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March 1st, 2010 Saying Goodbye to a Friend We didn't know Arthur all that well. He was a horse who lived out at our friend Cathy's, and we had done a little training with him. I trimmed his feet. But he always stood out -- the smaller, slighter horse among all the other warmbloods and drafts. A steed fit for the faerie-kin.
Life is filled with beautiful circles that we can't
always understand. Arthur was calm, and I stood with him, petting his neck and telling him that help was on the way, as Rebecca went up to the house to call Cathy and the vet. It seemed to me that the leg was dislocated, and I fear that I was a bit too reassuring in my assessment as I spoke to Arthur. He, in that magical way that animals often have, was perfectly calm, though his muscles shook with the effort of standing on three legs. Rebecca quickly returned, and before long Amy, another good horse-friend, arrived on the scene. The vet followed shortly thereafter. His diagnosis was grim. A broken tibia. Arthur would have to be put down. Rebecca and I have seen death before. We've had to kill animals mangled by cars that left them dying on the road, and last year we lay in the snow as old Zubaranna, another horse-friend, died. This, however, left us shaken. The reason was that Arthur seemed perfectly okay. He was alert, and was mostly concerned with finding treats. He was uninjured but for the swaying leg. He was young, just beginning his higher-level training. He was in the prime of his life, and all he had was a broken leg. A rather minor injury in a human or dog or even a deer. But a horse, the vet informed us, just isn't built to bear weight on three legs . . . Cathy decided to have the vet give him a lethal injection. We understood why, but it was still difficult to see. Wasn't there a wheelchair or a cast or something that could help a horse like this? Apparently, an injury like this is fatal to a horse. The vet was swift and quiet as he administered the injection. One moment Arthur was bright-eyed and alive, and the next he fell over hard on his side, lying still. I cried for a long time -- Rebecca wouldn't cry until later. We didn't know him well, but witnessing such vibrant life taken so quickly and unexpectedly left us feeling shocked and powerless. When Arthur lay still, the vet showed us exactly how bad the leg was. It was shattered, moving freely above the knee joint. An irreparable break. The vet told us that there was nothing else that could be done and that we were lucky to have found him soon enough that we could spare him a cold and painful night.
We said our goodbyes to Arthur, covered him with some
blankets, and left him there as the full moon rose over the field. We'll
all miss him and are thankful to have had the chance to be a part of his
life.
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The other day we
went out to feed Cathy's horses, since she was on vacation, and discovered
Arthur standing alone in a corner of the pasture. When we went to see what
was wrong, we noticed one of his rear legs dangling sickeningly. It was
bending in ways that it shouldn't.