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A True and Beautiful Friend
When I think about my friendships, those that have lasted from my childhood
onwards, I recall that one of my oldest and dearest was with a beautiful Arabian horse
named Kapitan. My friendship with Tan and with his owner, Mrs. Rogalski, has endured
over twenty years, over two-thirds of my entire 30 years. On April 6th of this year, Tan
passed away at the age of 27, and it has taken me several months to compose my thoughts
and remembrances of this dear friend. To help cope with the sadness of his death, I
wanted to write down what I remember of his life, and how that life touched mine in a
very profound way.
I don’t know exactly when I saw Kapitan for the first time, but I think it was
during the annual Fourth of July parade in my hometown of Hingham, Massachusetts. A
small, New England town with over three centuries of history, Hingham has always made
a big production of the parade. There are marching bands, floats sponsored by various
school and civic groups, a fleet of antique cars, their chrome all shiny and polished, and,
of course, an equestrian contingent. Although I don’t know for sure which Fourth of July
I first set my eyes on Tan, I remember being thrilled at seeing an actual Arabian horse. At
around eight years of age, I became stricken with the “horse bug” that afflicts most young
girls; the only thing is, I never grew out of it! I began to read all the books I could find
about horses. In particular, I loved Walter Farley’s classic children’s book, The Black
Stallion, about a young boy rescued from a shipwreck by a desert-bred Arabian horse.
Tan was probably the first Arabian horse I ever saw. Almost every year, he made
an appearance in the Fourth of July parade, decked out in full Arabian costume. Colorful
yarn tassels hung from his bridle and reins, and he worn a tapestry saddlecloth. In his
younger years, Tan was a dapple gray with a cream-colored mane and tail. He would step
proudly down Main Street, his necked arched and bent at the poll. He walked confidently
and calmly despite the crowd around him. I remember getting angry once at some
prankster boys who set off noisemakers as Tan walked by. But Tan was only
momentarily startled, and then went on his way.
Over twenty years have passed since I first saw Tan. Sadly, this spring his long
life came to an end at the age of 27. Though his passing brought many tears, I’d like to
remember how Tan was in life, and how specifically he touched my life.
Char Mar Kapitan was foaled in 1974 at Char Mar Arabians in Carver,
Massachusetts. He was chestnut in color when he was born, and only later lightened to
gray. But throughout his life, the remnants of his baby white blaze could be traced in the
light pink skin beneath the hairs of his forehead.
Tan’s owner was Roberta Rogalski, a wonderful, vivacious woman who grew up
in Quincy, Massachusetts dreaming of someday owning her own horse. She made this
dream a reality, and became the owner of Pierrette, Tan’s mother, who was boarded at her
Uncle Charlie’s farm in Carver.
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Kapitan came from quite regal bloodlines. Both his sire, Kaian, and his dam,
Pierrette, both grays, were sired by the same stallion, Al-Marah Tuffy. Al-Marah Tuffy
came from the famous Al-Marah Arabians of Arizona, a farm known for breeding fine
Arabians descended from the English stallion, *Raffles. *Raffles was a little gray stallion
who stood not much over 13 hands high, not much taller than a pony. But he was
incredibly influential on the breed, siring horses who were both pretty, kind, intelligent,
and versatile. Tuffy was a *Raffles grandson, by the notable stallion, Indraff.
Three generations of Tan’s family lived at Char Mar Arabians. There was Kaian,
the feisty but intelligent herd sire, to whom my friend Cathy once referred as being as
“wild as the Black Stallion himself.” Perhaps Kaian wasn’t quite that wild, but he was
quite spirited. Then there was gentle Pierrette, who was quiet and dependable despite
being almost completely blind. Pierrette’s mother, Pierala, looked very much like her
daugther, as did Pierrette’s sister, Lady Slipper. On a visit to Charlie’s farm, I once got to
ride Pierala, so I can claim to have ridden three generations of horses!
At a young age, Tan went to live in Hingham, where he would spend the rest of
his life. Mrs. Rogalski built a small, three-stall barn and paddocks behind her ranch-style
house in South Hingham, across from the Town Forest, where there were tall pine trees
and several riding trails. She named her stable Rorah Arabians, a combination of “Ro”
for Rogalski, “R” for Roberta, and “H” for her husband, Herb. Tan grew up alongside
Mrs. Rogalski’s three children; there is a cute photograph showing three-year-old
Marianne kissing Tan on the nose when he was still a foal.
Mrs. Rogalski shares her love of horses by teaching riding and barn management
to children. Several generations of children and teenagers have grown up around her
barn, learning the responsibilities of caring for a horse along with the fun of riding.
