~ goodbye to an old friend

This summer I couldn't quite put a finger on it, but I felt that my old boy Roanie was going downhill. He was arthritic, sure... but nothing overt. Just a feeling. I prayed that when the time came to let him go, that I would know for sure. 

And I did. 

He had been losing weight, but we figured it was old age catching up to him, and since his teeth were good, we upped the groceries and put a warm, waterproof blanket it on him when the weather started turning colder. 

And then, there it was. For sure. His gait had been "off" for a while, but suddenly he was staggering like a drunk man, especially with his back legs. I called my great vet and friend Chris Wickliffe. We pulled Roanie's blanket off and Dr. Wickliffe examined him. He pointed out that if you stood right in front of or behind Roanie you could see that the muscles on his whole left side were atrophied. He was staggering mostly to the right because he had so little muscle strength remaining on his left side. It was actually painful to watch him walk. And he was tired. Anytime he could, he would lean up against the stall wall, or a tree. Non horse people might not understand this, but horse people will know what I mean when I say that my other gelding, Poco, was worried about Roanie. That's the part that made me cry. Well... one of the parts. 

(my boy Poco in the blue and my girl Kaiyah in the pink)

Dr. Wickliffe ran blood work. There was nothing, except muscle enzymes consistent with atrophying muscle. His assessment was that it was probably cancer, most likely a brain tumor pressing on one side of his brain, causing the atrophy and weakness. He was deteriorating fast. And at age 27... well, the good doc didn't have to spell it out for me. And we knew that if Roanie fell down or laid down, he probably was not going to be able to get up again. 

So. I knew what I needed to do. It was a blessing that my prayer had been answered that I knew for sure, because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to do it. 

A few days later, on November 9th, I drove out to the barn in the pouring rain. Lots of prayers. Said a prayer for a tender mercy-- that the deluge might stop just while Roanie was being put down. I drove on, and it poured on. 

Jonathan had driven out to the barn earlier that morning to say goodbye to Roanie. I don't think I can really, fully express what he felt and said, but he did say that he explained it to my three what was happening. He said Roanie looked him right in the eyes and said, "okay." 

I should also mention that Jonathan, Denise, Jen (the barn owner and my friend) and I think a few others offered to be there with me the day of, but I needed to be by myself for it. 

Got to the barn in the pouring rain. Hooked up my trailer in the rain. Said goodbyes with Roanie and my boy Poco and my little mare Kaiyah. He was tired. Got him wobbily loaded in the pouring rain. Drove slowly down the driveway. As I paused at the end of the driveway, it quit raining. I became aware that the wetness on my face was tears and no longer rain. As I drove to my friend Jack's farm, the clouds lightened. 

My friend Jack was Roanie's former owner before my dad bought Roanie. Said Roanie taught him to team rope. He was just that good. Used to take him over to eastern Oregon for the fall cattle gathering, and Roanie would scour those hills for the cows-- he LOVED it, and Jack said Roanie could spot a cow or any wildlife long before a person ever did. Jack lives over in Monmouth, just a few minutes from the barn where I board, and he had offered to have Roanie put down and buried out in his pasture-- for which I am eternally grateful. He called his friend with a backhoe. 

I'm not sure how I escaped having to go through this process for 35 years... maybe partly because my childhood horse and pets died after I had left home. I knew it would be hard, and even though I knew it was the right thing to do and thought I was mentally prepared for it, actually DOING it was SO hard. But what happened at Jack's was one tender mercy after another, and left me so unexpectedly peaceful.

As I pulled in at Jack's, the clouds lightened even more. I carefully unloaded Roanie. Jack's horses were in the barn that Roanie had lived in for many years. But instead of stopping to visit with the horses in the barn, Roanie found the strength to pull me THROUGH the barn and out to the back pasture where the backhoe operator was finishing digging his grave. Dr. Wickliffe arrived. The backhoe finished. And then... the clouds parted and the late afternoon winter sun shone down on us. Roanie looked towards the backhoe and whinnied several times... then started walking towards it. And kept walking until he calmly stopped right by his grave. Dr. Wickliffe had already put in an iv line so Roanie wouldn't have to be poked by a needle several times. 

So there in the wet pasture, surrounded by rolling farmland, bathed in the soft light of the afternoon winter sun, gently, peacefully, Roanie sleepily laid down. While I stroked his face and neck, and without a struggle, he took his last breath and crossed over. My dad was there with us. 

It was one of the most beautiful, peaceful things I've ever experienced.