The Ongoing Dilemma

                                                            by Laura Crum

            I have a dilemma. It’s been this way for over a year now. And I am not finding a solution. I don’t think there is a solution. But it bugs me every single day.

            You see, I have a 34 year old horse that I love very much. This is Gunner. I have owned him since he was three.

 I broke and trained this horse myself and competed on him at many events. He’s been with me for over thirty years.

Here he is last summer—not looking too bad for 33.

But every day now I go through a roller coaster ride of emotions concerning Gunner. There are two “sides” arguing in my head. It’s not good horse owner versus not-good horse owner—it’s more like two types of good horse owner. Let’s call them type A and type B. They never shut up in my mind.

A: “You should put that poor old horse down. He’s limps every step he takes. He’s old and frail and it’s just a matter of time till he goes down and can’t get up. You should put him down now.”

B: “How can you put him down? He’s bright-eyed, eager for his meals, has gained weight in the last few months. The painkillers keep him reasonably comfortable. Yeah, he’s lame, but he still breaks into a trot voluntarily and he moves around his corral very freely. He gets down and rolls and gets up again every day. He doesn’t look unhappy. Why would you put him down?”

A: “Sure he trots, but you can’t stand to watch him do it. Because half the time when he trots he stumbles on that arthritic knee and almost goes down. You’ve watched him go all the way down half a dozen times and it almost killed you. It didn’t help him, either. He always walked off lamer. Even when he stumbles and catches himself he walks off lamer. Put him down before he falls down once too often and breaks his leg and suffers.”

B: “But he doesn’t want to let go of his life yet. Every time I go down to the barnyard he spots me and goes to his gate and bumps it with his nose to let me know he wants me to let him out to graze. He loves his grazing time, he likes being groomed and getting attention, he’s cleaning up as much senior feed as he ever has. He’s not ready to quit.”

A: “But maybe it’s time you made that choice for him. He’s got a lot of heart and he keeps trying, but do you want him to try and try until he CAN’T do it any more? Why would you put him through that?”

B: “I guess if it were me I wouldn’t want my life taken until I was ready to let go of it. And maybe he would rather keep trying as long as he can. Gunner doesn’t limp any more than our 80 year old friend Wally, and Wally can look pretty frail and shaky, too, walking along—and you’ve seen Wally stumble and fall several times. But Wally still enjoys his life very much—why would you suppose that Gunner is different? The last time I had the vet out here, thinking maybe I would put Gunner down, that old horse trotted away from the vet at a pretty brisk clip. I swear he could read my mind. And the vet said, ‘I don’t think he’s ready.’ That’s just it. I don’t think he’s ready. And I have to wait until he tells me he’s ready.”

A: “Are you going to think you made the right choice when you come down to feed one morning and find Gunner lying on the ground…and you know he lay there for hours in pain?”

B: “I don’t know. I know I have not yet felt it was the right choice to pick up the phone and call the vet and end Gunner’s life. Not when the old horse looks as bright as he does.”

A: “But you are afraid every time you go down to the barnyard. Afraid that Gunner will be dead…or worse. For every time that you smile when you see him playing with his neighbor, there are three times you wince when you see him take a bad step.”

B: “But he does still play with his neighbor. He does still enjoy life.”

A: “He’s a huge management headache. You can’t turn his neighbor/friend horse out to graze because Gunner freaks out. If Gunner weren’t here, all your other horses could be turned loose to graze virtually every day and they would have a MUCH better quality of life.”

B: “That’s true. But I can’t put Gunner down because he’s a management problem. I owe him more than that, and I love him.”

A: “Maybe you should make the hard choice out of love for him.”

B: “Dammit, I would, if I thought it was the right choice. But how can I give up on him before he’s ready to give up?”

And so it goes, on and on. Type A is the pragmatic, logical side of me and type B is the more sentimental, intuitive side. So far type B is winning, but it’s a struggle. I know there are valid points on both sides.

The thing is that I have never put one of my loved horses down until it was a clear cut thing. Flanigan colicked at 21 and didn’t come out of it after being treated for over 24 hours. He wasn’t a candidate for surgery because he had a diaphragmatic hernia. And if we weren’t going to attempt surgery it seemed clear that it was time to end his suffering.

