Dumpling is gone.
While I was in Japan, his owner fell off him, broke her shoulder, made a decision.
He needs a new home. I can re-home him, but he can’t return to live in the Village, nor can he be shipped to Singapore. I’ve researched, worried, checked.
It’s been a miserable week. Out on the High Street, in the Commons on a different horse, it’s been hard holding myself together. For 2 years, Dumpling has been such an integral part of my London life, rooting me, helping me discover, home.
Through Dumpling, the ice that can at times keep cultures and people apart, thawed away. He was an inroad to all that is very British, and new friendships with some wonderful, like-minded women, soon followed.
And then of course, Dumpling who is wiser than me, taught me so many life lessons, especially about tenacity and courage, and humour, and love.
I do believe every horse, every dog, every animal we care to love and be attentive towards, can teach us all that.
Encountering Dumpling, I’m always reminded that I am amongst the truly blessed.
For if I bothered to listen carefully enough, each time I ran my hands down his back, up his neck, traced his eyes, or down to the tip of his nose, Dumpling was a map, my fingers traveling across braille. Dumpling guiding me in my blindness, nudging me-
look, see, feel. Here is, God.