Happy New Year... and another gift!

Look, another gift! Gogo's Wall of Fame grows larger yet! :D

This portrait comes from Kat, fellow blogger and an old friend of mine. This one is already in the mail and I can't wait to see it in person!





Kat also did this portrait of Gogo a few years ago, back when she was still competing and sound... the original has been long since lost but the digital remains!




If anyone still has portraits of Gogo that haven't yet been sent, you should totally send them! Future Hubs and I are moving next month and I want to make fully sure that he is assaulted by memories of Gogo every time he opens his eyes and walks anywhere in the house. Oh wait, maybe that's me that wants that... details! ;)


Happy New Year to everyone.... 2011 has definite ups and downs, the lowest clearly being the loss of Gogo..... I am still hurting badly over the loss and not a day goes by that I don't miss her terribly. But with every passing moment, it gets a little easier to breathe. I still need time - a lot of time - but I am hopeful that 2012 will bring better things. I head up to see Sophie in ONE WEEK..... wish me luck!! And keep reading up on Bay Girl... she's coming along so magnificently!


Happy New Year!!!

Two months ago today.

Can't hardly believe it... but Gogo has been gone for two months as of today.
Christmas is going to be very strange without her.
I finally cleaned out my horse trailer from top to bottom... I had been completely avoiding it simply because I didn't even want to look at her stuff. I feel better now that I did it though.

I know I've posted this before, but I wanted to share it one more time. This is Gogo's dressage at Groton House H.T. in 2009.... we won this event on our dressage score of 31.5. Definitely one of the most memorable and best weekends of that entire year.



I might upload some more old videos of her in the near future, things I've not posted before.... I'll have to sort through my footage and see what I can find!

The Collective Gift!

The gift that Denali's Mom organized is finally here!!

Many of you remember way back in November of last year when Denali was set to be euthanized, and I took collections for a present for Denali's Mom. A miracle happened - Denali got better - and she is still happy and healthy and around today. We took the donation money and had an awesome portrait of Denali commissioned, and needless to say she loved it. And now, when it is my turn to mourn and grieve, Denali's Mom led the charge (along with a few others!) and took collections from readers and fellow bloggers for a gift for me so I too could have something to remember my crazy mare by.

The gift arrived today in the mail...








Lynn Mazer crafted this absolutely stunning quilt, complete with my favorite pictures of Mami all over it (they had me pick them out before I even knew what the gift was!). My cats were all over it the second I put it on the bed for pictures... it even started a catfight between Mimi and Jasper because both wanted to sleep in the same spot!
The second half of the gift was an enormous check so that I could take tailhair that I saved from Gogo and make it into whatever I want from my favorite horsehair place, Pony Locks. I already have two of their necklaces, one from Quincy and one from Metro... and they are still holding up to MUCH use and abuse on my part years and years later! I'll have another necklace made for Gogo. I'm sure it will withstand many more years of excessive wear and tear on my part, and still look beautiful way down the road.



I cannot thank you all enough for this gift. The generosity everyone has shown is just mind-blowing, and I don't even know what to say except thank you. Thank you. Thank you. A million times, thank you. You don't have any idea how much this means to me. I love you all.

One month ago today.

I lost Gogo a month ago today.
I'm not sure if it feels like it has been an eternity since then, or a moment.
I am still hurting very badly.
I am in the process of making plans to get up and see Metro's daughter, but that won't happen until January. Until then, my horse shopping has basically come to a complete standstill. When Metro died, I dove headfirst into searching for a new horse, and found healing in that way. This time around, I'm just not ready. Gogo was everything I wanted in a four-legged soulmate, competition and companion qualities alike. Everything about her was perfect for me, all wrapped up with her own little spicy flair added to the mix for extra laughs, extra tears, and extra clear memories of her. I will not be able to replace her. This is part of the difficulty in moving on from her. She is, and always will be, completely irreplaceable. There will never be another one like her.
I've heard from more than one of you that you miss hearing about her. I can certainly understand it.... I sure miss writing about her.

The world is not the same without her in it. She has left her magnificence and grandeur behind her, however, and the endless stories and memories of her live on in her wake. She touched a lot of lives and changed a lot of people... if she knew, she might just flick her tail in haughty indifference, as if to say, "All in a day's work."

The horse world is currently collectively mourning the great Olympic stallion Hickstead, who died after experiencing aortic rupture in Verona this week immediately following one of his rounds at the World Cup. His rider Eric Lamaze, who was mounted when the horse collapsed, had this very moving sentiment to say on the ordeal:

"What these horses do for us is incredible. They become part of our family. They really change our lives. It is a sport we choose because we love it and it is sport we choose because we also love the animal. It is not like breaking a hockey stick or breaking a tennis racket. We become very close to these animals and we have great respect for what they do for us. We are in the limelight with them. A horse like Hickstead changed my career. For me, it meant everything."

My Gogo was not an Olympian. She was not anywhere near the realm of an athlete like Hickstead. But for me, the sentiment is exactly the same. She molded and changed me, and her death was that of losing an irreplaceable family member. She was, and always will be, everything.



I posted this video a few months ago, but I wanted to share it again because these are some of my favorite memories of my little seahorse...




I miss you, Mama mare. I miss you every day.

Life Without Gogo

(Kat drew this picture of Gogo in 2009 and forgot to show me until she tagged it just now on Facebook. Oh Mami, so gorgeous!)


It's been a very bizarre and uncomfortable week. Monday was all stress and anxiety going into Tuesday's euth appointment, Tuesday was obviously all-around miserable despite the enjoyment and final memories that we shared together, and Wednesday and Thursday have been empty and sad and confusing for me. You don't realize how often something is in your subconscious thought until you have to stop and correct yourself every time you think about it. For example: we weaned our two little babies yesterday on the farm, and I caught myself thinking about what Gogo's babies would be like. Or watching a horse on the AquaTread, I thought about wanted to put her on it again with regularity. Or getting off work early, I automatically head in the direction of the barn like I did every day to go see her after work. It's still very much a state of denial and shock for me. Writing is very therapeutic, so I'm glad I have somewhere to exercise it a little bit.

I know it was just as hard for me to deal with the last two deaths of my horses, but for whatever reason, it's just different this time for me. I'm a bit older and far more mature than I was when I lost the last two (I was 19 and 21 at the times, and am now 26), and am in a completely different place in my life. When Quincy died, I already had Metro to turn to for support and company. When Metro died, I immediately jumped in and began my search for a new horse right away - it helped me heal in a lot of ways, and gave me something to direct all my energies towards instead of fretting about losing my friend. Now, I'm in a place where I'm just not quite ready yet to seriously begin looking for a new horse. The grieving process is different. It's not about completely distracting myself from my grief this time, it's about fully embracing and accepting it. It's about immersing myself in the memories I have of her, and mourning for the fact that I won't be able to share any more of my future with her. We were a match set, she and I.... one came with the other as a package deal. Especially in 2009 when I was her primary caretaker in all ways from sunup to sundown (when I was a working student in Connecticut right out of college), she was my entire life and everything that it centered around. I've not made a major life decision in the past five years without majorly factoring her. She has influenced everything I have done. Life without her is like learning to walk all over again using different legs. Or possibly two legs instead of four... I'm not sure. Either way, it's awkward and uncomfortable and very, very sad. Time will work magic on all of this, as it always does, but it will take a long time.

