Remembering

Yesterday marked two weeks since I said goodbye to Dude. It hasn't been easy.

The worst was the first day I came back to the barn, which was the Sunday after he died. Terrible.

I am so grateful for the support I've received. So many people have shared their sympathies.

Everyone at the barn has been great with messages of support, cards, hugs, and shared memories. Many have told me how they thought he was special. All these kind words have made me feel better.

I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, having to walk by the empty stall every day, until I talked to my daughter a week after he left us. She said that the hardest thing was that no one around her gets it. They may have had to say goodbye to a dog, but not to a horse. It's different, losing a horse. Her observation made me feel so very grateful that I am surrounded by people who truly understand what it's like.

I have his flannel wraps in the car still; somehow, it's comforting. I can walk by the stall now without getting teary eyed, most of the time. And I see things like the shavings bag above without getting teary eyed. They were a twosome for so long, Dude and Bestie. I caught myself tonight talking to someone about how I miss them when I can't come to the barn. But it's not "them" anymore, it's her.

I'm watching Bestie. She has seemed a little down over the last two weeks. Nothing I can put my finger on, apart from a loss of spark. She's still eating with gusto. The only concrete thing I've noticed is that she doesn't whinny when I come into the barn. They used to both whinny or nicker as soon as they heard my voice each day that I came to the barn. Now, she looks up (she's usually eating hay) when I get to her stall, but she hasn't nickered or whinnied at me since we lost Dude. The funny thing about that day was that after staying in with him quietly each day, on that day, barn owner Julie said Bestie was raring to go out, like her timer had run out. I thought briefly about bringing her in to see his body after the vet was done, but didn't do it. I'm wondering what she's thinking about the empty stall next door.

Tonight Bestie and I had a lesson. It's our first lesson in about three years. She seemed more animated during it, and afterwards, than she has been over the last two weeks. Maybe for her, as with me, it's a matter of time. 

Not too long after I put my dog Dixie down, I read the following quote from Thomas Jefferson to John Adams, expressing sympathy over the death of Adams' daughter. It really touched me then and continues to touch me with the depth of feeling it conveys.

There is no degree of affliction produced by the loss of those dear to us which experience has not taught me to estimate. I have ever found time and silence the only medicine, and these but assuage, they never can suppress, the deep drawn sigh which recollection forever brings up, until recollection and life are extinguished together.

Saying goodbye to Dude

On October 1, I said goodbye to Dude.

It was very sudden. I think it has taken me so long to write this because I still can't wrap my head around it. And the sadness is very deep.

On Sunday, September 20, we had a nice ride out in the back field with boarder Emily and her horse, Dude's pasture buddy Target.

On Tuesday, September 22, we had a nice ride down the road with barn owner Julie and boarder Katie and their horses Sky and Rocky.

Both rides were at the walk for about a half hour to 40 minutes and Dude seemed alert and happy. He was a superstar on the road. That ride went so well I started thinking about a better saddle pad, and how many rides we could get in before it got too cold to be out on the road.

On Wednesday, September 23, Julie called me at work at about 3 pm, right as I was setting up for an event. She said that they had noticed that Dude was lame in the hind end when they brought him in, that he laid down once he got in, and that they thought he was tying up because his muscles were quivering. The other thought was that he was having an HYPP episode. I said that I would get there as soon as I could get away from work, which would likely be around 6 pm.

The vet was called. In the interim, they got Dude up, and Renee, Maddie's former trainer who is working with some folks at the barn, rubbed him down to loosen him up. Someone later told me that she did that for 45 minutes. Amazing, and I'm so grateful.

When I got to the barn, he was alert, but resting his back right leg and shaking in his left front leg, which he kept propped slightly out in front. I noticed right away that he had a swollen knot on the rear of his left front leg. It freaked me out, like the ligament had popped or something. I called the vet, and he said that Dude had likely sustained a ligament injury from supporting himself heavily in the front; that the ligament injury must've occurred after they looked at him earlier.

I got wraps, and got him out of the stall slowly. We came out of the stall on a slight curve to the left, so he could then take a couple steps backwards to be placed on the crossties. It broke my heart; I cried seeing him come out basically two-legged lame but after negotiating the step out he seemed to do all right. 

Dude seemed like he had fallen off a cliff, from happy and active to struggling.

The next day he stayed in, wrapped and on bute. Ditto for the next day. And the next. And the next. The only way he got out of the stall was when I would come twice a day and get him onto the cross ties to rewrap him.

The shaking in his front leg subsided somewhat, but when he stepped on the leg it would give and wobble a bit. It reminded me of the weakness in my knee when I had a partial ligament tear.

