A Heartfelt Goodbye to Rowdy
Today’s blog from Ann Hoff arrives with a tender weight. Ann has long been part of the Pet Perennials family, sharing her insight as an animal communicator and offering comfort through her monthly reflections on grief and the deep bonds we share with animals. Today, however, the words come from a more personal place. As she prepares to say goodbye to her beloved horse Rowdy, Ann opens her heart to the complicated truth of loving animals for a lifetime — that love brings immeasurable joy, and eventually, the profound responsibility of letting them go with dignity and care.
The Shadow Side of Love
When we aren’t in grief, it is easy to forget the dullness of grief. How everyday living is mundane to the point you can’t participate. That everything is changing and yet everything still feels the same. How you know the inevitability of death but still have thought that it was far off, like a cloud on the horizon, or something that magically, we might get a pass out of the death sentence. But death comes with a guarantee, none of us are exempt. Loss is the shadow side of love.
A Lifetime with Rowdy
I had the vet out, and my horse’s Cushing’s has progressed to the point he is suffering. He will suffer more with the heat of the summer because Cushing’s gives him the fur of a wooly mammoth. He is 30 this year. I have had him his whole life. I was there when he was born. He loped the first day, a sign of an athletically talented horse. When he was two, I had him for sale, but his mother developed cancer and died of it when she was 9 months pregnant. I was so bereft about losing her, I kept him, a piece of her I could still hold onto. They looked alike, but he had more roan.
I showed him in Western Pleasure, trail, but he was too smart to be a western pleasure horse, he insisted on looking around instead of staying in a frame. I put him in reining training, but then never showed him in it. I brought him home and he became my trail horse. He was never sick a day in his life.
When a Horse Is Family
I know few horses are lucky enough to have the same owner their whole life. His family was my family. I had his mother from age two and raised four sisters. Losing him is like losing a branch of my family tree. It is losing my identity. I have had horses on my property for decades. For the first time, the barn will be empty. I have defined myself as a horse owner my entire life, and for a time at least, I won’t be.
The Privilege of a Good Goodbye
Being a medium, I know when Rowdy leaves his body, he will be okay again. That he will be in bliss, the pain of his aging body a memory. He will be free, joyous, loving. I am spoiling him with apples, (his favorite thing ever), watermelon, good feed, and scratches. I realize that I can give him a good death, and that is also a privilege. I have grown since I sold my first horse at 18 because I didn’t want to see him die. I know it is a privilege to be with a loved one when they die, and I will be in the room.
However, I am pretty devasted. The thought of life without Rowdy is one I don’t really want to face. I will miss his nicker each time I come to the barn, his sloppy eating of apples that drove me crazy (he always TRIED to eat an entire apple at once, so it became a sloppy, slobbering mess). How he dunked his hay in the water, how he hates to be brushed because he has sensitive skin. He is my longest relationship with a man, outlasting every romantic relationship I’ve had. Rowdy will always be connected to me; I am fortunate that I can talk to him after he has left his body. I KNOW this, but it doesn’t keep me from being lost in profound numbness and grief.
Living Inside the Fog of Grief
I know my grief is about physical loss, the change in my life. The numbness I have from the anticipatory loss is staggering. Grief is an altered state. It takes away ego, happiness, ambition, time. It simply is. Like a rainstorm, it has to be endured. I am told by spirit that separation is an illusion, that we are always connected. Yet the loss of life feels so final when you are in the body, so consequential. The weight of grief keeps even me from feeling the joy of the higher vibrations.
Love That Continues Beyond the Body
I tell my clients that grief comes and sits around us like a fog, so it is hard to feel the spirits in heaven. I know that is what is around me now when I feel my grief. I also know that it is a fog that will someday lift. I WILL feel the soul of Rowdy in heaven. Soon, we will be on different paths. He may reincarnate back to me or decide to stay on the other side. I have to decide if I want to continue to own horses and start a new relationship. I can’t see how that looks right now. I must endure this storm of grief and learn what lesson it has for me.
The Final Gift We Can Give
Also, right now, it isn’t about me. I have to make sure that I give Rowdy the good death he deserves. That I am present. He knows how much I love him, he has the best time possible in the time we have left together, That I get to soak in that memory of him, with a few precious last days- with no more rules.
At Pet Perennials, we often say that pets are family, and today that truth feels especially close to home. Ann’s goodbye to Rowdy reminds us how deep the bond between people and horses can be; a lifetime of quiet companionship, trust, and shared history. For those in our community who walk beside grieving clients and friends, moments like this are why we created the Pet Perennials Gift Perks program: to make it easier to acknowledge loss with compassion and care. Our horse-inspired sympathy gifts were designed for families whose beloved companions wore hooves instead of paws; gentle ways to honor a life well lived and the love that remains. Today, as Ann says goodbye to Rowdy, we hold space for her grief and gratitude, and we remember that behind every sympathy gift we send is a story just like this one - deeply personal, deeply loved, and never forgotten.