I summed it up best when I described her as the cheese to my macaroni. With her, my horsey life had a very distinct flavor and personality, and without her I am just a bland bowl of vaguely soggy noodles without a sauce... incomplete. I know some other delicious flavor will come along - alfredo sauce, or spaghetti, or who knows what kind? - and will enrich and re-flavor everything. It will be a different flavor and a different dish entirely, but it will still be delicious and awesome. It will just take time.



Are you ready for the waterworks? Bre made this amazing video for us... don't watch this at work if you are emotionally inclined, because you will probably tear up. I know that I personally need to stop watching it, because even after like the 10th time I'm still BAWLING my eyes out every time.




And I cannot thank you guys all enough for the support you've given me. SO many e-mails, comments, calls, texts, and more have still been pouring in from all over the world, and I cannot tell you how amazing that has felt. Thank you all so much, seriously. Thank you.

Gogo Fatale 6/2/01 - 10/11/11

Somewhere in time's own space
There must be some sweet pastured place
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
Some paradise where horses go
For by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again.
~ Stanley Harrison


Today was a beautiful day to die.

The morning dawned bright and lovely. I was treated to the most lovely sunrise this morning as I fed horses, and knew it was going to be a glorious day weather-wise. I got out of work early at noon, and arrived at the barn carrying armfuls of carrots and apples. Before Future Hubs came to join us, I spent some time with Gogo and her man Leroy in the field, just stuffing them to the brim with carrots. They had some adorable Lady and the Tramp carrot-sharing moments, and they made me laugh.





After Future Hubs arrived, we spent more time just hanging around with Mami in the field, admiring how sparkling clean she was - I couldn't believe she stayed clean after her bath and didn't roll! Of course, as we were watching her talking about how clean she was, she decided that then and there she would find a nasty, filthy spot to roll on both sides in. She waited all night and all day just so she could do it in front of us! Oh, Gogo.
She also mugged us for our Sonic, and surprised me by eating my mozzarella sticks! She also kept going for our straws in our drinks, and ripped Future Hubs' straw right out of his drink when we weren't looking! We played tug of war for awhile with it, silly girl.






I groomed her until she sparkled. We found the only place in the entire state of Texas that had real grass, and she spent some time munching in the sunlight.





We also went for a nice walk. She perked up for a bit, and was happy to get out and move around a bit. She's been staying only in one spot for the past week or so in her field, and has been dull and listless. She was ready to go. After our little walk, I was ready too.







Once at the vet's, it was quick and quiet. There is a designated area behind the barns where they perform euthanasia on horses that can get there under their own steam, and we sedated her heavily ahead of time - something I am grateful for, given how violently Metro reacted. I told her I loved her as many times as I could, and kissed her goodbye. She was gone before she hit the ground.
I gave her one last kiss after she was gone when I was getting ready to walk away. The moment I touched her, she took one last huge involuntary breath. I know it was just a reflex, but somehow it meant something to me... like some part of her body knew it was me.

I took her tail, her forelock, a clipping from her hoof, and her halter home with me. In return, I left a huge part of my heart there with her. But it was the best last day a horse could have ever wanted. And for that, I will ever be forever grateful.




I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of messages, texts, calls, e-mails, posts, and more that I've received in the past two days. Literally hundreds - HUNDREDS! - of people have sent their condolences, and hearing them and reading them have made me cry over and over. I cannot believe how many people's lives my sweet little crazy mare touched. Thanks to each and every one of you for all your heartfelt support and for being there for both us, during the good times and the bad. Life is a journey, and her presence in my life has molded me as a young adult. She's been such an integral part of my life, and she has left an enormous void behind her. I feel pretty awful tonight. I just can't believe it's all over.

You'll be hearing from me, I'm sure of that. This blog will remain up as homage to her, and at some point I will be starting a new blog for future adventures. Not yet, and I'm not really sure when, but it won't be long. Right now is a time for grieving, for remembering, and for celebrating a life come and gone far too soon.

Rest in peace, my sweet, beautiful, crazy, talented, wonderful mare. You're in my heart forever. I love you, now and always.

Tomorrow is the day.

We set the date today for Gogo's final farewell. Tomorrow afternoon will be her last on earth. It's too soon, but my vet is going out of town, and I want him to be the one to do it. He's been such good support throughout this entire ordeal. In a lot of ways, I am ready. In some, I will never be.

She's tired, and hurting. Her demeanor has really changed in the past week.... she is ready for it to all be over. Every time I've seen her in the past week, this has been her attitude:



That is the face of a mare ready to let go.

I had one little last hoorah on her today, a bareback jaunt with a few other people in the arena for a few minutes. We had 6 inches of rain yesterday (I KNOW, right??), so everything was mush, and she was covered in mud. But she was happy to go for a ride, and so was I.




I gave her a bath, and she seemed to enjoy herself. She won't stay clean overnight, but I did it mostly for me. I just wanted to spend some more time with her.

Tomorrow afternoon, she goes to the vet for the final time. She won't be coming home. There are a lot of little children running around at our farm, and there's no really private place for this to all happen without some poor child stumbling upon an awkward scene at some point during the whole thing, so we decided to do this at the vet clinic instead. There is a local pet cemetery that will be picking her up from the clinic and burying her. Cremation is too expensive, so it's nice to have this option available. It will also be nice to be able to visit an actual physical place, like I can do with my boys when I am home in Michigan. (They are buried side by side at the place where I grew up riding.)

It's awful. And sad. And miserable. And the right thing to do. Thanks to everyone who has sent me well wishes.... you don't know how much it means to me. I have my Mo here too, so I'll be all right.

Send her some good thoughts before she goes over the Bridge. I'll be with her until the very end.

Snowballing

"A good man once said, death smiles upon us all... all we can do is smile back."


News on the Gogo front isn't good. This entire ordeal is unfortunately mid-snowball, and I am completely helpless against whatever happens to her between now and the end of it all. I arrived at the barn on Friday afternoon after work, and was alarmed to find that the swelling around the medial branch of her suspensory on the right hind was disturbingly larger than it had been (and it had been disturbingly large before), and that there was a new and noticeable sink to her step whenever she weighted the leg. The entire suspensory apparatus is failing, but I didn't think it was all going to happen this fast. I thought we would have a quiet couple of weeks left to enjoy the weather and our last bit of time together, but we may not have the luxury of that little bit of time any longer. The fetlock certainly isn't on the ground or anything, this is just the beginnings of it... but the fact that it is already happening is alarming and upsetting. I'm not ready yet. I'll never be ready.

