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By Root 1310 0

go, and each improvement seemed to bring a setback. Word spread like wildfire through the horse community. The beloved Flying Dutchman was in the hospital. Well-wishers poured through the door, and the phone lines lit up. Everyone wanted to know how the old horseman was doing. Harry’s wife worried that she would soon be a widow, but Harry was a fighter. During the long hours and days he spent in the hospital, he thought about Snowman—a horse who had refused to be cast off before his time. Harry had gone through hard times before; years ago, his youngest daughter, Anna-Marie, had been in a riding accident and had gone into a coma before fighting back for a full recovery. He had lived through heartaches with some of his children, and the difficulty of a divorce. And many years earlier he had watched his own father go into hiding. They had survived a cataclysmic war. Yes, Harry had had many lessons in bravery in his life. This time, he was determined to pull through—and not just to pull through, but to ride again.

His injuries were severe: water on the brain, and a spine broken in several places. When Harry de Leyer left the hospital alive, his doctors must have been pleased. He needed a walker, but at his age that was about as good a prognosis as one could hope for.

After the accident, Harry spent more time inside. One room in his house was devoted entirely to Snowman: paintings, photos, the framed woolen cooler that had been placed over his withers when he won the championship at the Garden so many years before. And next to it, Snowman’s show bridle, with the soft rubber snaffle bit, still cleaned and oiled, hanging in a place of honor.

Harry was sitting in this room when the phone rang. The PetSmart Charities, which donated money for the care and feeding of unwanted horses, wished to honor Snowman by making a model Breyer horse in his image.

At first Harry hesitated. He explained that the horse had done so much for him, and that he never wanted to exploit his memory or do anything that might tarnish his image. But the company reassured him that the proceeds would go toward the care of rescued horses. Harry’s only request was that he receive a Snowman model for each of his grandchildren.

Finally, six months after Harry’s accident, the model horse was ready for release. The Snowman model, crafted by the artists at Breyer from photographs of the gelding, quickly became a collector’s item. Completed, it managed to capture the characteristic that Snowman was so known for: the look in his eye. The back of the box featured a picture of Harry and Snowman clearing an enormous white fence, seeming to soar into the clouds. But the model itself shows Snowman galloping free, the horse who came home to Harry with no saddle and no bridle, with nothing but his heart and the force of his will.

In October 2008, it was time for the Washington International Horse Show, and the Galloping Grandfather was back in the saddle. If there was a bit of stiffness in his back from the steel rods the doctors had placed there, it was hard to see. As the hunters entered the arena in front of a throng of spectators, many old-timers in the stands probably recognized Harry de Leyer. But even for those who didn’t know him or remember the story of Snowman, there was no mistaking the smile on his face when he and his teammates galloped back into the ring to receive the yellow third-place rosette.

Harry doffed his velvet cap, tossing it high into the air in his trademark move. His white hair stood on end as he waved to the crowd and beamed. Snowman had taught him this lesson so many years ago. No obstacle is too great to overcome for a man with a dream.

The Galloping Grandfather was back in the saddle. He was not beaten yet.

If you want to visit Snowman’s gravestone, it still lies in the big field under the pine trees where the horse liked to stand, next to the fence along Moriches Road that leads down toward the beach. From time to time, people still come and knock on the farmhouse door to ask if they can see it.

The big gray is long gone, but living