Endurance Riding

It was a Saturday when I knew. It was warm out, slightly muggy, and my skin felt sticky under my worn T-shirt. He didn’t follow me around the horse paddock as I mucked. He didn’t try to tip the wheelbarrow over. He stood in the corner, hanging his head low.

That’s when I put a call in to a woman who I knew would know the answer.

How do you know when it’s time?

When he has more bad days than good.

On Monday, I called the vet at UC Davis who had been following Forest’s case for months. He, too, agreed it was time. Sometimes, the only thing we can offer is relief from suffering.

The days leading up to Thursday were sad, so sad, but so very beautiful. Many of my students who had learned to ride on Forest came to see him, came to say goodbye. They came with handfuls of treats, bags filled to the top with sliced apples, carrots, watermelon rinds. Forest was allowed to eat all the alfalfa he wanted. We took him off his treatment meds, but gave him an increased dose of pain medicine. Sometimes, the only thing we can offer is relief from suffering.

On Wednesday night, Melissa (whose mother had been Forest’s original owner) brought her 3-year-old son, Hunter, to meet Forest. Hunter spent time with “Grandma’s horse,” brushing him and gingerly handing him treat after treat. A group of us sat with Forest, brushed him gently, combed his tail until it shined, and took him for a walk.

The next morning I awoke just after dawn. I got Forest out of the paddock, brushed him, and sat on his back as a friend walked us around the field. I closed my eyes, locking every last step in my memory. I lied down on his back, my head on his rump, counting the clouds in the sky. I put my arms around his neck, and I kissed him all over.

The haul to UC Davis with Forest and Beauty (who was going to be re-evaluated for her splint bone fracture) was quiet. Gary drove, the boys slept in the back seat, and I stared out the window.

When we arrived at UC Davis, the boys and I spent more time with Forest, offering him more of his favorite treats. Declan quietly sat on his back, as Gary stroked his neck, and Jakob laid sweet kisses on his muzzle.

When it was time, the vet tech placed a catheter in the vein in Forest’s neck. As she did, I spent a moment with the veterinary students, sharing Forest’s story. I told them about Randi, Melissa’s mother, the reason Forest had found me. We had lost Randi 6 years previously, in the same month, July.

The walk to the lawn was quiet. I led Forest by the handmade rope halter and lead I had made him years ago. He was sedated, and comfortable. I slipped him the heart shaped horse cookie I had in my pocket, and the boys and I gathered around him, whispering to him, touching him all over. I knelt down in front of him, wrapped my hands around his face, and kissed him over and over. His muzzle was soft, and I continued to touch my lips against his until I realized it was time. I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I just wanted to get this over with.

Sometimes, the only thing we can offer is relief from suffering.

Dr. Prutton approached Forest with a large syringe. I remember seeing a pink fluid, a bright and happy color, like bubble gum. Tears flowed down my face, as my fingertips gently stroked Forest’s face. I saw his legs wobble, and I suddenly turned away, yelling that I didn’t want to watch. I wanted to run, I wanted to run so far away from the pain.

Sometimes, the only thing we can offer is relief from suffering.

Moments later, in the time I took only one breath, Forest had found the ground. The world around me disappeared. I do not remember the vet standing near, or the students observing, or my family around the corner. I wanted to throw myself on top of Forest, and beg him to take me with him, but someone gently touched my arm. Soli. She told me to be careful of his legs, because he wasn’t gone just yet. I leaned down and buried my face in his neck. I was suddenly filled with an immense sadness as I felt him leave. The sobs choked me, almost stealing my breath, and the sadness suddenly turned to anger as I cried over and over, “I am so sorry, Forest.”

Sometimes, the only thing we can offer is relief from suffering.

Dr. Prutton put his stethoscope on Forest’s heartgirth, quietly announced that he was gone, and I continued to cry. My family joined me, gathering around Forest, and as I sat there, buried in his neck, my tears finally slowed. The sun warmed my back, the softness of the grass stroked my legs, and I was suddenly so comfortable there in Forest’s neck that I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted sleep to find me. I knew I could find it here, and I would sleep for hours, dreaming beautiful dreams, and awake, and all would be right in the world again.

I looked up to see Declan picking flowers from the grass, little flowers with purple tops. He carefully placed each flower on Forest’s face, arranging them just so. It was then that I knew it was over, but it was going to be okay.

Sometimes, the only thing we can offer is relief from suffering.

We picked ourselves up off the grass, and went to find Jakob’s Beauty. We received good news about her – she is healing well. Her destressed whinny called out for Forest as we loaded her into the horse trailer without him. We put Forest’s fly mask on her and hung his halter next to her, hoping his sweet smell would bring her comfort.

The drive home was quiet, and I did find sleep, off and on, as Gary drove.

A few days after Forest’s passing, I posted this on Facebook:

Six years ago, a little black and white Appaloosa gelding came into my life. I wasn’t looking for a horse. In fact, I already had a horse. But this little gelding found his way to me, and into my heart, after his original owner, Randi, lost her courageous battle with breast cancer.

Tonight, as I was reading some past entries in my journal, I found a short paragraph I had written back in 2011: “Forest is my rock. He is my friend, my confidence builder. He constantly challenges me. He is like a young child who questions your authority, but you can never stay too mad for too long because he wins you back every time. I enjoy being with him – sitting with him in the round pen, going for a slow, Sunday ride, grooming him. He is my big lap dog, honestly. I always seem to love myself a little more when I am with him.”

Is it possible to love another being, one not from the same species, as deeply as one human loves another? The answer is yes.

Forest left us on July 23, 2015, and on that day, I was filled with a sadness I did not know existed. But I imagine Randi is riding carefree now, galloping astride his back. And for that, I am truly glad.

“The love for a horse is just as complicated as the love for another human being… if you never love a horse, you will never understand.” ~ Author Unknown

RIP Forest Gumption

March 1, 2004 – July 23, 2015

Tags: euthanasia, horses

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