However, that being said, it makes me feel reassured in my decision. There is no other way that this can be. There is no second guessing when you can see changes happening right before your eyes. All the hesitation and uncertainly disappears when right in front of you is a horse in noticeable pain. I have a single-minded determination to make this last little bit of time as comfortable and happy as possible, and then to give her the much-deserved relief and peace that she needs. It's the only way it can be, and she needs me to have a clear head about it.

I put her back out with her little herd of friends after much deliberation, but I think it will make her happiest. In the alleyway drylot, she had a bad habit of randomly spinning and galloping, not to mention the fact that she was alone and away from her friends. She is very happy to have her herd back, but the barn owner says that she is no longer bullying and chasing them at mealtimes. To me that says that she is feeling very poorly... she never misses an opportunity to be the boss. I just pray that she doesn't do anything silly in this painful interim before we set a final date. If she breaks down out there we will never be able to get her back to the barn. I could stall her but I am dead set against that unless I feel like it is the only way to keep her from complete collapse until the vet arrives. We're not at that point yet where I feel like I will have to do it, and I hope we don't ever get to that point. I want her to be able to walk with dignity to her end after a beautiful and peaceful final day, whenever it may be.


Her coat is starting to get darker in preparation for growing a winter coat. She never starts to get fuzzy until around November... it's sad to think things like that she'll never grow a winter coat again, and that she won't be here for Christmas.

She looked tired today. I'm tired too. I'm thankful that my choice is clear, but it doesn't ease the pain.

The Final Decision.

"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things."
- Lemony Snicket


The time to make the most difficult of choices has come.

Monday afternoon, I couldn't stand looking at Gogo's left hind any longer, and trailered her up to see Dr. H in the afternoon. We poked and prodded, we jogged her out, we flexed and palpated and shook our heads. We didn't even bother doing an ultrasound on the left... there is clearly some sort of compensatory issue going. She wasn't dead hopping lame on the right, but she was bilaterally lame.... equally as sore on both hinds, just pulling herself along with her front end. Honestly, with all that was going on behind, she didn't really look that great up front either for the first time in her life. She was absolutely crippled when we flexed her right hind. We did take a set of laterals on both hinds and an oblique on the right hind (radiographs), and while there was no obvious sign of pastern luxation (essentially the pastern dislocating and the bony column failing to align properly due to the breakdown of the entire suspensory apparatus), her sesamoids had rotated away from where they were supposed to be, essentially rolling downwards towards her pastern. Her suspensory and her sesamoidean ligaments are all fraying. (If you want further description of all the ligaments in that area and their workings, look at the second page.) Basically, her entire suspensory apparatus is failing.

My biggest fear at this point is that, given how rapidly everything has fallen apart over the past two months (and two weeks), she is headed for a catastrophic breakdown and I'll find her on three legs unable to move - or worse, down and unable to rise. One serious torque to this limb and everything will go. Considering the snowballing downward spiral she's in, and that I am unable to get her stabilized, it's probable that this scenario might become reality. There is no cure for this, and no fix. Nothing will ever take away her pain, and she'll always have some sort of moderate lameness no matter what we do. It is my personal belief that making an animal live in pain until they breakdown is wrong, and that it counts as poor quality of life.

It has finally all come down to this. I must make the choice no one ever wants to have to make. I have to let her go.



I'm having a very hard time processing this. On one hand, it makes sense, and I know it needs to be done. It gives me comfort to know that she's has a very happy ten months out in a field doing all kinds of happy horsey things, the way any horse would love to live: eating, playing with a herd, napping in the sunshine, lounging under a shady tree. She had a good retirement, and she deserved it.
But the other half of me can't process it. She's only 10 years old. Why couldn't I fix her? I did everything I could and more to help her. Why did nothing work? How could it come to this? She's so happy and beautiful... how could she really be moments away from disaster? Could I do more, could I save her, why did this happen, how could I have lost all three of my horses far too early and in such tragic ways? What did I do wrong, how could I have done this to them? They all deserved so much more than death at the end of it all. My poor sweet babies, where did I fail you? What did I do wrong to lose you all?

How could it have come to this?



I don't have a date yet, or a final plan. There is too much I have to think about that I'm still trying to wrap my head around. I'm very good and unfortunately versed in handling this type of matter, but it's just different when it is your horse. I'm hopelessly attached to her and the looming possibility of life without her is incomprehensible.



This song came on the radio when I was driving home from the vet with Metro all those years ago on the day they told me I needed to euthanize him... and it still makes me bust up crying when I think about it today.




Forgive me, Gogo. I did everything I could for you. The only thing I have left to give you is my love... and peace.

Not so great.

Gogo isn't really doing all that well right now. She's still getting around relatively well, and she is definitely losing weight, thank god... but she's been dead hopping lame for two months now with no improvement.

True, she did have one day where she was startlingly improved. The next day, however, she did not get Arnica or Banamine... and was absolutely dead lame the following day. I dosed her again with both Banamine and Arnica (although the two together is not really recommended for the homeopathy to actually work well.... I just couldn't not try to help her out, seeing how lame she was), and the following day she was very vaguely improved. Again though, who is to say what did it, the Arnica or the Banamine? She had it a full 12 hours beforehand (a 500lb dose) so I don't really know. The next step would be to give the Arnica without the Banamine... who knows though, at this point.

My biggest nagging concern at this point is the left hind. The ugly swelling on it will not. Go. Away. It has been there for almost two weeks now, and it is the same - ugly, lumpy, and with a distinct hot spot. The proximity it has to the old injury site is disturbingly close. It's nearly impossible to see if there is a lameness on this leg seeing as she is so crippled on the other leg, but if we blocked the right left we might see something show up on the left. I trotted her out on Friday and couldn't be sure, but thought that both hinds looked equally short going to the right. Going to the left, she looks the same as always.... dead hopping lame on the right.

I got my latest vet bill in finally (my vet's office takes forever to get the bills out!) and the write up was incredibly depressing, with words like "severe," "best to be a broodmare," "chronic and recurrent," and "painful."

It just feels like everything is slowly beginning to unravel. I predicted a systematic continual breakdown of the RH and then the LH... this might actually be happening. We won't know what is happening to the LH unless we run an ultrasound machine over it, but even then I can feel myself stalling. I don't want to face the music. I don't want this to be the end.

And maybe it isn't the end, who knows? But it just feels like I might finally be ready and prepared for it if this is what it comes down to.



