Thumbing through some old photo albums, I came across a classic photo of my father Theo with his favorite Hanovarian horse nuzzling him. Theo was born in a small farming community just outside of Hanover Germany.

Farm animals were very much an integral part of everyone’s life, especially horses: breeding, training and sales, pretty much everything as it pertained to horses. It wasn’t riding as a sport. Horses were an everyday part of life back when farm tractors were still a recent innovation. In those old photos there were also some photos of the horse sales held in Hanover in those days, with thousands in attendance, evidence of the importance horses played in everyone’s daily life.

As a very young man Theo was known to have a way with horses, training hunters and jumpers, as well as the Shires that pulled the plows or wagons in the fields or the carriages to town. Theo even trained my goat to pull a wagon all over the village. He was able to ride any horse, as well as transmit information on the skill to other aspiring riders.

This handsome Hanovarian in the photo was a bay with a white star on his forehead named Falko von der Heide, and he did all the tricks, such as adding and subtracting with hoof beats, and would sit or lay down on command, and jump the fences in the fields … all those cute things that took long training sessions. He could be ridden anywhere, and for any length of time, and Falko and Theo were really great and trusting friends. Falko was even allowed to come into the old farm house!

In one old photo Falko is sporting an obviously new saddle and Theo a fine pair of jodhpurs, a smart looking jacket, and a pair of highly polished riding boots….the infamous Italian riding boots of this story’s title.

As were most young men in Germany at the time of WWI Theo was drafted into the military. He was to be an officer, so a new handmade and very comfortable saddle was ordered, together with those custom Italian riding boots, in which one could proudly go off to war. Also, as with almost any proud young man Theo did not even begin to realize the danger he would eventually encounter.

WW I was still fought mostly with hand to hand combat as guns and cannons blazed over the battlefield. Theo was badly shot in the lower leg, and this being 1915 by the time he was able to receive any medical attention the battlefield doctors determined that his boot should be cut off and his leg should be amputated.

Theo flatly refused. He could not conceive of riding Falko with only one leg, much less allow the wonderful custom Italian boots to be destroyed. And besides, they were a PAIR of boots, and he was determined to keep them both. Whether it was determination or just old fashion German stubbornness it’s hard to say, but Theo refused the doctor’s saw mostly because of his love for that horse.

Perhaps it was the right choice for the wrong reasons. The happy photo in my hand was taken well after the war. Theo’s leg eventually healed and he and Falko went home together and spent many more years riding the verdant fields and jumping over fences. The world may not have healed itself from war, but Theo did. The heart is a wonderful thing, and the love of a horse can be a powerful source of healing, and a perfect reason to live.

Barbara Young