Burt had a stroke at 35 and was down on the ground twitching and I couldn’t get him up. When we still couldn’t get him up after an hour of trying and the vet’s help (and the vet was clear she thought he wasn’t coming out of it), I had no questions about what to do.

Toby was diagnosed with a tumor in his kidneys. He’d had two previous run-ins with cancer. When I decided against surgery, I kept him as comfortable as I could with painkillers, and when he quit eating, refused treats, and began grinding his teeth, I had the vet out that afternoon. Again, I knew it was time.

            I’ve always waited until it was clear. I’ve never arbitrarily drawn a line in the sand. I watched my friend Wally do this with his good horse, Pistol, and though I understood and did not feel it was a wrong choice, I’m not sure it is the choice I would have made.

            So yeah, I don’t know what to do. I muddle along, day by day, waiting for Gunner to tell me. So far it hasn’t happened. But I look away when he trots, afraid that he will fall again. I wince when he takes a bad step. I walk down to feed every morning looking anxiously for Gunner, hoping that he is OK.

            Yes, I smile when I see him playing with his neighbor horse, or dozing companionably alongside his old buddy, muzzle to muzzle. I try to get him out to graze as much as I can, and it’s clear that he is very keen to do this. I’m happy that his spirit is strong and he’s cleaning up his feed. I watch him roll and get back up and think, well, OK, then. I’m very grateful that he’s still with me and still bright-eyed and willing to engage with me and the other horses. But still…I wonder. I wonder if I am doing the right thing.

Payback Time

                                                            by Laura Crum

            I was recently discussing my horses with an acquaintance, and after hearing my litany about keeping weight on my old guys and keeping them sound and giving them lots of turn out time and grooming and attention, she asked me, “But what are you DOING with your horses these days?”

            I had to think about this. “Well, I still ride,” I said, a little hesitantly. “But not a lot, right now. I’m busy with a lot of different things, and just taking care of the horses takes time.”

            She then said, “It doesn’t sound like you’re having much fun with your horses any more.”

            I was a bit stymied by this. This gal knew me when I showed cutting horses and trained horses and competed at team roping and went on several horse packing trips in the mountains every year. You get the drift. From her point of view, my horse life looks like one big, boring drag, compared to what my horse life used to be. And really, I can see her point. But it doesn’t feel that way to me.

            I could go on and on about how I’ve reached a different stage of life and just hanging with my horses and tending my garden seems delightful to me. And I’ve talked about this before. But there’s something bigger here, and it is this. It’s payback time.

            Even if I still wanted to spend my time and money competing at some horsey event (which I don’t), the horses who carried me for so many miles, and in so many different competitions and trail rides are older now. Gunner is 34, Plumber is 25, Henry (my son’s horse) is 26 and Sunny is (I think) 19. Gunner and Plumber are retired. Henry and Sunny are still carrying us faithfully on short rides, but both are less than happy about steep hills (Henry doesn’t like the “ups” and Sunny doesn’t like the “downs”). Based on what I see (they are both sound on level ground) I think they have the slight arthritic changes that are typical of older horses. So we avoid steeper hills these days. The thing is, it’s time for me to pay these horses back for all that they have done for me. And I am glad to do this.

            Yes, I could send them to some retirement pasture. But I don’t have the money for a really first class operation, and I have seen first hand what turning these senior horses out in a pasture with very little supervision really amounts to. The older they get the harder it is on them. And eventually they are thin, lame, shivering in storms, fly bitten in summer heat, and picked on by other horses. If I want my older guys to have the care they deserve, they need to live with me, where I can make sure they get fed the supplemental feed they must have to thrive, pain meds as needed, blankets in storms and fly spray in fly season…etc. Not to mention grooming and attention that they love. So that is my first priority right now.

            Because these horses have earned this. Not only do I love them, but in all fairness, I owe them. Gunner gave me ten straight years of faithful work.

            As a cutting horse.

                    As a rope horse.

            As a trail horse.

           

            Plumber wasn’t just a rope horse (for fifteen years), he babysat my kid and me for several years as well.

            He was my pony horse for my son’s first ride at the beach.

            I could never put a price on all that Henry gave my little boy in the seven years that we have been privileged to own him.

            And Henry is still giving my son great riding experiences. What a good horse he is.