Fall is beautiful in Texas now that it is finally here. The weather is gorgeous (low 80's with no clouds and a light breeze), and we've actually had one or two rainsqualls. Things are starting to turn green again, and flowers are popping up everywhere. The seasons are extremely hard for me to get used to, considering that I've always been a northern girl with a very set in stone idea of winter-spring-summer-fall, but I think I understand everything a little better now that I am here. Fall is a bit like spring here if you think about it - everyone stayed inside miserable and seasonally depressed all summer due to the extreme heat and drought, and fall is when they are starting to emerge and see green things and flowers and are able to enjoy the weather again. At least, that is my own direct experience... I imagine others feel much the same way about it.

Life, other than the horrible looming specter of uncertainty with Gogo, is good.

Many Milestones.

This is the 500th post for the Eventing-A-Gogo blog.
We have over 250,000 hits as of this week, and 365 official followers.
And exactly two years ago today, Gogo blew her legs out on XC at the 2009 AECs.

The first two things are super exciting and awesome! The last thing, not so much.
I am teetering on the edge of try or do not try. One minute I am hopeful, and the next I despair. I don't really know what to do.

The video of the original slide and injury in 2009:



Oh, Gogo.

9/11

I am not a patriotic person. Most of the time if you catch me, I'll make a snide remark about the States and talk about how I'd move to New Zealand if I ever had the chance.

But not on this day. On this day, I am American down to my core. Much in the way that Rhett Butler was called to war in the eleventh hour by his own Southern blood, I can't help but feel the pull towards my country on this day and be glad and proud of what I have as well as mourn those we have lost. Memorial Day, Veterans Day... none of those holidays mean anything to me at all. But 9/11 is a day that is burned into my head for a lifetime, and I will never forget. I don't care about the conspiracy theories, the supposed 'truth' movement, or any of that crap. I care about the unified horror we felt as a nation on that day, and how the country came together as one.

It was at the end of second period at Cranbrook, my high school, during my Junior year. I was carelessly ambling with some of my friends towards the bus to transport me from the Cranbrook campus to the Kingswood campus for painting class (yes, my high school had campuses...). One of my friends came trotting up to the group of us and said, "A plane just hit one of the World Trade Center towers in New York!" We laughed - what kind of an idiot was so dumb that they miscalculated their flight path and hit a tower? - and I had an image in my head of a tiny biplane bumping into a building. Still laughing, we boarded the bus and headed off to class.
My easel stood in the far corner of the painting studio next to the old, metal-wrought windows. That day we were working on a still life - a chair and table with flowers set up on desks in the middle of the painting studio, our easels encircling the setup. The door to the classroom - right in the middle of the main wall, at the end of a long hallway - was open, and just as class was beginning, one of the other teachers came it. It was Mama J - Mrs. Jackson, whom we would lovingly sing the then very popular Outkast song to when we'd forget our homework (I'm sorry Ms. Jackson, oooo! I am for real!) - and she wore a grave, harried look on her face. She announced to us that there had been a terrorist attack on the United States, and two planes had struck both the World Trade Center towers in New York City. We stood and stared at her in shock.
The next few hours were a confusing blur. I passed by the library and saw through the glass doors a few images on the TV that was playing - namely the second tower collapsing. We heard reports of a plane hitting the Pentagon, of another plane going down in Pennsylvania. Planes all over the country were being grounded - we had no idea how big the attack was going to be, how many planes were involved, or what other structures would be targets. My father was on a plane that day, and my mother worked in one of the tallest buildings in Detroit. If they were targeting large, important buildings in major cities, hers was a sure target. And where was my father? Flying on a doomed plane somewhere, soon to die? I couldn't get ahold of either one of them for a long while, and I was terrified. Later I found out that both my parents were safe - my father had actually been the next plane on the runway scheduled to takeoff, but right before they did, the pilot informed everyone that there had been a terrorist attack and that all planes were now grounded. It was a terrifying few hours.
I didn't have my license or a car yet at that point in my life, so a friend of mine drove me home - the school let us our early as there was no way we could possibly go on with our studies. I remember lying on my side on the living room floor, staring up at the television replaying video of the planes striking the towers over and over... and videos of people freefalling to their deaths, over and over. Something in me broke that day, and I had an emotional meltdown. That event sent me spiraling into depression, and I spent the next few years in a self-mutilating, suicidal vortex. Planes were rerouted on their flight paths into and out of Detroit Metro airport in the following weeks and months after the attack, and they came right over our school. I cringed and looked up in horror every time one flew over for months. Seeing videos of the timeline of events that happened, or videos of the people falling out of the towers, still to this day makes me cry.

In the immediate aftermath following the attacks, one thing stuck out at me as the most memorable: there were American flags everywhere. Every car an American flag sticker on it, every house had a flag flying. Every street corner, every lamppost... everywhere one could be hung, there was a flag. The entire nation rallied together strong and powerful in mourning, and we refused to be broken. We stood up together, and helped our neighbors and strangers alike. We were strong, we were unified, we were proud and we were free. And nothing could take that away from us.



The way the country had changed in the past 10 years is sad and grim. The economy is struggling, war has been raging for a decade, and racism and hatred are as strong as they ever were. But I choose to look beyond that. I choose to remember and honor those who were killed, and those who survived and had to begin again. I choose to reflect upon this day and think of ways I can help my fellow Americans, and other citizens of the world as well. And because I live in this country, I have the freedom and the right to choose. And for that, I am forever grateful.


9/11/01. Never forget.

There is still no easy answer.

I've been a busy girl as of late. Between my trip to Austin, trimming horses, and starting a new job at an equine rehab facility (which is awesome.... pictured right is the Aqua Tread), I've not had a lot of time to get out and watch Gogo really move since her vet appointment. I've seen her walk around a bit (or maybe at this point the correct term would be waddle), but aside from that, I hadn't had a good chance to review her soundness and whether or not she had improved since her cortisone injection in the tendon sheath on the RH. Conveniently, her barn is only about 10 minutes away from the new job... how about that. I had no idea it was so close until I actually drove there after work yesterday.... one less thing to worry about.

Being away in Austin and refusing to think about the whole mess did me no favors in the end in terms of coping and coming to terms with possible and unthinkable things. I pushed the whole idea of finality out of my head during the trip and refused to think about it, even for a moment. In doing so, I allowed myself to create the delusion that life is continuing on as it always has, and that Gogo is really fine and that I must have been overreacting to her severe lameness. I can't imagine life without her, so that's exactly what I've been refusing to try to comprehend.

The original area of filling (the excess in the tendon sheath) has dramatically improved post-injection, just the same as it had last time. The area below it, however - the area of new damage - has not changed. It still looks as terrible as ever.

On the lunge, well... there is some improvement going right, but going left, she is as hip-hiking lame as ever.



