|
 Candy
Horses were running back and forth, playing horse games, full of life and the vibrant spirit that was theirs alone to enjoy. Just beneath their feet lay the bodies of other horses, those that we've buried in days gone by. I knew that Candy would be there, too, soon.
A donated, older mare, Candy arrived on Sunday, January 2, 2005, in what might be considered pretty bad condition. She'd stood still through four months of pregnancy and six months of a baby nursing her. She was thin and obviously foundered, and had also been suffering from a tear from her vagina to her rectum.
But that part of Candy's life ended when she stepped onto the ranch. Everything from that moment on was what we were concerned about. There were some serious concerns about her future. It would take a lot to return her to a semi-normal state, but we would try as long as she would try. From what I saw that evening, she really wanted to try.
In the beginning, the goal was simply to get her a little more comfortable so she could make the trip to the vet's office, so, the following day, the farrier removed almost three inches from her right hoof and two from her left. On Wednesday, after the morning feeding, and with the help of various pain-killing drugs, Candy was loaded into the two-horse trailer for her visit to the vet. I drove very slowly, knowing that the shifting weight hurt her feet. She unloaded beautifully and took the steps into the clinic for her x-rays. The x-rays showed a 7-degree rotation of the coffin bone in her right hoof and a 3-degree rotation in her left hoof, with the pain being marked as severe in the right hoof. Understanding the exact location of the coffin bone gave the farrier and the vet the ability to start trimming to ease the pain from the rotation.
Two people called that afternoon with the same question, "What are her chances?"
I didn't have the answer to that. She would never run with the herd again, but I didn't know that she had ever done that before. What I could guarantee was that she would never be pregnant again. She would be loved, cared for, treated to the best of our ability and made to feel special, like all the other horses at the ranch. The treatment was in our hands. The outcome was something we had no control over.
Three weeks later, Candy still could barely walk the few feet between her food dish, the water bucket and the hay. I was once willing to accept that, but not anymore. Were the future to hold the possibility that she could walk around the pastures, I'd be the first to give her more pain medication and tell her to hang on. But if all she faced was pain, then it was time to set her free. Some horses will let you know when it is time. Others won't. Candy didn't talk. Given the situation she'd endured, it was little wonder that she didn't mentally respond too well to humans. Physically, she would allow the grooming, hugging, petting, etc, but one look in her eyes told me that she didn't believe any of it.
Jason, Jennifer and I released Candy from her pain early Friday afternoon, February 4, 2005. She went peacefully into a deep sleep and left her troubled body behind. It was done. She was laid to rest beneath the feet of the running horses. Many of them watched, most knew, a few stood quietly in silent honor as her body slipped beneath the ground.
In a moment of sorrow, Jason cried out, "This job is really hard!" I held him close and felt the tears rack his body.
It is, but we did a good thing that day. Were it not for us, Candy would have died out in that lonely pasture unable to walk. The love we shared, the hope we offered, the gentle hands, the soft words - those gave meaning and comfort to a troubled soul and gave us a reason to be thankful. Candy's physical pain would never heal, but her heart felt all we offered. She knew and accepted what we had to do, of this I am sure. She, too, was thankful that we cared enough to let her go. In death, we gave her peace.
Candy is now but a memory that will forever linger in the hearts of those who touched her. You no longer need to walk gently, Candy. You are free. May your spirit soar forever in the pastures of your Heaven.
February 2005
|
