36 hours ago I woke for my last day of vacation in Cuba. At 9pm last night, I went on the internet in Cuba for the first time in a week and I saw something I knew I would see some day, but still didn’t expect it and I wasn’t ready for it. On Monday, the love of my life died. It’s strange how something can be expected, but can also be completely unexpected. His name was Doc and he was a magnificent quarter horse. He was a dark brown horse, with two rear socks and a star on his forehead. He would have been 32 years old this January, but sadly, on Monday, he became colic and wasn't able to bounce back. 14 years ago I met Doc through my friend and his human, Tara. I accidentally fell in love with her horse. I spent 6 days a week with him for several years. Doc and Tara live in Ontario and I've been in BC for the last 10 years. I still see him every time I return home. I have been in love once. With a horse. Don’t think it’s lost on me how ridiculous that sounds. When Doc whinnied to me in greeting and galloped to the fence to greet me, I felt like I mattered. No human has ever given me that feeling. I don’t have a husband or children or family or friends like many others do. I’m 43 years old and I live a pretty solitary life. What if this is all I get? What if my only chance to feel love and happiness was with a **** horse. And not even my horse. I’m sitting in my living room looking at his picture. His is the only picture I have in my living room. The only living thing I ever felt a real connection with was a stubborn, four legged, bagel eating beastie. Perhaps a part of my grief comes from this feeling of being a pathetic loser. It was an unconventional relationship I had with Doc, but does mean that it should count any less? My heartbreak feels pretty real. If love could have kept him alive, he would have lived forever.