Reality check. This did not magically improve while I was away blissfully ignoring matters as hand. This is still a serious problem.



Yet, she is still as cheerful as ever. I am struggling with the morality of the issue at hand - it isn't right to euth a horse who is still in great spirits and getting around okay, but it also isn't right to make a horse wait until they are on three legs and unable to get around before you make that decision for them. Given her current level of mobility and her happiness, it is absolutely NOT time to consider euthanasia yet. I am surrounded constantly by far lamer horses than her who are still alive and getting around okay as well. Still, just because we can keep them going doesn't necessarily mean we should keep them going.

Playing God is impossibly hard to do in these situations. You can eke a little life out of something that normally would have already died, or you can end a life by choice whenever you decide the time is right. They don't ask to die unless they are already dying. They, like all other living beings on the planet, are just trying to survive as best they can.



I've been told that it is to my detriment that I don't believe in organized religion or Men In The Sky or the healing power of prayer. I am every bit a right-brained thinker, but I also wholeheartedly believe in biology and science, and I know a tendon/ligament problem is just not going to magically heal itself to good-as-new. Right now, however, I wish I could buy into the idea of hoping for a small miracle. My hope always spikes and then deflates. I've never had lasting good luck in my life... I can't imagine it would bother to start now.

Grateful

I am overwhelmed by the response I got to my last post. E-mails, calls, texts, comments, and other blogposts came rolling in, all expressing grief and support for me and what I am unfortunately facing in the near future. I discussed my thoughts and views with my vet, and he is on board with me and my decision. Both of us believe that the life she is facing isn't going to be of any sort of fair quality, and that when she becomes more uncomfortable, it will be time to let her go - before she gets too bad. Our guess is that this will probably happen within the next month or two, considering how quickly she went downhill over the past month. She had cortisone injected into her tendon sheath again which helped to take away some of the fill in the sheath itself, but this won't affect the damage to the distal sesamoidean ligaments below it. There's nothing we can really do at this point except keep her comfortable and let her just be a horse. She loves and rules her herd of six with an iron fist but they adore her. That's where she wants and deserves to be.

We don't have a set date yet - we'll let her tell us - so for right now you guys are just going to get mega-spammed with as many pictures of her as I can possibly take. Right now I am just happy for any moment I have with her. I'm going to make sure she feels like the royalty that she is every second of every day.

In the future, I know I'll be looking for another horse. That's a given - I just can't live without them. But I think I'll make a brand new blog for that and leave this one intact and as-is as a tribute to her. Going back over old posts and remembering old stories is helping me through this, and being able to relive the memories like this is something I'll always be thankful for. I'm so glad I took the time to write this journey down, and so glad you all took part in it with me.


I've been away in Austin for a few days just trying to get my head on right and getting ready to face the future without her. I had an awesome lunch today with JenJ which was great. I've missed Gogo so much though while I've been gone and can't wait to get back to the barn. My poor sweet baby.

Vet Appointment and Some Bad News.

As you guys know, Gogo's lameness has continued to dramatically escalate over the past week or so. After seeing just how bad it was on Sunday, I had to step in and do something. We trailered out for an 11:00AM appointment yesterday with Dr. H, who is our regular vet and also 'the leg man' in this area - the authority on sports injury in the distal limb. I knew he'd give me a good dose of reality, if I needed it.

And I did. Remember about two weeks ago when I wrote this?:

"Gogo is, once again, pretty unsound. Not consistently, not horribly, but it's there. Going to the right on the lunge, she looks completely normal and fine... you wouldn't even know there was a problem unless you were truly looking for something, and hard. Going to the left, she has a consistent hitch in her right hind. I am grateful that whatever is going on still appears to be with the SDFT, and that this presentation of lameness has been positively associated with SDFT damage in the past, because this is a classic suspensory presentation. If she had a new suspensory injury on top of everything, I think I'd die. Thankfully, as far as I can tell it's just the same old thing, forever."

I was in denial. Remember all the recent swelling around the branches of her suspensory and underneath her fetlock? I thought it was related to the SDFT/annular ligament/tendon sheath. Denial.



We pulled her out of the trailer and Dr. H looked curiously at the fill below her fetlock. Watching her walk, I thought I could detect the beginnings of discomfort at the walk - which she's never had before. We watched her jog out. She was dead lame. We flexed the fetlock (with some difficulty, as the limb was so filled with fluid and swelling that it is becoming hard to bend). She hopped off, hardly able to even put the leg down. The leg continued to bother her even after the jog out once it had been flexed - she hard trouble turning and walking, and spent a lot of time resting it.

I've never seen her that lame before. Not even during her first injuries in 2009. She was easily a 4/5 lame.




When we ultrasounded, the old scar tissue and general mess in the SDFT and then tendon sheath was still there. Disorganized and ugly, yes, but still the same as they were. There was no new damage to those structures. I cringed, worried about what we were going to find as the real culprit for the acute lameness and swelling. And sure enough, there is was - where the suspensory makes an insertion on the long pastern bone under the fetlock, there was significant damage and degeneration.

A brand new injury, two years into this never ending rehab, and it's a severe one at that. Game over. There is no solution, therapy, rehab protocol, medicine, or anything short for a magic wand that can fix this. There is no cure at this point. The leg is experiencing systematic breakdown. It doesn't matter what we do, how much money we spend, or how much time we give it - there is no turning around after this.

She is never going to be rideable again. No, not even as a trail horse. (I asked.) Best case scenario is that the limb manages to stabilize itself through more scar tissue and thickening, and she manages to get around until something else breaks down. The vet said to breed her, but that "it will shorten her serviceable life." The suspensory will degenerate and sink like this in the healing process either way, regardless of what we do. I am NOT going to breed her as this would be irresponsible of me.

The vet's advice was this: "If you had a huge pile of money and this lame horse, at the end of a year you would have no money and this exact same lame horse." Even if I had a million dollars to pour into this horse, it would do me no good.


Best case scenario is that she manages to build up enough scar tissue to get around in a field for awhile and somehow not end up with another injury. Having watched her fall apart over the past two years - and having seen injury after injury take place even when just doing things like walking around in her field - it is nearly certain that she will reinjure again somewhere, or injure something new again, like she has just done. With all this damage to the right hind, how long until the left hind gives out? It had an injury too when this first happened, and it has areas of scar tissue as well. If the right hind continues to systematically fail, eventually the left hind will too.



It is my personal belief that it is cruel to make a horse limp around in a field until her legs give out. I don't believe that it is right or fair to make this mare stumble painfully around in a field for the next however many years (if she even makes it that long before complete breakdown) until I decide to let her go. I don't believe that that is quality of life. It is better to let one go while they are still somewhat mobile and happy instead of waiting until they are suffering and crippled when you know that that is the direction they are heading in. If there was hope for her comfort and happiness, I'd let her be a pasture puff. Maybe without this new injury, there would have been. But now the hope is so slim that it's not fair to make her hang around in limbo to wait and see if there's a chance for her comfort. It isn't right and it isn't ethical. It's cruel and I won't do that to her.


