I’ll miss seeing him, as will his owners. But the one who will likely miss him most is Missy, his pasture mate. Missy is a diva, if ever there was a horse diva, and she knows everything that goes on in the neighborhood. I’ve often thought she must be writing a book, because nothing escapes her notice.

When my front door opens, her head pops up. Sam’s head follows suit. When it’s only me, Missy goes back to eating, and I could swear she chides Sam for distracting her from her meal.

When there’s actually something happening, like someone approaching her pasture, in true diva-like manner she sends Sam to check it out. If it’s me approaching with carrots, she strides forward and bumps Sam out of the way, assuming the carrots are all hers. She reminds me of Hyacinth Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances, with Sam saying, “Yes, dear” like Mr. Bucket does.

I could go on about how much I’ve enjoyed watching these two interact over the years, but I have to remind myself that they are horses, and their emotions and attitudes are horse, not human. Certainly Missy will miss Sam. But my guess is that she will adapt just fine.

Over the years, I’ve seen animals who seem to grieve immediately after the loss of a fellow animal. But then something happens. It’s as if a switch gets thrown and they accept the new reality and go on with life. When we get to heaven, we can ask the details about all of this. But in the meanwhile, I’m assuming God hard-wired horses with the ability to go on. But just maybe all those carrots we fed over the years helped, too.