Waiting at the Gate

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    Life with Horses - Waiting at the Gate

     

    I had a horse put down recently. It wasn’t either of my geldings, Wally or Danny. It was an old Thoroughbred mare that belonged to a friend of mine who’d passed away. The mare was her retired show horse, a tall, athletic jumper with a sweet temperament. In her mid-twenties, afflicted with lameness and an aggressive tumor in her sinuses, the mare’s quality of life had deteriorated. Such a grand mare deserved some amount of dignity, and after much contemplation I made the decision to have her euthanized.

    The bay mare came to live at my family’s small ranch a year-and-a-half ago. That was about the same time my friend’s health worsened, and while I held on to hope that she would beat the odds there was a dark place in my heart where I already knew her story wouldn’t have a happy ending. Yet the day we hauled the mare to our place is one I’ll always remember fondly. My sister Jill was driving the truck, my friend was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, and I was perched in the backseat of the cab, leaning forward. The three of us were chatting wildly as only horsewomen can, with the mare riding comfortably in tow behind us. Such a day, infused with sun-streaked, vibrant energy, contrasted sharply with the plain-spoken proposal I presented a few days later to my friend: I would look after her horse, and treat it like one of my own, if she ever became too ill to care for her. We both knew what I meant.

    Fortunately, the old mare settled into the laidback lifestyle of our backyard stable. She be-friended the barn dogs and took a special liking to the pet goat. She lived in a large paddock, shaded by a huge pepper tree, and spent much of each day hobnobbing over the fence with the neighbor’s herd of mustangs. Whenever I’d arrive the mare would greet me at the gate, her ears pricked forward, expecting a treat or a brisk rub on her blazed face. She began to follow me around like a buddy or pal, a few steps behind me as I walked from tack room to tack box. She’d press her nose against my back, asking to be groomed or fed a carrot. I’d open the gate and let her wander the back end of the property, where she’d mosey across the lawn, nibbling here and there. Compared to the strict regimen of a competitive show barn, this was a life of sublime luxury. My friend was thrilled. “The old gal’s getting to live the good life in her sunset years,” she said. “She deserves it.”

    For a while, Jill and I were able to get the mare sound enough so my friend could come out for some short rides. Weakened by both her illness and the side effects of treatment, she couldn’t ride for very long. But I can tell you that her moments in the saddle, aboard her mare, brought her joy. It’s amazing the transformative power that horses possess. You would’ve never known that my friend was so desperately ill from the way she looked on the back of that old bay horse. Such restorative power must be reciprocal, because the mare seemed reinvigorated, too. Her eyes were brighter and her stride more lofty, as if she took pride in having a purpose and fulfilling a duty.

    Eventually my friend’s visits became more sporadic. By the end of last summer they had stopped altogether; she was too ill to travel. So I bundled up photos I’d taken of her mare and presented them in person, serving as narrator. “Look,” I’d say, “I gave her a shampoo and you can see her dapples!” Jill and I created a video, complete with film credits, that showcased a day in the mare’s life at the ranch. There were snippets of her rolling in soft dirt, sampling alfalfa bales still stacked on the delivery truck, and flirting shamelessly with my sister’s flashy gelding. These mare missives were the bright spots in the progressively darker days of my friend’s life. Each time I left her, I’d encourage her to think of her loyal mare, standing patiently at the gate of her paddock, ready to greet her if she should arrive.

    When the warm embrace of summer ended, the weather turned callously cold. The mare seemed frail; her coat was rough and if she happened to trot few steps, her breathing was labored. Often blood would dribble in small drops from her nostrils. We moved her from her outside paddock to a smaller corral, where she could cozy up with another horse and stand beneath a shelter. Not long after that, on Christmas Eve in the midst of a storm, my friend passed away.

    In the months that followed I continually evaluated the mare’s condition, supported by my sympathetic vet. I found myself struggling to separate grieving for my friend and doing what was right (and humane) for the horse. Was I holding the mare hostage, in a way, because I couldn’t let go of my final connection to my deceased friend? Was I extending her life or merely prolonging her suffering? None of these were pleasant to contemplate, yet as a responsible horse lover I had to confront them. Ultimately, the mare helped me make the decision. Her behavior and her expression told me it was time. She didn’t finish her meals. She was too lame to trot or play, and the tumor restricting her airways left her short of breath. This wasn’t a proper life for any horse, let alone a big-hearted Thoroughbred used to galloping and jumping.