I haven't made a final decision yet as to what I am going to do. Right now, I don't need to hear stories about what other people would do if Gogo were their horse, or what their experiences were in the past with their own horses, or to not give up hope. None of those things will help me right now. Ultimately, this is my decision. I am the one who has spent every possible waking moment with this mare for the past five years, and I am the one who has watched the ups and downs of her life in person. I am the one who had made all the choices in her life, for better or for worse. It is now my responsibility and duty to make the best choice for her. I owe her so much, and she deserves her dignity. She has given very last inch of her heart for me, and I have tried my best to give everything I can to her in return. And if I cannot give her health and happiness... if there is no hope for a comfortable and mobile life for her.... then I will give her peace.


Please respect whatever ultimate decision I choose and my thought process behind all of this. We all deal with death and mortality issues differently, and we all would do different things in the same situations. This is a very tough time for me; I am sure you all know how attached and utterly devoted I am to her. I love her more than anything and I can't imagine life without her.

When completely freak things happen to good horses. (RIP Penny.)

Sometimes I think horses were put on this planet to completely traumatize humans and break their hearts. They just always seem to find the most amazing things to maim and kill themselves on. Don't even bother reading this story if you're not interested in some serious suffering and gore. I've seen some pretty gruesome things in my life, and I have a an innate ability to hold it together during a crisis, but I have to admit that even my stomach turned during this whole ordeal. It was bad.

The facility I work at is private. We don't take on boarders unless there is a good reason behind it, which is what had happened in the particular situation of my boss' good friend's daughter S, who needed a place to take her horses for a bit while getting herself out of an ex-boyfriend situation. Her two horses have been with us for about a month or so, and were scheduled to leave this weekend. On Thursday, we arrived at the barn at 7:45 as usual, and I asked the other guy R that works with me to go retrieve Penny's feed pan so that we could feed everyone (she was fed a night check grain so her pan was still in her stall). He said all right, and walked away. Not a moment later, I heard a very concerned "Uhhh... you better come here..." issue from her stall. When I walked over to investigate, my jaw dropped. The stall bars on our stalls were designed by my boss to only be three inches apart (to make sure no hoof could ever get in there), and were hand-welded to make sure they were all perfectly placed. Somehow, some way, Penny had either kicked or had gotten herself cast and had put her right hind foot through the bars. There wasn't a single dent anywhere. I have absolutely no idea how she did it, but once in there she couldn't get her foot free, and was laying flat on the floor of her stall with her right hind still up and caught in the bars. She had degloved pretty much her entire pastern area trying to free herself, and was still wedged tight, pieces of raw skin and smears of blood all over the wall and bars. She lay helplessly, her eye rolling as I entered the stall. The marks in the shavings showed much thrashing, mostly from her front legs, but otherwise she was still. I called my boss and immedaitely following called the vet, and we also got hold of the owners and told them to get out to the barn ASAP. The other worker tried in vain to crowbar Penny's leg out of the stall, but we soon realized that the metal was far too strong. While I sat on Penny's neck and shoulder to keep her still, R took a buzzsaw to the bars (which are thankfully hollow), and sawed as close as he could get before taking a sledgehammer and pounding the rest of the bar off. Penny could not physically lower her leg... it was just frozen there in mid-air, rock solid and eerie. It did eventually relax enough to come down, but it was unpleasant to look at for a few minutes. It was also at this time that I started to really pay attention to the amount of swelling around her head and neck, and noticed some fleck of chunky meat-looking subtance on the mats. R noticed it to, and carefully lifted her head up off of the ground. Neither of us were prepared for what we saw next: the mare's entire eyeball hanging out of her skull, mashed into an unrecognizable meatball pulp. Half of her head was grossly swollen, and her face had no definition all the way from her muzzle to her ear. In her desperate attempts to free herself, she had completely destroyed that side of her face. I cannot imagine how long it took for the eye to get to the state that it was in. It was mashed enough that it was clearly not a quick or painless process.

With the vets and owners on their way, there was nothing more to do than to keep her down on the ground and quiet. My boss arrived just as the mare started to thrash, and it took all three of us sitting on her to keep her still and quiet. She struck, kicked and thrashed, but made no efforts to come sternal or to get up. Thankfully both the vet and the owners arrived at about the same time, so we were able to quickly get some meds into the mare to try and relax her and keep her comfortable while we assessed the situation. There was nothing to be done about the eye while she was down - it would clearly have to be removed - and there was no way to safely reach the damaged hind leg, which was twice the size it had been when we pulled it free of the bars. The vet's concern at that point was Penny's shocky state and the fact that her head was continuing to swell. If she didn't stand, there was a risk of her nostrils swelling shut as fluid continued to build in her head, or fluid pooling in her lungs. If she stayed down, she was dead. But we didn't know if we could get her up, or if we should. She still was making no effort to get up, and hadn't moved her head at all from where it was. We tried pulling, pushing, rocking, tugging, manipulating her limbs.... anything to try and coax her up. We had no response from her at all except for a rolling, frightened eye. She smelled like death and none of us wanted to say it outloud.

That was the point that we cut her blankets off of her to get a better look at her back. Eerie swellings had cropped up along her withers and midback, and the vet ran the cap of a needle down her spine and along her shoulders and hips. She had a minimal response in her front end, and none in her hind. The likelihood that her back was broken was extremely high. There was a very, very small possibilty that swelling was causing her paralysis, and that we could have tried to get the swelling down and get her to be able to stand that way, but at that point it appeared that the leg was also broken, which would have made standing impossible. It was at this point that the owners tearfully opted to euthanize, and we continued to hold her thrashing body down right up until the final moment when the vet injected her. It was such an enormous relief to finally see her be still.

