I would like to share something that is deeply meaningful to me.

If you have read these articles, visited Wegmueller Farm, or if you follow us on social media, you have heard of Chaz the horse.

Chaz is an American Paint that was donated to our riding program several years ago, when the idea of offering equine experiences was exactly that — an idea. From the beginning, he took on the responsibility of being a leader. And, I do not say that lightly — Chaz is a true leader.

A leader is out front forging a path, providing direction and guidance through example. A true leader is not an antagonizer, but rather a unifier. In Chaz’s case, he stepped up to protect rescued horses from getting bullied by the herd, while also keeping everyone in line. On a trail ride, if a horse becomes distracted or stops to graze, Chaz will pin his ears and glare at the offender, immediately bringing them back into place.

On a personal level, I cannot understate what Chaz has done for me. On the day of our dairy herd dispersal sale, Chaz stood silently along the fence, watching and waiting. He was there when I arrived bright and early before sunup, and he was there late in the evening after the sale was over. All day long he stood at the fence, looking over, watching. Chaz has walked with me on late nights when I cannot sleep, and I go to find peace in the horse pasture. On the most challenging days of my life, Chaz has never strayed.

Guests visiting Wegmueller Farm have been moved to tears in his presence, including survivors of abusive domestic situations, children managing developmental challenges, hardened military combat veterans, and people just looking to reconnect with the natural world. During farm tours and guest interactions, Chaz is led out and introduced to the group, providing many people their first hands-on, face-to-face interaction with a full-size horse. For those who take a moment to shut out the noise of the world and truly connect, Chaz embodies the sacredness of the human-horse relationship.

I am writing this, because the past several months have not been kind to my friend. Chaz suffered a debilitating injury to his leg in October — you may remember the articles I wrote about his trip to UW Veterinary Care in Madison. Just as his leg was nearly healed, he suffered a serious injury to his left eye. After careful consideration and several professional assessments, we made the decision to surgically remove the damaged eye and surrounding tissue.

Chaz is about to turn 26 years old, making him the equivalent of a human in their late 70s. Physically, he is slowing down. He is not a young horse anymore. There is significant adjustment to living life with one eye. Still, the highlight of my days are when Chaz and I go on our nightly walks.

Late at night when I get home from working at the restaurant, I head to the Farm. Chaz is always waiting for me. He tosses his head, kicks up his heels, nickers, and prances around in circles as I approach his space, looking and sounding every bit a much younger horse. I hold up his halter and ask, “Want to go for a walk, buddy?” He turns his head, gently places his nose into the halter, and stands quietly as I tie the headband.

Side by side we walk. Sometimes Chaz positions himself so I am on his good side; sometimes he walks so I am on his blind side. He bobs his head and his good eye glistens in the moonlight. Sometimes we walk down the middle of the road, and his hooves make a distinctive clomp-clomping sound on the pavement. I love that sound, and we are never bothered by traffic. At around midnight, we have the world to ourselves.

There is a meadow along a wildlife area where we always stop, and I let him graze. I can hear him munching grass as I allow myself the privilege of getting lost in the night sky. I drop his lead line and let him go, and Chaz never strays. When I am struggling with something, the answer always presents itself on these calm evenings in Chaz’s presence. He answers and communicates as horses do without the encumbrance of words, which is a deeper and far more powerful dialogue than the simple spoken word.

And then, we walk back to the Farm. Side by side, never pulling against or resisting one another. There is a lightness to the horse’s hoofbeats as we find peace and purpose in one another’s company. It is a level of loyalty and devotion deep enough to bring a grown man to tears.

All too often, we celebrate the value of a life after it has passed, and we are left with the regret of not having done more. Chaz is not gone, nor is he going anywhere anytime soon. He is a presence that has helped me, and others, more than I can repay.

And if this level of loyalty is not worth sharing, nothing is.

— Dan Wegmueller is the owner of Wegmueller Farms and his column appears regularly in the Times. His website is https://www.farmforthought.org.