So, on Friday, Dr. Phil came back out. By then the knot had gone away. Blood work indicated that it hadn't been an HYPP episode. The goal was to keep Dude as comfortable as possible. Dr. Phil gave me a steroid anti-inflammatory to apply once a day, and said the weekend would tell the story. We talked a bit about what the future might bring, but I guess I wasn't hearing/wasn't ready to hear that things might be difficult,

Dude was on bute twice a day and getting an injection of Ace in the morning to keep him calm when the other horses were turned out. They also kept Bestie in to keep him company. Amazingly, she tolerated this arrangement well.

He seemed to be doing ok, and I guess I mean by ok that he seemed to be stabilizing. Throughout the whole ordeal, he continued to eat and drink and to be interested in what was going on around him. 

Then, on Monday, barn manager Paula heard a crash. By her account, Dude had fallen through his stall guard and was down on his front knees over the stall guard (the bottom two buckles held) with his rear in the air in his stall. She told me that for a moment he looked at her pitifully, almost like he couldn't get up, then struggled to his feet. By the time I got there, he seemed pretty chipper, much the same as he had been with no apparent ill effects from the fall. 

I had to go out of town on Tuesday for work. I was a nervous wreck worrying about him, but got no calls or texts with bad news; in fact, Julie texted me to say he'd had a good day.

On Wednesday I went back to the barn upon returning home from the one day trip. By this time, he hadn't laid down in almost a week. He had started losing weight. The vet came out again to look at him; this time it was Dr. Emily. I was concerned about the front ligament and whether rehab would be possible. It's funny, I never really thought about his back end, because we had already rehabbed him from two back end injuries. He was still resting his hind leg quite a bit, but would square up occasionally.

Emily has known us a long time. She gave me the gift of telling it to me straight but with great compassion and kindness. She spoke of Dude when we first got him as a huge halter horse, and the dignity and pride that he still had even at 22. She talked about how halter horses typically don't live long lives, and that the fact that Dude had made it to this point was due to our love and good care. She attributed the weight loss to pain. She told me I'd be looking at no turnout for at least 8 weeks, and then, if he was able to go out, we'd be entering the snowy slippery season and one misstep could retweak the injury. She had brought the ultrasound, but listening to her, I got the message. I needed to think about what was best for him. Listening to her, it became clear that, a week after the injury, we were entering a stage where prolonging treatment would likely not be the best scenario for Dude. 

When you get that message, it's still hard to accept, at least it was for me. But then, when I went back to the barn that evening, it became clearer. I was grooming Bestie on the crossties, and Dude was in his stall hanging out and watching. He had already pulled his trick of grabbing the cross tie to reel Bestie in, which always makes me laugh. This time it was so bittersweet.

I glanced over at him, and he was falling asleep on his feet. He hadn't been able to lay down in days. He was teetering, about to drop and I called his name, and he woke up and stabilized himself. I had visions of him falling and not being able to get up. Nighmarish thoughts. And I thought too about his pride and his dignity and I realized I had to make the decision. I wanted him to go peacefully before the pain from these injuries got worse or a more terrible injury occurred.

In tears, I called my husband to fill him in and gather strength to call my daughter, Dude's girl. I then called her and told her all that had happened. I hadn't shared any of this with the family prior to this, it was playing out in such a zig-zaggy way. Poor Katie, the last time we had spoken I had told her about our wonderful ride on the road. He's been part of the family for fourteen years. She was 12 when Dude entered our lives.

I read something online that really resonated, "Better a day too early than a minute too late." Words of wisdom from another person who had to make their own difficult decision for their horse.

The next morning I came to the barn and told Julie that I had made my decision. Amazingly Emily was able to come out around noon, and we were also able to get the man who buries the horses on a nearby farm to come out right around the same time.

I went home for a bit, then came back out to the barn. Emily had just arrived.

I got Dude out of his stall and grazed him for about 15 minutes. He was so happy to get out on grass, he was just voracious. But he was clearly tiring quickly. Emily explained the procedure. We brought him into the indoor arena and she sedated him. He put up his usual cranky fight when he saw the sedation, which made me smile even under the terrible circumstances - he was still Dude. I held his head for a while, then Emily asked me to step to the side. I had thought about what to say to him. In the end I just held his head, laid my check against his. and told him he was a good boy and that it had been an honor.

He dropped peacefully onto his side. I sat in the indoor next to him, running my hand over his neck until the man came with the truck. I thought about all the good times, oh my gosh, there were so many. 

My last glance back at him as I left the indoor, I thought he looked so small. The essence of Dude, his tremendously big spirit and strong will, was gone. I think it was his spirit and will that kept him going over the last week.  I wonder if I should have made the decision sooner. Laying it all out here, perhaps I should have. I don't know. I feel like it wasn't clear until it was clear.

I miss him so much.  I really appreciated his role in my life as a solid guy. He was just one of those horses that you could lean against and regain strength and perspective. He was funny and smart and seemed to think that wherever he was, he was in charge. I think he did feel a sense of responsibility toward us and toward the horses around him. We were all part of Dude's herd.

Rest in peace, Heza Flashy Dude Mr.

Thank you for being part of our family. It truly has been an honor.