Tag: Equine

Many of you are aware that I lost my horse, Flash, a few months ago. On the day he peacefully passed, I composed what is, in my opinion, the best-written and most heartrending work I’ve ever done. There were tears, yes, as I began writing his tribute within hours of the event, and yet as I wrote, I felt…peace. I still believe I was in some state of shock–the dreadful thing had happened, had come to pass–yet my mind was acting in self-preservation mode, to get things done. Writing is catharsis and writing my beloved Fuzzy’s eulogy proved extremely healing. I wanted to acknowledge every important little detail about the time we spent together, the happy memories made. And of course, the everlasting impressions this equine had not just on me, but on everyone, he knew.

I still, and will forever miss, my best, furriest, fuzziest friend. As I said in my eulogy, “I will miss (insert event/ feeling).” I still catch myself thinking, “I’ll go to the barn,” but then reality strikes quick, and a weight of sadness descends upon me…

BUT:

I take GREAT comfort in knowing that Flash spent his last summer on earth surrounded by family and friends, being spoiled every day with tons of treats and attention. I thought I’d spoiled my horse before but was it tenfold this summer? On top of receiving grain every day, he grazed on the lushest grass and ate carrots and apples smothered in molasses. I let him wander wherever he wanted, as he was always so curious, interested in his surroundings, and making new friends (be it human, equine, feline, or canine). As one of the girls who rode him said, “Flash reminds me of how older folks eat dinner, and then afterward go on a walk.” That was exactly it. As soon as he’d finished inhaling the last bit of feed, he’d start wandering somewhere, usually over to the “Hay Buffet” (the hay trolley), or to a patch of verdant grass. I’d follow him around, and it was both amusing and heartwarming to observe his wanderings. If he crossed paths with someone, he’d stop to say hello, and was often rewarded with kind pats and treats.

I miss my furry equine friend. I miss him every day. Yet in my sadness, there is one feeling absent—agony. I have no remorse, no regret, in choosing the why and how we let him go. Flash was old, 94 in human years (!), and had had a long and very, very happy life.

Choosing when and how to say goodbye to an animal friend is always extremely tough. What made it even more difficult was that Flash was still Flash: the happy, carefree, loving pony I’d always known. Mentally, he was all there. But physically he was declining. My dad and I used to joke that Flash looked like a “middle-aged guy with a gut”–slightly overweight at times, but very healthy. But Flash was shrinking, despite his great appetite. And no matter how much we fed him, nothing worked. Having been diagnosed with Cushing’s disease a few years ago, a disorder in which the pituitary gland overproduces cortisol (stress hormone), it is also possible there may have been tumors in other parts of his body. Regardless, Flash was old, and his time was limited. Mentally alert and intelligent as ever, yet his body was slowly failing. It was only a matter of time before something catastrophic happened: Flash collapsing, too weak to get up, in fear, and in pain.

Despite my constant care, Flash was not going to improve in the end. I couldn’t cure him. In late spring the vet looked him over and decided it was time to make that decision. I cried as she discussed why she thought it best, but I understood. She made it clear I could spend a few more months with my pony and spoil him rotten.

In those last months, I researched euthanasia, which means “kind death.” A form of lethal injection, most vets administer a sedative first so that the animal is made unconscious, unaware of what is happening. The lethal shot follows immediately after, taking less than a minute for the animal to slide from unconsciousness into death. There is no pain at all; it is the kindest, quietest way to go. More than once I’ve heard that euthanasia is the final and ultimate act of love, in choosing to have a beloved creature avoid any suffering.

In the minutes leading up to that final goodbye, my vet, assigned to administer the euthanasia…this makes me cry to write it…hugged me tight as I sobbed my heart out. She said, “Know that you will never have to worry about discovering him in his pasture, injured and in fear. Know you will never have to see him suffer, that he will never have to know pain.”

Somehow, my voice beyond raw, I replied, “He’s lived a long and extremely happy life.”

The vet looked me full in the face. “If only all animals could be so lucky.”

Amen.

-LMC