A Letter to Blink

Dear Blink,

I don't even know where to start. Every time I think about what to say to you, my heart breaks all over again. But I need to try, because you deserve to know what you meant.

You were the kindest horse I've ever met. I mean that in the deepest way—the type of kindness that lived inside you, that made you show up for everyone the same way, every single time. You never knew a stranger because you didn't see the need to. You loved everyone, and they felt it the moment they walked into your stall. You hung your head out of your stall just hoping someone would stop and love on you. You wanted to connect. That was you.

I loved watching you eat. I loved how much joy you got from your food, how you'd devour a bale of hay in a day and still hope for more. I loved how you loved your message brush, your blankets, being pampered. You were a show hunter, and that royalty never left you. You brought all of yourself to everything—your past, your present, your generosity. You'd flip those light switches next to your stall just to get attention, and there was always this playfulness about you, even when you were being serious about your work.

I remember watching you stand for hours while children brushed you. You didn't move a muscle. Not one ear pinned back. You just let them love on you, and I think you understood that sometimes being still and quiet is the most powerful thing you can do for someone else.

There was a child who came to you nervous, scared even. Their little hands trembled as they got on your back. And you—you didn't move. You stood there, waiting. You wouldn't walk on until that child felt ready, until their nervous system had a chance to settle into yours. You adjusted your stride to match what they needed. You knew. Somehow you always knew what each child needed from you. Children learned to say their first words on your back. They learned what it means to be truly heard. They learned what it means to be loved without condition, because that's what you gave them.

Families have reached out to me. They've told me about their children—about how you were their best friend when they didn't have one. About how you taught them that kindness exists in this world. They're grieving you too, Blink. They wanted you to know what you meant to them.

But I have to tell you the hardest part. Watching Winnie after you were gone. The way he spooked at first, not understanding. And then the way he just stood at the gate. Longing. Looking for you. Your best friend, waiting. That broke me. I see him there, and I feel it all over again. He knew you. He understood what it meant to be with you every day, and now there's an empty space where you were.

I miss you so much. I miss bringing you in and loving on you. I miss the routine of you, the simple everyday moments of just being with you. I miss your presence. There's a hole now, and it's not getting smaller. It's just different shapes on different days.

I hope I did you justice at the end. I hope every alfalfa hay bale, every gentle touch told you how worthy you were. I hope the choices I made were clear—that I loved you so much I couldn't bear to watch you suffer. I hope you knew I was trying to give you what you'd given to so many others: a gentle space, dignity, peace, someone there just to love you.

You were stoic about your pain because you loved your life. You loved us. That's who you were. Even at the end, you showed up. You kept going because you had a job and you loved your job. You loved your people. And that loyalty, that quiet strength—it's going to stay with me forever.

Thank you, Blink. Thank you for every single day. Thank you for showing me what unconditional love looks like. Thank you for teaching me that sometimes loving someone means letting them go. Thank you for being the most special boy I've ever known. Thank you for changing lives. Thank you for being an amazing therapy horse.

You were loved beyond measure. You are still loved beyond measure.

Rest easy now, my beautiful boy.

Forever yours,

Ada Haensel