Post by Mary Ann on Oct 1, 2015 8:38:15 GMT -5
About two weeks ago I went outside to do chores. Only three horses came to the barn. I looked across the drylot and saw the pony, and knew he was dead. I hoped against hope that he was just asleep, calling to him as I approached (he was losing both hearing and sight) but the closer I got, the more I was sure he was gone.
He was old, probably between 30 and 40 years, but in good flesh thanks to senior feed, each day as gentle as the last. Based on the lack of trauma and the color of his gums, I'm thinking his organs probably just shut down. I hope he didn't suffer.
He was such a sweet and gentle spirit. Just a few days before, while waiting for the others to come in off grass, he waited with me and I hugged his dear old head. I couldn't help but wonder how many little girls he'd allowed to hug him, and marveling how accepting he always was of what many other horses feel is entrapment. He was beyond brave and fearless, always kind, with no bad habits except he liked to chew wood (he could kill a tree in an afternoon) and he was a bit of a pig in his stall. But that was a fair trade for a little pony who was so unbelievably kind and safe.
Chores are easier now. I don't have to separate anyone for meals, or put the pony in so the other horses don't bully him over food in winter's darkness. I don't have to clean his messy stall, or buy special supplements to help his old bones stay more comfortable. Yet every day I had with him was worth it. Funny how he gives me something even as he leaves.
It hurt to go back in the barn to his full bucket, topped with two apples, and know he'd never enjoy them. McEachan was waiting for his little buddy; may they gallop through Heaven's gates together.
I'll miss you, little Henry Ryder, and I thank you for the gentle sweetness you shared with me. Sometimes I feel like the luckiest person alive, to have known such horses.
He was old, probably between 30 and 40 years, but in good flesh thanks to senior feed, each day as gentle as the last. Based on the lack of trauma and the color of his gums, I'm thinking his organs probably just shut down. I hope he didn't suffer.
He was such a sweet and gentle spirit. Just a few days before, while waiting for the others to come in off grass, he waited with me and I hugged his dear old head. I couldn't help but wonder how many little girls he'd allowed to hug him, and marveling how accepting he always was of what many other horses feel is entrapment. He was beyond brave and fearless, always kind, with no bad habits except he liked to chew wood (he could kill a tree in an afternoon) and he was a bit of a pig in his stall. But that was a fair trade for a little pony who was so unbelievably kind and safe.
Chores are easier now. I don't have to separate anyone for meals, or put the pony in so the other horses don't bully him over food in winter's darkness. I don't have to clean his messy stall, or buy special supplements to help his old bones stay more comfortable. Yet every day I had with him was worth it. Funny how he gives me something even as he leaves.
It hurt to go back in the barn to his full bucket, topped with two apples, and know he'd never enjoy them. McEachan was waiting for his little buddy; may they gallop through Heaven's gates together.
I'll miss you, little Henry Ryder, and I thank you for the gentle sweetness you shared with me. Sometimes I feel like the luckiest person alive, to have known such horses.