09/19/2025
😢
A Hard Lesson in Compassion
A man who works a ranch for any length of time comes to know that life and death are two sides of the same coin, and sometimes the coin flips against you. We lost a horse this week. It wasn’t the work of a rustler’s rope or a mountain cat, but something that comes from within—a twisted gut, the old-timers call it. Colic, the men of science say. It’s a bitter thing to watch, a fine animal tied in knots by its own insides.
There’s not much anybody can do when it takes hold. You walk the horse, keep it on its feet, and you hope. You hope the knot will work itself loose, that nature will have a change of heart. The hands, they did what they could. They walked that horse through the heat of a long, hard day, the sun beating down on man and beast alike. They kept it moving, a slow, stumbling march against a fate that was already closing in.
But the sun went down, and the cool of the night brought no relief. By the time the first light of dawn was over, the fight was done. The horse was gone.
A man sees enough of that, he builds a callus on his heart. You have to, or it will break you. I’ve seen my share of loss, and I stood there, watching the morning come, feeling that old, familiar ache. But for some of the younger hands, the ones not so acquainted with the harsh arithmetic of this life, it was a fresh wound. I saw tears in the eyes of ladies who’d face any other challenge without flinching.
And that’s when I knew what the real lesson was. It wasn’t about the horse, not really. It was about the pain in their faces, the compassion that welled up in them. That’s the thing that sets a human apart. It’s a fire that no machine, no thinking contraption, can ever kindle. It’s the bedrock of what we are.
A man can lose a horse, he can lose a herd, he can lose it all. But if he holds on to that, to the thing that lets him feel for another’s suffering, he hasn’t lost a thing. Don’t ever let it go. Don’t ever let them tell you it’s a weakness. It’s the last, best part of being human