This morning, I got to thinking about one of the most unique spirits I’ve ever known. So here’s his story…….
TARZAN
There once was a guy named Tarzan.
And he was unique in all the world, Tarzan was.
I met him many years ago, in 2004, when my late friend Holly told me that he was unadoptable & asked me if he could come & live with me. See, Holly ran the Horse Rescue of North Scottsdale & she adopted out her horses. Several of my ‘kids’ came from her, all for about the same reason – they were unadoptable for one reason or another.
It seems that Tarzan – ‘T’ – was blind in one eye, his left eye. According to Holly, the woman who’d left him with her said that Tarzan had once been a champion rodeo horse – a ‘hazer’ in calf-roping (the horse that keeps the calf running in a straight line). But he’d lost his left eye in a trailer accident several years earlier.
Now, I don’t know if any of that was true – I don’t think it was – because T wouldn’t let anyone near him. And he never got used to seeing with one eye. He always cranked his head around to see what was going on, unlike the Iron Man, who seemed to get used to seeing with one eye right from the day he lost his other one (ruptured corneal ulcer). No matter what the woman’s story was, Tarzan told me differently. He told me that a two-legged had suddenly blinded him in that eye – & it hadn’t been “years earlier”. It was recent. I believed Tarzan.
Tarzan – a big Quarter horse – became one of the original members of the Tierra Madre herd, living with John & Solo & Bentley & Jericho & Venture & my little Dawnie & Kiss & Suze in the big field.
And T was virtually unapproachable. For example, when we had to trim his hooves, four of us would have to corner him with a long rope, eventually get it around his neck, wrassle with him for a couple of minutes & then, once he knew he was caught, we’d put the halter on him. At that point, he became very polite, very docile & very amenable to doing whatever it was that we asked of him. But, go into the field, just to say hello? Uh-uh. T would walk around behind the other kids so you couldn’t get anywhere near him.
During the first summer we were here at Rancho Tierra Madre – before there was a Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary – Tarzan came up lame. The late Dr. Rollins ran some radiographs on him & determined that he was having a laminitic event. That meant that he couldn’t live in the field for a while – that he’d have to be on stall rest until he healed – if he would heal at all.
Uh-oh…..that might pose a problem, what with him not being used to living in confined quarters & being in close proximity to a bunch of two-leggeds. But it had to be done.
So, we were able to get him into the house right next to mine – the one that has, over the years, been home to Little Bird Sing Pretty, Sweet Boy, Rusty, Mary Jane & now, Annie. And he settled in pretty well – better than I thought he would, actually.
And then, one Saturday morning, something happened. And it seemed to change our relationship – his & mine – right then & there.
A terrible thunderstorm hit. It rained so hard we could barely see. And the lightning flashed & the thunder crashed right directly over the barn. As in, they both happened at the same exact time. There was no delay. We were directly in the eye of the storm. All the horses were freaking out & so was I.
I heard noise coming from Tarzan’s house so I made my way to it. And there was T, running back & forth – from front to back & back again, over & over – as fast as he could. And he was screaming. He was terrified. Oh, Jesus, I thought, this isn’t good, especially on those tender hooves. Plus, he might run into the concrete wall on his blind side & really injure himself.
I don’t know whatever possessed me to do it, but I opened his door & stepped into his house. And I could see him bearing down on me at a dead run. I mean, this was dangerous. And, probably, very stupid on my part. No – not probably – it WAS very stupid on my part. I could have been seriously injured or worse.
But God love him, Tarzan threw out the anchor just as he got to me, even sliding a bit as he came to a stop.
And I threw my arms around his neck, my face up against his. And he was soaking wet & I could hear him blowing like a bellows & I swear I could feel his heart racing. And I just stood there, holding him. And he just stood there, hugging me the way horses can do. Both of us were trembling.
And I kept telling him, “It’s okay, T….it’s okay…..I’ve got you, son…..this’ll be over in a minute…..it’s okay, T…..it’s okay……”
And he calmed down. And his breathing slowed & I couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore &, yes, the storm passed. And still we stood there together for several minutes, just Tarzan & me, both of us dripping wet, a couple of guys who’d been thrown together in some weird set of life’s circumstances. And a fierce, fierce storm – with dangerous lightning & thunder – had been the thing that had brought us to this moment, to the two of us holding onto each other for all we were worth. It was magic.
A few weeks later, Doc declared Tarzan’s hooves healed. There was no soreness & his latest radiographs had been more than acceptable. So, T went back into the field with the other kids.
For a little while. Almost a year, actually.
And then, he developed a real bad corneal ulcer & an attendant infection in his good eye. Again, we were able to catch him &, again, we brought him up into the barn – this time, on the far end of the barn. And, over the next six weeks, I applied medicines to his eye a total of 384 times – I kept a written record of it. And, each time I approached him, he was just fine. Almost glad to see me – or so it felt. And he let me scratch him & rub on him – but, really, only on his good side, the side with the good eye.
And, yes – he recovered from that, too.
But, this time, rather than put him back into the field, we thought he’d do well by himself, but only in a large enough paddock that he wouldn’t feel cooped up. So, we put him in the big paddock that now serves as Chance’s house – the one on the far northeast corner of the ranch.
And he absolutely thrived there.
He began allowing people to approach him, if only to give him a carrot or a treat. And I began an early evening regimen with him that lasted for all the rest of his days. I’d go out every evening & scratch him all over – on both sides, from nose to tail & all four legs. And, maybe because of that, he began allowing other people to go in with him. Any number of volunteers became his friend. And they’d climb through his fence: “Hey, T – it’s me!” And he’d nicker when he saw who it was.
It was the most astounding turnaround I’ve ever witnessed at Tierra Madre. From a horse that wouldn’t allow anyone within twenty feet of him to nickering when they approached him.
And Tarzan was clearly happy for three or four years, completely unlike the guy who’d arrived from Holly’s a number of years earlier. During the evening feedings, 8 or 10 bunnies would gather ‘round Tarzan to eat the hy that he’d dropped on the ground. I called it ‘Uncle Tarzan’s Happy Bunny Supper Club’.
Without going into any detail, we lost Tarzan over one long, horrible week. It was a colon thing. It just stopped working &, according to Dr. Rollins, was irreparable.
And that broke my heart. And a lot of others’ hearts, too.
But, like I said, he was one happy fellow for his last several years. And that acted as a kind of balm in the healing process.
I wish you’d known him. I wish that everybody who’s ever volunteered here had known him.
Because Tarzan’s story is a unique one.
And that’s because Tarzan was unique.
I’ve never known another spirit quite like his.
Tarzan.
Aw, T – just writing this, today, has reminded me of how very much I miss you.
And how very much I loved you.
And how very fortunate I am to have known you.
Thank you, Tarzan.
Thank you, T.
Thank you for everything but, most of all, thank you for being you.
Love, Jimmy.