Given how much her body was stinking even before she was gone, we opted to not do a full necropsy, but to take radiographs for insurance purposes instead. We laid sheets and blankets over her body, and waited for the vets to return with their machinery. Radiographs confirmed that she had indeed broken her neck at the base, sustained at least four fracutures in her back that we could find (and it was highly likely that there were more), and had also luxated (dislocated) her pastern. A luxation is in some cases worse than a break because of the displacement, which was the case in this situation. The necropsy continued to get more and more disturbing as we had to lift and manipulate her body to get all of the radiographs, and then lift her legs and flip her onto her gross side in order to get pictures for the insurance. Staring at a grotesquely swollen face, with a pale and crushed tongue already hard with rigor mortis and poking out from between teeth, and a meatball shoved in a socket where an eye should be all deeply disturbed me. That is not an image that will leave me. Worse yet was when the guys tied ropes to her hind legs, flipped her up onto her back, and dragged her body out the door with the tractor to lay out on the grass in the sunshine while waiting for the renderer to come pick her up for cremation. The dogs were all VERY interested in her, and I had to cover her face again with a towel for fear that one of them might have a little eyeball snack. Looking at that face made me want to throw up. When the renderer picked her up, blood poured out of her head like a waterfall, once again sending the dogs into a frenzy. She laid out on the grass for hours, and just reeked. Her stall stinks too despite the fact that we stripped it, like words don't even describe. It's lingering, and it will not. Go. Away. I didn't sleep that night....... all I could do was worry about Gogo. And all I could see when I closed my eyes were pale tongues and meatball eyes. At some point I finally just got up, made myself a drink, and laid on the couch for hours. I don't think I've caught up on my sleep since.

So that's that. I've seen more disturbing things, to be sure, and witnessed a worse death (Quincy's), but still. Pretty awful stuff. As a young professional, I've already had my first horse that I saved. It was inevitable that I'd have my first one that I couldn't. Sometimes there is absolutely no way to prepare yourself for these things because you cannot possibly imagine how they could ever do things like this. That mare suffered through excruciating pain for hours, and that is the part that bothers me worst of all.

RIP Sunny

First order of non-related business: Denali's Mom's present. We are now waiting on Denali's Mom herself to get the workings fully underway! So you hear me Denali's Mom, send me that picture and let's get that hair in the mail! The other possibility is that we all could send that money off towards vet bills instead, which I am sure would also be a welcome gift. Any opinions? Everything else is set on this end, I just need the things from Denali's Mom.... so hop to it ;)


Second order of business.... I am really sad to say that today we lost yet another school horse legend from my past, good old Sunny. Sunny was the first horse I really fell in love with at my old barn, and I very nearly leased him (but Quincy arrived and it was all over from there!). Sunny was a skinny, narrow, TALL, roaring Thoroughbred with an elephant leg and a major cribbing issue, but we loved him nevertheless. He was so giant that even when Quincy (his gay lover) would come give him sleepy kisses on the ground, they were nearly perfectly nose to nose:



He was an amazing rockstar, despite all of his weird issues. It's so sad that all of the schoolhorses of my teenaged years are all getting so old and fading away. It was over a decade ago that I started riding at the barn where I really first got seriously attached to all the school animals... I forget how old they all must be now.

Rest in peace Sunny. We'll miss you so much.

Rest in Peace Vista

RIP Vista.

Good old Vista went to sleep this morning after it was discovered that he had bleeding in his abdomen from an undetermined source. The vets suspected ehrlichia, but a belly tap and an ultrasound unfortunately proved otherwise. He was 24 this year and not in great shape - kind of lame, kind of saggy - but he was a super trooper and shlepped his bouncing father around four days a week without fail for the last 14 years. Ted is by far the oldest horse owner and rider I know, and at 86 was still riding actively and making everyone laugh with his ridiculously cheesy humor. The two of them entered the Century club together, one of Ted's proudest moments. Ted's daughter bred Vista, so Ted had known him his entire life. Vista religiously woke me every morning at my last job and home with nonstop screaming for his breakfast as soon as it was light out, and religiously screaming for every subsequent haying, and for his turnout, and for his father, who would come into the barn with an enthusiastic "Vista my boy!" every time without fail.

I love my job, but that job was more like a home and family to me. I miss all of them and it means a lot to me to still be included in everything that goes on over there. They're not far away, so I can and do go visit when I can. I haven't been over there since Lynnie though. Strangely enough, when I was searching for a nice pair of khaki pants to wear to the Bettina clinic, all I could find were the pants Lynnie gave me last summer, so I wore those.

They really are my family. I miss them. And I'll miss Vista.

Fragile Life

I've had a very rollercoaster-esque week at work since my last post. In contemplating life and fragility, I've had plenty to think about surrounding life's recent events and everyone's comments, which I thank you all for. You all have had very valid arguments on both sides of the fence, most of which I had already been thinking about, but some of which that had not even occurred to me and gave me even more to digest. Thank you for that. Friday, I was reminded of just how fragile these huge animals can be sometimes. We had a client horse here at the farm who ate breakfast, pooped, drank water, went on the treadmill, and acted normally all morning. I was grooming horses all morning, and while on my third one at around 11:30am I heard someone pawing down the aisle. It didn't stop, so I went to go check, and here was the client horse, digging a hole to China in his stall and curling his lip. Awesome, he's colicing. Ok, call the owners, check his TPR (99.8/HR 32/RR 80!), give him 1000lbs of Banamine and start walking. He worsens within a half hour and so we get the vet on the phone. He continues to worsen and I pick up a whip to keep him on his feet. The vet is there within a half hour, and we sedate him and do a rectal. Hmmm, where is his colon? Not where it is supposed to be. That's... bad. We tube him as well and find nothing out of his ordinary. He also has a murmur. The second the sedation wears off, he is back to pawing like mad, so the moment the owners arrive I hook up my trailer, tell my staff to hold down the fort, and load him up with another dose of sedative on board. The moment he arrived at the clinic, he was back to being painful again, so surgery was almost a certain thing. I headed back to the farm, heard around 4pm that he was headed to surgery, and waited for news. At 6pm, they told me there were complications and they needed to remove a piece of colon with compromised blood flow. I heard nothing from them again until 8am; I had assumed the worst. But he had come through surgery by some miracle, and was back on his feet. As of today, he is still alive and doing fairly well, but we aren't out of the woods yet at this point. My first major emergency as a young professional... very scary stuff. Honestly, he was fine that morning. I checked on him during my morning rounds like I always do, and he was normal. I can't figure out how the hell these things happen sometimes. Just terrifying to think about, you know? Of course, the following day things did not improve around here. One of the big jumper mares was getting freelunging in the indoor in the morning, and she decided that she was going to make a break for it.... through a tiny half-door. There was a very small opening to the outside over the top of the swinging door, which can be shut in by a sliding garage door, but it was open at the time. This mare - who is HUGE I should mention - trotted to the opening, jumped, smashed her back into the roof of the doorframe, flipped forward and caught the heel of her hind shoe IN the drywall ABOVE the doorframe, hung there for a moment doing a handstand, and then front-flipped out of the doorway onto her side on the gravel driveway. I missed the entire thing and never heard the noise it made (the guys were blowing the aisle and I was in the office) so I was quite alarmed when my boss came flying in saying, "there's been an accident!!" Good lord, I had a heartattack. By some miracle, the mare is fine - a few cuts and scrapes, but honestly, nothing worse than that. She is sound and fine. Phew. So needless to say, I rather enjoyed my quiet day off yesterday. Anyhow, about Gogo... I'm not breeding her. Of course I WANT to - who doesn't WANT to? - but that doesn't mean at this point that I SHOULD. There are lots of reasons on both sides, obviously, as to why I should or should not, but in the end I know that while it really is a good time to do it, there are plenty of reasons to wait. Honestly, the biggest one for me isn't one that I talked about or any of the comments really touched upon. My biggest stop is this: what has she done to really prove that she deserves to spread her genes? Has she won Rolex? No. Had she gone to the Pan-Ams? No. Did she win a medal at the Olympics? Nope. And quite obviously, I don't want a horse that is ever going to do that, so that isn't the horse I'll be breeding for, but I want a horse capable of Prelim at least, you know? And quite frankly, even though her injury was just a stupid accident as far as we can tell and she SHOULD make a full recovery, what if there isn't some sort of long-term breakdown issue there? I won't know until we continue on into the future, and I won't be breeding her if there is. Once she proves herself a little more to me - if she can reach Prelim and stay sound after this injury, and she does well as it - then we'll talk. Yup, I'll be breaking a baby when I am closer to 40 than 30, and that's a little bit scary to me because I cannot POSSIBLY comprehend being that old. But that's life, you know? I'm a little hypocritical about breeding because I see human breeding and horse breeding in a similar way. As for myself, I know that, like Gogo, I am completely middle-of-the-line mediocre. Yeah, I'm athletic enough to not be a fattie on the couch. Yeah, I'm smart enough to not totally fail at life I guess. Yeah, I'm pretty nice. But I'm simple. I'm average. I'm nothing interesting or exciting. I'm okay with that. I'm not going to change any lives, save the world, or make the human race better for any reason, so I know that my genes are not worth passing along. Whether or not I end up wanting kids - sometimes, I think maybe I will - I have already opted to take myself out of the gene pool because I am not worth replicating. I'm just not. I see no reason to add another mediocre life into this world. We are SO overrun with extra lives and SO overpopulated as is. Why do mediocre people breed? Why don't just the good ones breed? And then if they also produce mediocrity, remove those individuals from breeding as well? (I mean let's let them live and be happy and stuff, let's not go the full Hitler or anything... just don't let them breed!) I don't understand and I never will. Same with horses though.... Gogo is just as mediocre as I am. So why am I breeding her? Because I love her and want another one similar to her? That's what human parents do... they replicate because they love each other, and then create more mediocre humans. In a way, it doesn't make sense. Too much to think about, on this gorgeous spring day. At least the weather has been like 90 degrees... love that. Om nom nom grass... icky bugs.

