I am incredibly sad.
My story will lack detail due to this. You’ve been forewarned.
My horse, my TC, did something while turned out. The vet is thinking his leg maybe broken, but we have to wait on xrays. My handsome, senior gelding has never been the easiest of keepers. Hell, within just a few months of getting him, he tried to jump a pasture fence, caught his stomach, and needed stitches! He’s a roller coaster of a horse. Beautiful to ride. Amazingly friendly personality. But is determined to make my hair turn gray with worry.
But he is mine. And I love him. And, now, he is in pain. He won’t/can’t move – even a step, just so that I can much the stall around his feet. Every part of him shakes when I try to push him to move. He isn’t eating his grain, and is barely touching his hay. At least he is drinking – a lot, actually.
When I was 14yro, I had a bay quarter horse – Jesse. At the time, we were stationed in Grand Forks, ND. Our horses were boarded at the base stable. Nothing fancy, as I’m sure you can imagine. Being ND, it was cold – all of the time. My mother had blanketed Jesse and had requested that the plucky gelding be turned out in the pasture. That evening, Jesse did not come up. The stable hands found Jesse, tangled in both the fence and wihtin his blanket. As a result, Jesse was put down several months later. Broken leg, between his hock and hip. Three fractures. The reason it took so long for my mother to make the decision was due to a rare act of sympathy – kindness, even – she felt for the horse. She actually made several attempts to save him, even flying specialists in from Iowa and Minnesota. But my giant Jesse, a former patrol horse before we happened upon him at a Watertown, SD auction, was in such pain that it was determined it was best to put him down. His last day, I remember him leaning against the barn, where I brought his food, as he couldn’t walk neither into the barn, nor down to the feed buckets. June 1996.
I remember Jesse’s registered name… Oakdale Fire Chief. I always thought that that was such a stupid name. Jesse was too handsome to be called something so silly.
Now, here I am again, suffering from some sort of Jesse-PTSD. While there is no indication that TC’s injuries are related to hs blanket (it isn’t messed up, nor was he found with it hanging), I am terrified that I am about to repeat the story of Jesse, but with my gentle TC. Yes, TC is older, and a wacky thoroughbred who has had a full life – as well as health concern after health concern. But he’s always been… happy… Tonight, he lifted his head and perked his ears as I talked to him, trying to convince him to move a little so that I could, at the very least, clean his stall. He ate the treats I gave him, yet spat out the pain killers. He was warm and receptive to my hugs. My fuzzy gelding….
And I am just so sad.