Over twenty years ago, Riley and I made a few historic stops to get to our new home in Montana.

My friends called him a compass as he was always pointed toward AJ.

We drove cross country in my red Jeep Wagoneer-Kilobit the cat in a cage on the passenger seat and Riley on top of boxes and a big suitcase in the back.

Together we got through the loss of my mare Biscuit, the loss of my mother, attaining tenure and becoming a full professor, and building the house.

I remember his last ride up the mountain with Buckeye. He would tire on the climb, stop and rest.

He made it across the Stillwater River heading up. Coming down, it was too much for him. He cried thinking we were leaving him behind.

Without being cued, Buckeye turned back across and sided up against a high bank.

Riley ran to the top, and carefully crawled onto the saddle with his paws draped over in front of me. I put one hand on his back and lifted the reigns with my other.

Buckeye picked his way back across the river. Back on dry ground, Riley leaned forward to let himself down with ease.

Buckeye’s knees were sore coming down the trail.

For the three of us, it was our last ride.