You weren't really mine. I never galloped from field to woods on your broad, silky back. I never ran my fingers through your mane or pressed my cheek to your silken muzzle. Not really.

In my dreams you were my horse. I closed my eyes and imagined it was I instead of Willy Shoemaker who piloted you to that incredible long shot Derby win. I was right there beside you in that long stretch drive against Alysheba. To an eleven year old horse crazy girl you were the ultimate fantasy.

Every day since I learned of your death I have cried. Who will greet you at that Rainbow Bridge? You died all alone in a foreign country, a national treasure. Brutally slaughtered and no one there to hear your cries. I am so sorry I could not save you. Wait for me there, big red horse and I will take you over. Look over the horizon and wait for the someone to save you that I am sure you looked for on that last, terrible day. I will be along someday.

Find PJ and Diana, they will help you until I get there. And when Rebel joins you, don't ever let him forget how much I love him. If you see Chrissy, give her my love, although I have to give her to the wonderful lady who owned her those last 15 years of her life.

I am so sorry, beautiful one. So sorry we failed you. God forgive us all.