Dear Supporters,

Things are well with me. I have not felt this good for many months. I finally feel free to do as I please, to run wild, without concern or want. Truly, I am in a better place.

Be that as it may, I am very angry with some of the reaction to my passing. I guess I can understand that some of you folks would be sad to learn of my passing, but in reality, it was the best possible thing that could have happened to me. From the moment I had my accident, I just wanted to die so that the suffering would end, but you people had other ideas.

I say shame on the mainstream media as well. Shame on you for making my fight for survival into front-page, top-story news every single day, when there were far more pressing issues that you could have covered. Would you like it if I came to the hospital while you were fighting for your life and videotaped you? I think not.

I didn't think my death would be that big of a deal, but it's been a week since that glorious day and the furor hasn't died down. I don't get it at all. One person even posted on the UPenn message board devoted to me, saying that he was going to name his first child after me in the hopes that said child would have half the heart that I did.

To my owners, Roy and Gretchen Jackson, I have a few things to say. First of all, I know that deep down you cared about me and wanted what you thought was best for me. However, you also knew that if I lived through my ordeal, I could stand to make you a great deal of money through my offspring.

At least part of me believes that greed motivated you to go to the ends of the earth to try to keep me alive, and that angers me. You already have plenty of money, but you simply couldn't resist the opportunity to try and make more.

Sure, you've said in the media that you just cared about me and that your decision to let me die was motivated by compassion, but I just don't believe it.

You had too much to gain from keeping me alive, even if I was in excruciating pain and discomfort the whole time. No, letting me die was simply cutting your losses.

Another thing that really riles me is the use of a gender-specific pronoun to describe me. I thought the words "he" and "she" were reserved for human beings, but apparently I was mistaken. I can understand the use of he or she when referring to a dog or a cat because if you get close to a dog or a cat, they might lick you affectionately or sniff you or make some other generally affectionate gesture. If you would have gotten too close to me for comfort, I would have kicked your head off. I am an "it," plain and simple. Please understand this.

All that aside, like I said at the beginning of this letter, I feel better now. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, it was about time you let me die while I still had a shred of dignity left. To prolong my suffering any further would have bordered on sadistic. However, even in death and burial, you managed to screw things up. You had me cremated, and supposedly wherever I'm going to be buried is going to be turned into some kind of museum.

Great, that's just what I wanted.

Evidently you didn't realize how much I was looking forward to helping first graders with their art projects and becoming part of Lassie's dinner. Your cold ignorance of the traditional afterlife destination for my kind appalls but does not surprise me. You've been looking out for yourselves this entire time, while ignoring the fact that I was the one you should have been concerned about.

But that's all water under the rainbow bridge now. Confused at the term bridge? That's what all of my fans on earth surmised I crossed into the afterlife over. Wrong. In fact, I just kind of appeared in the middle of a field with a lot of eligible ladies of my kind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got places to go and other horses to meet.

Good riddance to all of you!

Yours in hooves,

Barbaro