I can remember the last time I saw Walt. It was 1984. I had completed university studies and was about to head off to Canada to take up a job offer as a postdoctoral fellow. His twin brother, Amos had died 3 years earlier and Walt had found it impossible to cope by himself. Six months after the death of Amos, Walt had been put into a government nursing home and that was where I found him. Walt and Amos had lived their whole lives together. They were together in their mother’s womb and they stayed together until Amos died at the age of 85. Neither had married and I even wonder if either of them had ever had a girlfriend. But in many ways they were more married than most married couples. Walt and Amos were special. They had a gift. The gift of understanding through feel. They understood each other. They understood other people. And they understood horses. It was an innate understanding. They didn’t learn it, they just felt it. Walt had aged considerably since I last saw him. He was even more wizened and leathery than I imagined possible. He had become frail and it seemed a strain for him to sit up in his chair. But at 88 he was still very sharp and recognized me immediately.

“Hey matey,” was his greeting.

It was the way he had always greeted me ever since I was about 10 years old. I don’t think he had ever called me Ross. We talked for nearly a couple of hours until the nurse came to get him for lunch. He asked about university and the job. We talked about my life. We talked lots about Amos and the old days at the riding school. We replayed some of the funny and not so funny incidents. I was amazed that his memory was so much better than mine. I reminded him of the only time I got furious with him and Amos. I’ve told this story before, but it was the time Walt and Amos decided I needed to be taught a lesson about asking a horse politely before I demand anything from him.

I had been riding a horse for another fellow. The horse was not very forward and I decided she needed to be kicked and kicked and kicked to get going forward. After a few days of this sort of riding she was getting no better. At the end of the day I asked Walt for a lift home in his old truck. He said that if I wanted a lift I first had to get his knife from his pocket. At the time I thought this was an odd game to play, but reminded myself that I was dealing with old men who liked to play silly games. I knew Walt carried one of those old pocket knives, so I went to reach for the knife in his jacket pocket. Walt had his hand in his pocket and I couldn‘t get at the knife. I pulled and pulled, but Walt didn’t remove his hand and I could not reach the watch. I remember Walt said something like, “Well Tarzan, let’s see if Amos can do it.”

Amos then turned to Walt. “Walt may I borrow your pocket knife?” At which Walt gently removed his knife from his pocket and gave it to Amos. He then turned back to me and said, “ Well matey it looks like you are going to have to walk home.”

All the way home I was fuming at these two old blokes playing a trick like that on me. But over the next couple of days the lesson finally began to sink in and I was able to apply what Walt and Amos had been trying to tell me about politeness to the little mare. I tried hard to stay mad at Walt, but as the mare got better my temper dissolved. Walt and I laughed about this in the nursing home that last day and he was glad I still remembered because he did too.

He was glad to hear the riding school was still there in bricks and mortar even though most of the people had long gone. It didn‘t take long to get around to talking about the inside of the horse, though. I guess it was to be expected, since what horses think and feel is the number one passion for both of us

“You know matey, there is two kinds of horsemen. The ones that think like people and the ones that think like horses. The ones that think like people are takers and the ones that think like horses are givers.”

“Walt, you have never learned to speak English! What do you mean takers and givers,” I asked?

“Well matey, it’s the nature of people to take. That’s what makes humans so successful. We take from ourselves and we take from others. We take and we take. We use what we can for our own reasons. The takers use horses for themselves. They use them ‘cause they wanna go fast. They use them ‘cause they want something from them. They take from the horse like they have a right to what the horse gives them. They take away the horse’s right to run away. They take away the horses right to say no when he don’t wanna do somethin. A giver gives back somethin to the horse. He don’t take away the right of the horse to run away or to say no. He just sets it up so the horse don’t wanna run away or don’t wanna say no. The giver gives the horse the willingness to go along with the giver‘s idea, but he don’t take away the right to say no. People who talk about dominance and submission are takers. People who talk about yielding an idea and leadership are givers. If ya gonna be good with horses, ya need to be a giver cause that’s what horses are. Horses are givers. They don’t try to ever take away anythin from us. To get along good with a giver ya need to learn to be a giver too.”

We talked some more about horses. Walt talked about what he meant by the spirit of the horse. Walt talked about his regret at not being able to live long enough to learn more about horses. And we talked about Amos. But he was getting tired and I knew by the time the nurse arrived to take him to lunch that it was time for me to go.

As I got up to leave Walt pointed to a little bedside cabinet. He said, “Open the second draw, will ya matey.”

When I did I saw a few pens, some note paper, a comb and an ancient looking wooden box about the size of a cigarette pack.

“Matey, I want ya to take the box. There’s somethin I’ve been keepin for ya that I want ya to have.”

I opened the box and saw inside the old pocket knife. Walt knew and I knew that it was our last visit together. I will never be able to describe the intensity of emotion that I felt as I walked to the car park. I didn’t even know until I sat inside my car that tears were streaming down my cheeks. About 18 months later I was visiting Finland for a conference when I got a phone call from my wife. She said there had been a call from mum that Walt had died 2 days earlier. I put my hand in my pocket and wrapped my fist around the knife. The greatest giver I had ever known had left me.