02/11/2026
With heavy hearts, we share the unexpected loss of one of our most beloved horses, Bentley.
Last Thursday, Bentley experienced a severe colic caused by an untreatable strangulated lipoma. We did everything we could, including care from an onsite veterinarian and a trip to Buffalo Equine, where we learned the underlying diagnosis and were able to keep him comfortable so he could pass peacefully, surrounded by love—and a final candy cane.
Bentley was a true mental health champion with a deeply playful spirit. He carried stories, tears, courage, and laughter alongside countless clients, volunteers, and staff, and our whole community is feeling this unexpected loss.
We invite you to continue sharing memories, photos, and stories in the comments so we can honor the joy and healing he brought to so many lives.
Below, we share beautiful words from our Clinic Manager, Marlo McGregor, that speak to the love—and the loss—that we experience in our relationship with horses.
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For the love and loss of a beloved horse:
There is something ancient in the way a horse sees you—not through you, but into you.
When you stand beside them in the golden dust of late afternoon, when your hand finds the warm curve of their neck, you are participating in a conversation older than words.
This is the language of presence, of breath matching breath, of two beings choosing each other across the vast distance between species.
To love a horse is to understand that some relationships cannot be contained by ownership or utility.
They carry us, yes—across fields and trails, over jumps and through streams—but they carry so much more than our physical weight.
They carry our secrets whispered into their manes, our tears absorbed into their coats, our joy expressed in the rhythm of hoofbeats that sound like laughter.
Friendship with a horse teaches you patience.
It teaches you that trust is not given but earned, slowly, in a thousand small moments: the first time they rest their head on your shoulder, the way they nicker when they hear your footsteps, the soft exhale when you arrive at the stable.
These creatures, who could easily overpower us, choose gentleness. They choose partnership.
And loss—the loss of a horse is a particular kind of grief.
It lives in empty stalls and quiet pastures.
It echoes in the absence of that familiar whinny, in tack that hangs unused, in the phantom weight of a lead rope in your hand.
You lose not just an animal but a mirror, a therapist, a teacher, a dance partner who knew all your steps.
The world becomes briefly smaller, quieter, less magical.
But here is what horses teach us about loss: that love this deep leaves hoofprints on your heart that never fully fade.
That in the space they occupied, they planted something that continues to grow—resilience, compassion, a bone-deep understanding of what it means to be truly seen and accepted.
Every horse we've loved becomes part of how we move through the world.
In their eyes, we find our better selves reflected.
In their strength, we discover our own courage.
And in saying goodbye, we learn that some loves transcend a single lifetime, galloping forward into memory where they never truly leave us.
The barn may grow quiet, but the lessons remain. The bond endures.
Rest peacefully, sweet Bentley.
Our hearts are with you, Janet Weisberg.
