He was coming 4, big and slow and goofy. I brought him an apple from my hotel, and it took him about 20 minutes to eat it, turning it into mush in my hand. He had a huge tail and big eyes and was sweet as can be. I brought him home, got him in front of my leg and taking my hand, and he proceeded to be the most angry, hostile and fractious young man I’ve ever owned from 4.5 to 9, when he realized that if he just shut up and accepted his lot in life, he’d get a lot more cookies and work a lot less hard. But it took so, SO many hours of running backwards, gnashing his teeth and pinning his ears.

His name was Stratocaster, and he was one of the great horses of my career.

And now he’s gone.

Read the rest at The Chronicle of the Horse.