It was through my friend Cathy that I ended up taking lessons at Mrs. R’s barn.
When I was about nine years old, Cathy invited me to come visit the barn during one of
her lessons. I remember when we arrived, Tan was out in his paddock playing. He was
standing facing the fence, swinging a sack full of plastic milk cartons back and forth, so
that it hit each shoulder with a satisfying rattle. I remember being very amused by his
playfulness. Either on that visit or on a subsequent one, Mrs. R. let me ride Tan. I had
just started to take riding lessons, and had never (or since) ridden a stallion, but Tan was
so trustworthy that even children could ride him. He had a very nice trot and a “rockingchair” canter which was remarkably easy to sit to - I felt almost as if I could fall asleep on
his back. I remember that my riding instructor was appalled when she heard that I had
ridden a stallion, an Arabian at that!
Later on, around the age of 12, I quit my regular riding lessons because they were
much more competitive than what I desired to do. I started going to Mrs. Rogalski’s on a
weekly basis, usually spending Tuesday afternoons there. In good weather, I would bike
to South Hingham, and in bad weather, my mother would drive me. I learned how to
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clean a stall at Mrs. R.’s, and learned how to groom a horse, paying particular attention to
use a hairbrush rather than a horse brush to comb the delicate manes of the Arabians. Tan
had a long, silky mane which fell down on the right side of the neck in waves. I always
enjoyed grooming him. When he was in a playful mood, which was often, he would try
to use me as a scratching post, rubbing his muzzle against me so vigorously that he
almost knocked me over!
Marianne, Cathy, the other kids, and I liked to ride across the street in the Town
Forest. We would ride up and down small hills carpeted with brown pine needles until
we got to an open field where we could trot rapidly around its perimeter, the grass rising
high around us. Sometimes I rode Pierrette, sometimes Rev, the standardbred gelding,
and sometimes I rode Tan. All three horses were so reliable that sometimes we rode with
just a bridle and bareback pad. One winter morning in 1985, I went riding in the Town
Forest after a snowstorm. The snow clung to the branches of the tall pine trees, and I felt
like I was riding amidst the pillars of some great outdoor cathedral, whose silence was
only broken by the occasional calling of a bird.
Over the years, Tan got increasingly whiter in color, until he finally lost his
dappling altogether. He went through some other changes, too. Tan was a stallion for
many years, and had at least one foal, Abu Dhabi, a chestnut gelding owned by Mrs. R’s
friend, Mrs. Russell. But there wasn’t much demand for him as a stallion, and he was
becoming increasingly frustrated with his situation, since Klassique, the young filly who
was being trained at Mrs. R., was a merciless tease. Because he was a stallion, Tan was
forbidden from competing at the local 4-H shows, despite his reliable disposition. So
Mrs. R. finally made the decision to geld him.
He seemed to be the happier for it, and was then able to compete in the shows at
Briggs down in Hanover. He did very well, winning ribbons in hunt seat and other
classes. Tan was incredibly versatile; he could compete in English, Western, Arabian
Costume, or halter, and he brought in ribbons. He was even trained to pull a small sleigh.
I remember the evening at a Briggs midsummer horse show that Tan was defeated
in a class by his own son, Dhabi!
Tan had very few vices, but he was a notorious cribber. “Cribbing” is a bad habit
that some horses develop in their stalls. They chew the sides of their stalls or a fence rail
with their teeth and suck in air in short gulps, which gives them a type of “high.” It is very
bad for their respiratory system and can contribute to colic, but it’s difficult to break a
horse of this habit once they’ve learned how to crib. Tan often wore a leather cribbing
strap around his neck to try to curb this bad habit; however, he never gave it up entirely!
Tan could also have his grumpy days, where he would pin his ears back and look
dejectedly out at the world. But he was on his best behavior most of the time.
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You could take Tan just about anywhere- even inside the house! In the spring of
1985, we all planned a Fourth of July float for Hingham’s 350th birthday celebration. We
wanted to dedicate the float to the Hingham Stock Farm, which was the first farm in the
United States to import Arabian horses from the desert. I was working on constructing a
life-size papier-mache Arabian horse to go atop the float. Mr. Rogalski helped us to build
the wooden armature for the figure in the basement of the house, but we were uncertain
how tall it should be. So we led Tan into the house so he could stand alongside the
armature. Tan seemed intrigued to walk into such a large “stall,” and he stood
cooperatively while we adjusted the height of the model’s armature. Unfortunately,
though, Tan left a considerable “present” on the carpet of Mr. Rogalski’s studio on his
way out! The horse took three months to construct, and for several years afterwards, it
stood in the basement while Mrs. R’s son, Paul, practiced with his Grateful Dead-inspired
band.
