Gaining perspective when death looms

Spoiler alert: This story has a happy ending

Yesterday I spent the morning sitting with what I assumed was a dying horse. My mare had apparently gotten into something she shouldn't have, and was suffering the consequences.

As I sat beside her and stroked her silken nose, her breathing alternated between quick grunts, deep labored breaths, and barely there. Under her skin her muscles rippled as what I guessed were localized seizures wracked her body. She stood up and walked a few steps, only to go collapse as if her legs would not support her. Over and over again. She rolled onto her back repeatedly, in an apparent attempt to relieve the pain.

The morning dragged on. Rain fell intermittently, only to be replaced with a humid overcast that brought flies as the day warmed. I waved them away for what seemed an eternity, hoping to keep her as comfortable as possible. Calling the vet was pointless. There's very little to be done in this situation except wait it out and hope for the best. The horse will survive or it won't.

The loss of any pet is devastating, but in the case of large animals the logistics of dealing with death can be difficult. It was important that she die in a spot where she could be buried, a spot accessible to large machinery. Who could I call to dig the hole? It had been several years since a horse had passed on here, and the equipment operator's name was long forgotten.

It was different that time. Cherokee was an older horse, suffering from cancer and painfully thin no matter how much he ate. He went down for the last time in his stall and was put out of his misery on soft bedding. The vet explained that we must get him in the ground that day. The drug in his veins was powerful and if it could be proven that any wild animals died as a result of trying to consume the remains, she could be prosecuted.

The need for immediate burial was obvious, beyond the danger to the vet. We used a come-along to move the 1000 lb body inch by inch out the door and into the barnyard, an excruciating process I hope to never witness again. The man with the backhoe eased the body across the grass to its final resting place. Now Betsy lies near the grave. Even in the midst of worry and grief I was able to think clearly enough to begin planning for the aftermath.

My son stopped by the barnyard on his way to work. Betsy was now doing much better, standing for longer periods of time, trying to get flies off her nose, and even pawing the ground to signal her impatience to get back in the barn with Chinook where the flies are less bothersome. I related all this happily to my son, but in the next few minutes Betsy went down and became very still. She ceased rolling onto her back and attempting to rise, and she held her head at an odd angle. Her legs stuck out stiffly, and her tongue protruded slightly from the side of her mouth. Her breathing slowed to quiet grunts. She closed her eyes.

She did not stop breathing however, and I continued to wave flies away and offer encouraging words. An eternity later she suddenly roused herself, stood up unsteadily, and begin walking backwards toward Cherokee's grave. Was this a low blood sugar induced hallucination? A sign from God of what was to come? A result of seizures that left her brain damaged? I could think of no reasonable explanation and could only watch perplexed as she backed slowly away. She stopped a few yards from me, refused to go either forward or back, and stood motionless for several minutes. Then she shook herself all over as if merely rising from a dust bath. It seemed she was not going to die after all. She looked at me expectantly, and walked slowly but steadily with me back to her stall.

Once in the barn she sucked some water from my cupped hand and accepted a treat and chewed some hay. In the way of animals, she was soon acting as if the ordeal never happened. Today she is back to bellowing impatiently for treats when I don't move fast enough for her, and nipping at the gelding when he annoys her.

I have no explanation for why any of this occurred. I have scoured the pastures but found nothing new or unusual that might have poisoned her. I googled “horse walking backwards,” but of course only came up with methods for training your horse. I'll probably never understand what caused that particular weirdness or know what caused the distress in the first place.

Now the fear and despair that gripped me for hours has evaporated. For a time nothing else mattered — getting to work, eating, using the bathroom — all that faded into the background as I concentrated fully on the mantra, “Please keep breathing.” For several hours death seemed inevitable, but now that Betsy has recovered, it seems inevitable that she would recover. I began to wonder what I was so worried about, and to forget my promises to the universe when the worst seemed imminent.

I made a quick vow to not forget the lessons learned. Never again will I be annoyed at impatient whinnnying. Never again will I take her gentle presence for granted. Never again will I become angry when she spends hours outside then comes into the barn to pee. I will be grateful everyday that I don't have to deal with a grieving gelding, unable to understand where his beloved companion of over a decade has gone. I will cheerfully shovel turds in brutal cold and punishing heat and think about the alternate ending to this story. I will count my blessings.