Otto was the first heavy horse we brought to the farm.

John had been eagerly searching online for months, but nothing had caught his eye. After looking at countless gorgeous horses only to dismiss them, he announced one day, “I think I’ve found him.”

“What was so different about this one?” I asked.

The advert was written much like many others, but Otto’s owner had included one simple sentence:

“Otto has only known love, and that’s what you’ll get in return.”

That sealed the deal for us, and a week later Otto arrived on the farm.

When Paddy arrived as a two-year-old, Otto took him under his wing. He became the big brother the cheeky youngster needed. Paddy would always allow Otto the first sniff of the haynet, showing him the respect he deserved. Apart from ten weeks when Paddy went away to be backed, they spent eleven years together and were inseparable. Brothers in arms.

Otto quickly became a favourite with our meditation groups. He had an uncanny knack of knowing when someone needed a little extra support and would quietly stand beside them, resting his head near their shoulder. He really was a true gentle giant.

Out hacking, he could be a challenging ride—not because he was fast or easily spooked, but because Otto had his own pace and he intended to stick to it. Too bad if you needed to be home on time.

Any slight lapse in concentration even for a moment to snap a photograph and he’d veer off course before burying his head deep into the nearest hedgerow.

His absolute favourite pastime, though, was splashing in water. No puddle was ever too small to deserve his full attention. He’d charge over and enthusiastically stamp one enormous front foot into the middle of it, soaking anyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. This was always greatly appreciated by the Grandies who howled with laughter when on board.

At this point, it needs to be said that Sam hates water. He approaches every puddle as though he needs time to consider whether it might wet his feathers! I wouldn’t say Otto deliberately aimed for Sam… but I can imagine he’d have found it rather amusing if he had.

One day Otto came in from the field lame. The farrier ruled out any problems with his feet, and the vets struggled to find the cause. He went through the usual examinations, scans and tests, and together we fought for several weeks, convinced things would improve.

Then one day it became painfully clear that we’d reached the end of the road.

The vets had run out of answers, and Otto was in pain.

A horse like Otto leaves an enormous hole.

For us, the weeks that followed were heartbreaking, but our greatest concern was Paddy.

How could we help him understand?

The thought of simply walking his best friend away and leaving Paddy never knowing what had happened felt unbearable. So we asked the vet if, afterwards, we could quietly walk Paddy down to see him one last time.

He hurried straight to Otto’s side and gave a gentle whinny before turning and looking directly at us, as though we somehow had the answer.

What we hadn’t considered was how much Otto quietly held the little herd together.

He never wanted to be the leader. On a hack, he preferred to stay at the back because he liked knowing where everyone was. But somehow he was the steady influence between Paddy and the others.

Without Otto, everything shifted.

Paddy suddenly had no regard for anyone else’s feelings. He’d rush to the front on hacks and steal Sam’s number one position (he still does), pinch Ferdy’s haynet, and—most frustratingly of all for poor Sam—lean over the stable wall to drink from Sam’s water trough instead of his own, simply because he could.

Eventually, life found a new normal.

We planted an Acer in a large pot near the entrance to the farm, a tree whose leaves turn the most beautiful scarlet red at exactly the time of year Otto left us.

At its base lie two of his shoes, with a piece of his plaited tail woven through them.

I felt dreadful cutting pieces of his tail on his last day.

But as one of his regular riders said with a smile:

“Only horses with wonky tails go to heaven.”