Arabians are noted for their intelligence and for their devotion to their owners. I
always admired the reciprocal love that Mrs. R. had for Tan. Tan loved Mrs. R.; you
could see it in those dark brown eyes of his. Almost every kid who spent time at the barn
grew to love Tan, and Tan showed an incredible amount of patience and affection
towards us. On my junior high school yearbook page, there is a picture of me standing
next to Tan with my arm around his neck. He had no halter on, and could have easily
walked away, but he chose to be cooperative.
His compassion towards his human friends is best illustrated by a particularly sad
time in my adolescent life. My step-grandfather passed away from cancer in September
of 1986. I was very sad at that time, and also very scared about starting high school later
that month. Shortly after my grandfather’s death, I was spending the afternoon at Mrs.
R.’s, and was grooming Tan in his stall. He seemed to sense my sadness and he laid his
head on my shoulder, and was very quiet. I was so touched by his empathy and
compassion.
After I went off to college, my visits to Mrs. Rogalski’s became less frequent as
my life got busier and I moved away from Hingham. But during summers and vacations,
I would come back to visit, and it was always reassuring to see Tan out in the paddock.
Horses came and went, but Tan remained. Rev was put to sleep because of pain, and
Pierrette died tragically in 1990 from a retained pregnancy. For awhile, BG, a large bay
gelding, took Rev’s place in the barn, but he later departed with Alicia, Mrs. R’s niece,
for her new home in New Hampshire. Several ponies came to the barn, first Timmy, then
PJ, the little Appaloosa, and then Baby, a pretty Welsh pony mare. Baby became Tan’s
paddock buddy in his later years. Tan’s niece, Fantasy (out of Pierrette’s sister, Lady
Slipper) also came to live at Rorah Arabians, as well as another relative, Kamelot. Tan,
however, was the constant at the barn. He grew old gracefully, and even as he got older,
he was still his spirited self.
Even when I went to visit him in the past few years after being away for a while,
he always seemed to remember me, and would come over to the fence to greet me. In the
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winter of 1998 when I was home on vacation from graduate school, I stood out in the
paddock and took several photos of Tan, including close-ups of his luminous brown eye
with its distinctive white. I remember he tried to nuzzle the camera out of my hands a
couple times!
After a while, I almost began to take Tan’s presence for granted, that he would be
there as a certainty whenever I came home. But it was last summer that I began to realize
that even he would not live forever.
My friend Cathy, pregnant with her first child, and I visited Tan and Mrs. R last
August when I was home. Tan was not acting like himself. According to Mrs. R., he had
been acting aggressively towards Baby, which necessitated separating him from her, and
he had gone through several spells of unexplained illness. He was beginning to look his
age, and was losing weight. Mrs. R. feared she would have to put him down if his decline
continued.
When I went home at Christmas of 2000 and checked in on Tan, he looked much
better and happier, though still thin. I rejoiced at his comeback and looked forward to
visiting him for several more years.
Cathy gave birth to a son, Ethan, in early January, and I set about making a baby
quilt for him. I wanted to include some of the animals that Cathy had grown up with on
this quilt. I decided to make several panels with portraits of various animals, including
Cathy’s former pets, Tammy the golden retriever, and Sasha, Meisha, and Hobbit, her
cats. I also wanted to include Tan, since both of us had spent so much time at the barn
growing up. While I was home during the third week in March, I worked on the quilt.
The first panel that I stitched was the one with Tan on it, prancing with his neck arched. I
brought the panel to show Mrs. R., and also went to see Tan. It was a gray, damp day
when I went out to visit, and I was in a hurry and couldn’t stay long. Tan was out in his
paddock with Baby, grazing on some hay. He was wearing his winter blanket, and his
coat was long and shaggy. Looking at him, I noticed that his long mane fell on the right
side of his neck, and I made a mental note to make this change to the stitched panel. I
remarked to Mrs. R. that Tan looked pretty good. She told me, though, that underneath
the blanket, he was all skin and bones, and she feared that she would have to put him to
sleep soon.
Before I had to leave, I said goodbye to Tan. I walked over to the paddock fence
and called to him. He lifted his head from eating, and walked over to the fence to say
hello. Unfortunately, the electric fence was on, so I couldn’t reach through to pat him on
the neck. I talked to Tan and took a couple of photographs of him grazing. I took one
long last look at him, hoping to myself that I would see him again, and then I left.