            Sunny has been a huge gift, enabling me to ride with my kid without any worries.

            We have been on literally hundreds of trail rides.

            So many happy cruises down the beach together, without one wreck, or even a really anxious moment.

            Yes, it’s payback time. And I am nothing but grateful and happy to do this.

            Thank you, my wonderful horses. I love you. And I am glad to spend my time taking care of you, in honor of all the times you took good care of me.

            I am so lucky and blessed to have you in my life.

Anybody else in this place in their horse life? Or can imagine yourself being here?

            

Never Rains But It Pours

                                    by Laura Crum

            This would be us. After months of no rain and lots of whining about drought, we got five inches in one week. I am not complaining—we needed that rain. Still, it has created a new problem for me. Because the drought was what was allowing my 34 year old horse, Gunner, to make it through the winter.

            The sunny, seventy degree days and the dry ground were stress free for my old horse, who has severely arthritic knees and is pretty shaky and fragile overall. He was eating well, not too lame, seemed quite content. And then the storms blew in.

            Overnight we went from sunny and dusty to our usual winter conditions—cold, wet and muddy. And the obvious solution-- put Gunner in a run with a shed--won’t work.  Gunner’s anxiety and old-horse dementia has gotten more pronounced and he gets very upset if ANYTHING is changed. He is only comfortable if he is in his big, open corral, with Plumber on one side and Henry on the other. If I change anything, Gunner worries. If I catch Plumber to have him trimmed, Gunner begins running around in a panic, afraid that I will remove his friend. It’s becoming very difficult to cope with.

            Because if I let Gunner run around these days, particularly in the mud, he always falls down. And falling down is how he tweaked his already arthritic knee last spring and transformed himself from a sound old horse to a lame old horse. Not a positive change. Ever since then I have had to manage his lameness issues, along with his lessening appetite and his old horse dementia. It’s a challenge.

            I don’t in any way begrudge the time, energy and money that I give to taking care of Gunner—I do stress when I worry that his quality of life just isn’t good enough. If he is too lame, too thin, not happy…well, there comes a time when it is kinder to put him down. I am walking a line here, and I want to try very hard not to err on the side of keeping Gunner alive when his life is no longer any pleasure to him. On the other hand, I don’t want to take his life until he is ready to let go of it. I try to do for him what I would want done for me.

            So I double blanket Gunner and check on him endlessly as the rain pours down—to be sure that he is warm and dry under his blankets and his eye is reasonably bright. I worry that he eats about half of what he was eating before the storms started. I worry that he is miserable and that this is no life for an old horse. But I know from experience that he will be even more unhappy if I put him in my small covered shed where he would be out of the weather. If I change anything it upsets Gunner. I cannot put Plumber in the covered shed because I can’t move him or Gunner freaks out, so I blanketed Plumber, and then Gunner was upset because his buddy looked different with a blanket on. It really is getting very difficult to manage.

            And yet, I just lost my old dog a couple of weeks ago—I don’t want to lose my old horse if I can help it. My son was so sad when Jojo died—she’d been part of his life ever since he was born. The same is true of Gunner. We love him very much. So I persist—doing the best I can to take care of him, and worrying that it’s not enough.

            I know that those of you with older, much-loved horses will understand. This is a hard path to walk. But…and I always remind myself of this…it’s a far better path (in my view) than losing a young horse unexpectedly, or a horse in the prime of life. Gunner has had a very good, long life, even if he dies tomorrow (which I hope he doesn’t). Just like our sweet old dog. And that’s a good thing.

Gunner and Plumber last summer.

            

Changes and Sadness

                                                by Laura Crum

            We went for a ride in the woods the other day. It is mid-January and much that we saw was dry and dusty. This is unheard of for this time of year. The central coast of California is in the grip of a huge drought. In 56 years of living here, I have never seen a January quite like this. So this is one big change.

            Looking on the bright side of this change, the footing is perfect. No mud. Nothing is slippery. We can do any ride we care to do.

            We decided to ride our usual two hour through-the-forest loop backward. Trails look so different when you ride them in the opposite direction. It would be like a whole new ride. This would be a change, too. Off we went, down the steep hill that we usually ride up, and across the creek.

Henry is such a good horse—the very best.

