My guess is that each of us has had a mentor; one who in his or her age, wisdom, and patience let us make our youthful mistakes, let us find our own way within the boundaries of common sense, and tested us a few times to see just what we had learned. Max was mine. Oh, there were others before him, and maybe I got a late start in life, but in college, Max taught me what it meant to develop a relationship of trust, and caring.

Max was an 18-year-old Thoroughbred, an ex-racehorse, and a friend.

I grew up having horses around me. My grandfather worked teams, had riding horses he used to check the cattle, and in his later years had a nice mare he bred each year. But none of them was truly mine.

Max wasn’t "mine," either, in the truest sense of ownership. He belonged, legally, to the University of Kentucky. But Max was mine. He taught me horsemanship, dressage, jumping, and the thrill of my first horse show outside the intercollegiate system