The Reign of Tedi

I am a busy girl. Busy busy busy busy BUSY and given my last job, I am not accustomed to a job where I actually can take a lunch or sit down in a chair at some point. Therefore, I am exhausting myself at work out of sheer exuberance because I have been working up to 11 hours without sitting down or eating or taking a moment to myself, and you're not actually supposed to do that in a real job. Tomorrow I shall try harder to not try so hard. But there is so much to DO and so many projects and I hardly even know where to begin, I want to do them all at once.

But I will write more about that tomorrow. As for today, an era ended. My favorite school horse of all time, an old fleabitten Thoroughbred named Tedi, was finally laid to rest after 29 years on this earth, 12 of which were spent at his final home and resting place, Bit by Bit, which is also where my two boys are buried. Karen bought Tedi as an 18 year-old to be a lesson horse in 1997, long before my time at the barn, and who even know the number of kids he packed around? He taught the tiniest ones to post and steer, taught the older teenagers like me how to jump around a course (not in a stylish way, certainly, but no matter how many times we bounced around on his back or yanked on his face he just kept trucking in the exact same rhythm), went to a few shows, and lived outside 24/7 and wouldn't have it any other way. He was a very hard keeper and a severely chronic cribber til the day he died, so much so that he had to wear a wire muzzle to keep from demolishing every fence in the paddock. This did not deter him however; I distinctly remember watching him place his head over his friend Sunny's back and managing to crib on nothing overtop this horse's withers. Quite a feat for an old man. At 29 this year though, he started having difficulty getting up when he was down, and recently stopped eating. It was time to let him go with dignity before the hard winter came, and he got to live out his last day in the gorgeous, warm fall sunshine with his friends in the field. His reign ended this morning, and it's amazing to me how despite the fights we've had and the distance between us, we all come together as a family for things like this. He touched all our lives, every last one of us. He was the original Fuzzman, before Quincy was Fuzzman. That's how special he was.

When Quincy's falls because too much of a risk, it was Tedi that I rode in the interim between horses. I had ridden Tedi plenty before this time in my life, but I was never closer to him than during that winter when we spent every week together. I spent that winter before Quincy's retirement riding him bareback every day and nothing more, and learning confidence again with Tedi over fences. I hadn't realized how afraid I had become of jumping until I started jumping other horses. I was never afraid when I jumped Quincy, but as soon as I got put on dumpy old QHs like Barney, I suddenly freaked out, and I fell off a good couple of times when Barney pulled his signature leave-from-a-stride-and-a-half-out-for-no-good-reason. That didn't help my confidence at all. I was so nervous about jumping that - get this - I thought for sure that I wanted to do dressage and only dressage forever. I even looked at dressage horses exclusively for a little bit while I was hunting for Metro. But Tedi - sweet, patient, steady Tedi - was the one that really got me going again. Week after week, he'd pack me around sweet as could be, and even at 23 he and I did some pretty big and complicated stuff. We jumped all sorts of weird stuff - lines of never ending bounces, yawning spreads that we covered with tarps, all sorts of angled lines, and more. Through Tedi, I learned to trust and let my body figure itself out, because he was always going to be there for me. He just recently retired from still giving walk-trot up-down lessons to little kids, a job he excelled at. Amanda sent me pictures of his final day yesterday and I accidentally deleted them, so I will have to get her to resend them. She also sent one to me today of him down and already gone with Nataly laying on him, which made me cry but also made me feel like I was there with them for that moment. He went peacefully and I know he's off with the rest of those boys in horsey heaven, especially Quincy, who was his pasture-mate for a long time.

To all those horses from Bit by Bit that made our lives truly special when we were kids - Magic, Pork Chop, Tedi, Flair, Ziggy, Leroy, Tina, and Quincy - we miss you all.

Here's just a couple of pictures of the boys in their field in wintertime, 2003.







The grey with the honking muzzle (chronic cribber remember?) in the blue blanket is Tedi, the very handsome black with the little white dot on his forehead wearing the grey and black Taka is Quincy, the little chestnut with the red and black Taka (which I desperately wanted for Quincy) is Chris, and the lanky bay with the too-tight cribbing collar and green blanket is Sunny. Such was every memorable winter scene of my teenaged years, right here.

Rest in peace Tedi. We miss you.