, but they were never the perfect animals of my dreams, like Cocoa was. For the longest while I knew he would never be replaced. I couldn't look at farms for sale with green rolling pastures because I couldn't see any pony but Cocoa in them. Llamas, yes; sheep, of course; even goats and camels, but no ponies. If it couldn't be Cocoa, it couldn't be.

Right?

Nestle was Cocoa's favorite. He always had a favorite, and when Chocolate and Ruth left, it was Nestle. When it was cold or windy out, she cuddled with him in the barn. When food was put out he Alpha-Male'd the other ponies away from her food for her. Towards the end, when Cocoa was in the barnyard being medicated, away from the other ponies, she stood at the gate keeping him company.

I think Nestle misses him as much as I do. I love her for that.

Finding out that I love her- almost as much as I loved Cocoa- has been a process. She doesn't nuzzle the way he did, but her touch is just as warm and reassuring. I call her my "Co-dependent pony" because she needs to be comforted as much as I do some days. When she's working, she wants someone with her; not to make sure she behaves- she's too old for that now- but to keep her company. When on the wheel, she likes to be the pony at the front, so she can see the line of children, parents, or workers.

She has a long, black mane that constantly gets in her eyes. Ted has said on more than one occasion that we should trim it back, but it suits her personality. Always wanting to be in the middle of everything, but somehow always holding back. She seems shy to me.

Nestle is a quiet pony in our herd. She doesn't make much noise in the field, and since Cocoa left, doesn't cause much trouble. When we're out on a job, though, she screams to other horses. The horses from Wood Acres Farm are used to it. They usually answer back, and she's satisfied that they heard her.

She is so unlike Cocoa that, to this day, it surprises me when I feel my heart swell thinking about her. Cocoa tolerated being brushed, and she revels in it. Her thick velveteen coat comes clean easily, and when I'm done she doesn't promptly go and roll in the biggest mud puddle she can find. After long work days, or cold days when I know her joints are bothering her, I rub her down, massaging her shoulders, back, and rump. Her eyes glaze over with contentment, and if she were a cat I think she would purr.

When her body lets her, she works as hard any she can, and when her body doesn't let her, I understand. Residual effects of Lyme Disease make her feel older than her years say she should. I understand. After all, who hasn't woken up with creaking bones and stiff joints, regardless of their age?

When Cocoa passed, I remind myself, I wasn't the only one who lost someone they loved. Nestle did too, and without realizing it, she helped fill the hole he left.