Lena had a good, long run. She was 28. Positively ancient for a horse. These last few years we called her the Gray Ghost. Lame as can be, and it hurt sometimes just to watch her move, but she was still sweet and proud. When she was "loose" in the yard, you had to remind yourself not come crashing-out Savannah's back door. (Lena would power-down right there on the porch, a silent sentinal looking for a "nummie"). More of a pet than a horse, really.
And if you had a ripe peach in your hand, you'd find-out just how motivated she could still be!
In proper Robinsonian tradition, she'll get a tree this weekend or next. Hers will join two other trees, also placed atop their namesakes: "Six". "Shorty". "Lena".
Roark