I planned to return the next day to visit before I had to drive back to Maryland.
Since I knew that Tan probably wouldn’t be around forever, I wanted to spend some time
with him. I pictured myself grooming and currying his shaggy coat as I had done so many
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times, and combing his thin, delicate mane, and burying my face in the soft fur of his
neck.
But the next day poured torrential rain and I came down with a bad cold. When I
called Mrs. Rogalski, she said it was a nasty day at the barn and that it didn’t make sense
to come out. So I prayed that the coming spring would give Tan new strength, and hoped
he would be around the next time I came home.
I nearly finished the quilt while I was home, but still had work to do on it. I had to
set it aside as I returned to graduate school and teaching, but I brought it with me when I
came home for Easter. I finished the quilt that weekend while at home.
On Easter evening, I called Mrs. Rogalski about coming out to visit the next day.
She told me the sad news. Tan had been put to sleep just a little more than a week before.
He had declined, was not eating, and had ceased enjoying life. Mrs. R. told me that she
had loaded him onto the trailer, where he hadn’t been in years, and he seemed to know
that it was his time to go. She held his head in her arms as he quietly left this world. His
body was then taken to be buried at a friend’s farm in Middleboro.
It took a while for the grief to sink in. Tan had been a part of my life for so many
years that I couldn’t quite believe he was really gone. When I went to Mrs. R’s the next
day, she was giving her granddaughter, Alyssa, her very first riding lesson on Baby. It
was a beautiful, sunny, warm day, and spring had definitely arrived. As I saw Alyssa and
Baby make their way around the small paddock, I realized that Tan’s life had spanned
two generations of the Rogalski family: he was a foal when Marianne was a toddler, and
he lived long enough to get to know Marianne’s daughter. It gave me comfort that little
Alyssa, who already at age two had fallen in love with horses, had gotten to know and
love Tan at the very end of his life.
The barn seemed different without Tan’s presence. In the hallway of the barn
were posted several handmade cards that children had made in sympathy for Tan’s
passing. Mrs. R. mentioned that several children were very sad at Tan’s death, and
missed him terribly.
When I returned to Maryland later that evening, I found myself crying quietly as
the plane traveled into the night. I cried all the way home from the airport, and later on,
in front of my friend Leslie.
It wasn’t just the sadness of Tan’s passing, I explained, that caused me to be so
emotional, but also the realization that an animal had had such a tremendous impact on
my life. My love of Tan had much to do with my lifelong love of horses.
Shortly after Tan’s death, I dreamed of him. I usually don’t dream about people
or animals who are deceased, but Tan was very vivid in this dream. In the dream, I was
leading him on a lead rope, running my fingers through his mane and along his neck. I
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could feel the softness of his coat and could look once more into that deep brown eye. I’d
like to think that this dream maybe was an chance for me to say one last goodbye to Tan.
Whether it was just my subconscious mind at work or it was Tan’s spirit come to visit,
I’ll never know, but I’d like to believe it was the latter.
For several weeks, it was hard to think of Tan without my eyes welling with tears,
but slowly the fact of his death became more familiar and less immediate. Since March
I’ve been volunteering at Days End Farm, a horse rescue organization west of Baltimore,
and each time I went out there, I thought of Tan. As I saw and got to know many horses,
many of whom had been treated very badly in their lives, I remembered the kindness and
compassion Mrs. R. had taught me, the respect she had instilled in me for these large and
beautiful creatures. Two days after Tan passed away, a little miniature filly, Betty Boop,
was born at Days End, and I saw her for the first time a few days before Easter. As I
watched Boop grow and explore the world around her, I thought of how she had come
into my life at just the right time, to remind me of life’s continuity.
Although Tan is no longer physically alive, his spirit stays with me and with all
those who loved him.
Tan, I thank you so much for introducing me to the Arabian horse, the most
beautiful and graceful creature I’ve ever known, but most of all, for having known you as
an individual. Your kindness, humor, and generosity will always touch my life, and I
only wish that more humans could be even half the friend that you were to me.
-Liz Tobey
July 26, 2001
“For those lost ones still before me stand
All present as of old,
In the tangled skein of passing years
They shine like threads of gold
So here’s a health to those no longer near.
And a glass to those departed
Who yet shine on through our darkening years,
The brave and gentle-hearted.”
(From “The Lost Ones,” by Canadian singer-songwriter Garnet Rogers)
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Me and Kapitan, circa 1985