One fall day in 1994, a friend from college invited me over to her house to try out horseback riding. When I showed up, she wanted to introduce me to someone. She turned her head and called his name and, based on her behavior, I thought it was a dog or a little brother. Instead, it was a little pony who, without ceremony, grabbed me by the jacket sleeve with his mouth and threw me across the shed row. That was the day I learned who Schuyler was, who Schuyler’s girl was, and how no one would ever get between the two of them.
We may have not always seen eye to eye (heh), but Schuyler and I grew to like each other. Even though I married his girl, he tolerated my presence (likely because she asked him to.) It probably helped that I fed him from time to time, but we also hung out quite a bit when I took up carriage driving. He spoiled me, though, since I wasn’t really “driving” per se — I was just along for the ride and collected the ribbons afterwards. But that didn’t mean that I did nothing — Schuyler’s superpower was pulling the most out of people, whether it was talent, patience, or love. In all of those, Schuyler’s capacity far outmatched his stature, and over the years, I watched him instill all three in thousands of riders, drivers, and fans – including our son Dylan, who got to learn to ride on the same pony his mother had ridden years before.
Schuyler was alive in five separate decades, coming as a surprise foal in 1987 and living to be 35 years old. Not bad for a pony who some thought would not survive to be a yearling and, if he did, would probably never fully walk or run or carry a rider. Schuyler proved all of them wrong, and he lived, trotted, cantered, jumped, and drove his way around the ring and into our hearts. I feel so blessed to have had Schuyler in my life, and that life won’t be the same without him. Godspeed, Spud, and thank you.
Chris King