    And so, on a sunny spring day, I called my vet to put the sweet bay mare down. I led her to a soft, quiet place, her favorite spot where she liked to nibble on sweet grass and dandelion flowers. I gave her a long pat on her mahogany neck and ran my fingers through her thick black mane. “It’s time to go find your mom,” I told her, sending her back to my friend. “She’ll be waiting for you,” I said softly, “at the gate.”

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    18 COMMENTS

    1. That’s very touching. It reminds me of my old horse Snickers. She is still alive and we had to sell her to a young girl because of money problems and she has arthritis in her knee and I can’t ride her as much as I use too. Know she is very happy, but I still am really sad that she left.

    2. This is beautiful Cindy….A very fitting and touching tribute. This time hasn’t been easy but hopefully this final memorial will help you move on. M and Missy are out galloping through fields just as they should be now; together again.

    3. That story brought tears to my eyes. Cindy you are such a wonderful author- capturing the moment and human sentiment so perfectly.

    4. This was a very moving and compelling piece which made cry. Having just lost a friend to breast cancer a few weeks ago, I could relate to her wanting to maintain a connection with her friend. I imagine that her friend took comfort in knowing that her horse was being so lovingly cared for. I also imagine that horse & rider are now reunited.

    5. That was a very powerful story it reminded me of my Sisters Mare who I Loved like no other. She helped me thru some pretty bad times. Gave me hope & when the time came she told us she was ready to go.

    6. This was a very powerful story…
      I know how you feel, just tow days ago I found out two of the ponies I used to ride but still played with passed away.
      Lacy & Gee Whiz will always be in my heart and this is an amazing tribute to every horsey soul that is happy and running free in heaven

    7. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE THOUGHTFUL COMMENTS.
      WE GROW UP BEING TOLD TO TREASURE THE PEOPLE AND ANIMALS WE LOVE BECAUSE SOME DAY THEY’LL BE GONE AND WE’LL MISS THEM.
      TURNS OUT IT’S TRUE.
      WE’RE ALL HERE FOR SUCH A BRIEF TIME. I WOULD ENCOURAGE EVERYONE TO TAKE A MOMENT TODAY TO TELL A GOOD FRIEND HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO YOU AND ALSO FEED A CARROT OR A COOKIE TO THE HORSE (OR PONY) THAT MAKES YOU SMILE THE MOST.

    8. Some life force seems to flow between horses and those who love them. The touch somehow releases tension. Warm breath from your horse pushes the cares of the day away.
      Thank you for caring for your friend so well and understanding how the pictures and videos helped her long, declining days.

    9. This article was a beautiful memorial to a friend and her horse. I can only hope someone will be this kind to me and to my horses if I should have to leave this world. Thank you.

    10. I really applaud you for your actions. That had to be incredibly tough, but you made the right decision. Thank you for the touching story.

    11. After laying my bay TB mare to rest this morning, this story touches my heart so closely. Such a hard thing to do, but those who make the choice, show the true colors of LOVE!

    12. Thank you for sharing this story. We are glad to hear of others that have same experiences with horses as we do. Horses provide something that we can not explain or understand, but we can definitely observe all of the benefits interaction w…ith them provides. We see this first hand on the regular basis. We even have a 26 year old 1600 pound Standardbred who make house calls to children who are to ill to make it to our facility. Igor steps out of his trailer and in to the front yard of the terminally ill child sitting in the lawn chair eagerly waiting for his arrival. Almost without any guidance Igor heads straight from the trailer to the waiting child and proceeds to drop his extremely large head into the child’s lap. ever so carefully as if he knew how fragile and sick the child is. Love and affection that children have for him seems to be match only by his compassion for them. He will stay there without moving a muscle until the child is completely worn out and ready for him to leave as many times as we see it we still are unable to explain it but we know the love and the joy he bring to this children can not be duplicated any other way.

    13. THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KIND COMMENTS. 🙂
      IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WROTE THIS BLOG ENTRY. BECAUSE OF SOME PERSONAL REASONS I CAME BACK TO READ IT AGAIN.
      I TRULY WISH THAT THE REST OF THE ‘HUMAN RACE’ COULD CLEARLY COMPREHEND THE CONNECTION WE HAVE WITH OUR HORSES. AS TOUGH AS IT IS TO SAY GOOD-BYE TO A LOYAL, WONDERFUL HORSE, IT’S A SMALL PRICE TO PAY FOR THE MAGICAL EXPERIENCE OF HAVING THEM IN OUR LIVES.

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