By Lisa Peterson

I look out my window and see an empty, windswept, snow-covered paddock, no longer marred by familiar hoof prints and ubiquitous droppings. Last week, amidst frigid temperatures and brutal wind chills, I stood near my horse’s empty shed, leaning on the post and rail fence he once leaned against reaching for tender blades of summer grass. My view took me to the hillside where he once rolled while making snow angels.

“Speculation” now gallops among the real angels.

Spec was my dream horse, my only horse. This wonderful bay, Thoroughbred, gelding arrived on Mother’s Day 1977 just after my sweet sixteenth birthday. A gift from my grandmother, he was my world, my safe passage from a young girl into adulthood. During our 23 years together he outlasted all my jobs, friendships and marriages. On January 17, 2000, my most treasured and longest relationship ended when Spec was put to sleep at the age of 30.

Spec was a foxhunter and a show horse. We began foxhunting in Newtown in the late 1970’s. Riding from the Fairfield County Hounds kennels on Huntingtown Road, Spec and I braved crisp fall mornings across frosted pastures to jump stonewalls and coops. We dashed across the Newtown countryside after huntsmen and hounds, followed by hearty hunt breakfasts at The Newtown Inn. Spec helped me earn my “colors” with Fairfield by the time I was 17 years old.

During my college years, Spec taught other riders at Windy Hill Farm in Easton. We enjoyed many local horse shows with championship results, and the late Wayne Carroll taught him a thing or two about the “Big Eq” courses. But over the years we couldn’t wait to get back to the countryside.

Spec didn’t begin his hunter pace career until 12 years ago when he was 18. Last season, we rode in three paces and took home ribbons in two. Spec’s final photo in my scrapbook captures him cantering across the finish line at the NBLA pace on his way to winning 10th place.

  Spec arrived at our Dodgingtown home five years ago, joining my husband, Ray, and I along with our three Norwegian Elkhounds. These golden years leave us with our fondest memories. Over the years our bond of merely horse and rider turned into one of unspoken emotions. Grazing in the backyard and countless hours of grooming replaced the riding ring as our main pleasure. While most people turned to television for relaxation, I would comb out Spec’s thick black tail and brush his coat until it shined. As I brushed his face, I would blow into his nostril. His warm moist breath would come back to caress my face. After I returned him to his paddock, I’d call his name, and be answered with a high-pitched whinny.

Each night as Ray walked the dogs, a dark figure would appear in the paddock. Spec, our friendly “troll” silently waited for his evening carrot. During an unsuccessful attempt at bareback riding in the backyard, Spec had the honor of providing Ray with his first fall from a horse. This bit of comedy was followed with my impression of Lady Godiva. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” I said cantering Spec around an empty champagne bottle at dusk one summer evening.

I never had to retire Spec from riding. While a leg injury curtailed his jumping at age 28, he could still run, buck, snort, spin and spook with the best of them. During these last two years Ray, Spec and I took long walks and together discovered Newtown’s wilderness.

A favorite walk was the Brunot Preserve on Taunton Hill Road, while more ambitious walks took us to Huntingtown State Park. A frequent stop was the Newtown Forest Association wildlife preserve behind Greenleaf Farms Road, where we would watch blue herons swoop, owls’ nest and raptors soar. The deer always did their best to dismount me.

Ray affectionately called Spec, “the old buck, ” because of the gray hair spreading from his white star hidden beneath his black forelock. But his youthful personality always elicited smiles from his Pleasant Hill Road fan club and the golfers at Rock Ridge Country Club. Many times golf balls found their way into his paddock - even a hole-in-one in his feed bucket.

Neighborhood children brought Spec carrots, apples and the occasional head of broccoli, which he politely declined. On holidays, whole families would make the pilgrimage to Spec’s paddock to feed him sugar cubes. Once, looking out my office window, I saw two young girls with sketchpads lying in the grass near the paddock. They were forever etching Spec into their childhood dreams.

Adults have dreams, too, and to celebrate horse and rider’s 20th anniversary, I threw a party for the “Duke of Dodgingtown,” including a tent! Community horse folks who appreciate the emotional bond between a horse and his owner toasted the guest of honor with champagne.

Newtown is filled with many wonderful horse people. I want to express my sincere gratitude to those that have touched Spec’s life and helped me through the hardest transition of my life.

To Susan Taylor, for finding my “horse of a lifetime.” To Steve Heinecke and the staff and friends at Huntfield Farm, who cared for and entertained Spec during his recent visit. To Dr. Ned Schankman for five years of superb care of Spec. To Dr. Ron Vin and the staff at Tufts Univeristy, where Spec received the best treatment in his final days. To David McCauley, my consummate hunter pace partner, for trailing us to Tufts. To Spec’s “auntie” Rose Crofutt, for her many hours of listening to me struggle along with Spec’s battle with colic. To Shelby McChord - a witness to Spec’s biggest buck ever on a trail ride - who told me “Spec will let you know” when it is time to say goodbye.

And she was right.

Finally to my friend Sally Conklin, who said it best in her sympathy note to me, “Happiness for the wonderful memories you have of him will be the stronger emotion.”