She came to us the last week in April of 2003 – old, thin, missing one eye, scared – from an owner that could no longer afford her. She only stayed at the ranch a few weeks as we worked on her wounds, fed her, tended to her medical needs and tried to heal her wounded soul.
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And in the healing, Jennifer fell in love. She asked for and received permission to move Rose to her home, there to receive more intense care. Separated from the aggression of the herd, Rose blossomed and grew, but never fully recovering her health. Bone chips from her spinal cord continued to cause a weeping wound. Through two operations and many hours of therapy, she stood quietly, trusting in Jennifer to help her heal, believing that what Jennifer was doing was necessary.
But the infection never stopped. On August 8th, more x-rays were taken. In the darkness of the viewing room, we saw that the infection had spread, eating away at the spinal cord, slowly destroying the bones.
Where there’s a horse, there’s hope, but the hope quickly faded away as we listened to the vet explain the x-rays. As painful as is was, we accepted the fact that we had done all we could. The infection won the battle.
The beautiful bud turned into a rose and the rose grew into a perfect flower for all to admire. Through neglect, the rose started to lose her petals, and now the Rose was fading away.
She stood quietly, knowing, understanding, and pressed her head into my arms. The vet inserted the fluids, and Rose slipped away. With one deep sigh, one last breath of precious air, Rose left our world.
Always loving. Always willing.