            Henry will be 26 years old this spring. He’s still going well, but I have cut back on the work he is asked to do. On this ride I noticed for the first time that Henry was a little reluctant to climb the steeper hills. (There are no big hills on this ride, just some short bits of up and down.) I paid attention and on the climbs Henry is stepping short on the right hind. He’s fine on level ground. I’m pretty sure his hock is bothering him. To be frank, it’s a miracle his hocks haven’t bothered him before this. Older QH rope horses almost always have a touch of bone spavin. I will keep a good eye on Henry and we may avoid steep climbs from here on. Another change.

            Though I am accepting that Henry can’t go on forever as a riding horse, it makes me sad to acknowledge that this part of our lives is coming slowly but steadily to an end. My son and I are still riding together on Henry and Sunny, and both horses have been a total blessing. But Henry IS 26. The change is coming.

            We rode through the forest. I snapped a few photos as we moved along. All of them turned out blurry, but you can see how pretty the forest is. It was 70 degrees—just like a summer ride. Lovely under the trees.

            Here we go through what feels like a doorway between two big redwood trees. It’s neat.

            And then I got lost. I know, sounds idiotic. Lost on a two hour ride I’ve done dozens of times before. Sort of like Gilligan’s Island (this really dates me). And I wasn’t truly, exactly lost. I just took a wrong turn and we didn’t end up riding our usual loop backward after all. It’s surprising how different a trail looks when you ride it in the opposite direction. But we found our way back to the truck and trailer eventually and saw some pretty things along the way. Reflections of redwoods seen through Sunny’s ears…

            Everything is changing, all the time. “Change is the very most natural thing,” in the words of Jerry Jeff Walker. A lot of the time things seem stable and we don’t notice the changing. But sometimes things seem to change suddenly, all around us. Like my 13 year old son, who, in one year, is no longer a little boy. And there have been several other changes in our life as a family, all in the past six months. On the surface, some of these changes are not so positive. And yet, maybe it just depends on how you look at it.

            This drought we are currently going through here in coastal California looks like a pretty darn negative thing. But we sure have had some lovely days…and some lovely rides. Can’t help but enjoy this 70 degree weather.

            Henry may be getting near to the end of his time as a riding horse. But he has given us SO much. From when my kid was just turned 7 until now at 13 and 1/2 years old, my son has ridden this good red horse everywhere, and never had one bad experience. How wonderful is that? Wonderful enough to balance some inevitable sadness of loss, I believe. Those good rides will forever be a part of us.

These last few months we have had our fair share of change and sadness. Some people we care about have had some very difficult and unavoidable problems, and some other people we know and thought were our friends have turned out not to be our friends. These things are true and they do make me sad when I think about them.

But my son gave me a hummingbird feeder for Xmas that is made out of an antique ruby red glass bottle. It is beautiful and the hummers love it. The feeder glows like a jewel in the sunlight and the birds whiz up to it in delight. I can think about the sad things, or I can watch the hummingbirds.

I think I will just keep my eye on the hummingbirds.

           

My Old Horse

                                                by Laura Crum

            They say “old age is not for sissies.” I would add that keeping a very old horse is not for the faint-hearted. It sounds easy enough. Just retire your old friend and let him be a pasture pet until he dies. Simple, right? Well, in theory simple, in practice not quite that simple.

            I have taken care of two of my much-loved retired horses into their mid-thirties. My first forever horse, Burt, died at 35, and my current old boy, Gunner, is 34 this spring. And I am here to tell you that somewhere past 30 both of these horses became quite a bit more challenging to care for. Right now Gunner is doing pretty well, but it’s been a real roller coaster ride for the last year.

            About a year ago, Gunner got down and cast—I think he was down pretty much all night. I found him in the morning at feeding time, trapped in a low spot with his back against the fence. It took us several hours and four strong guys to get him out of the hole and on his feet. He was shocky and in deep distress when we finally got him up, but the vet convinced me he would be fine. It took a month—a month in which Gunner’s appetite slowly returned, and he eventually quit pacing, and I hand walked and grazed him every day-- and yes, about a month later he seemed back to normal. But a month or so after that, he slipped and fell when running around his corral, and limped off. It became clear that he’d tweaked his left knee, and since then that knee has been giving him trouble.

            I had the vet out to look at the knee, we settled on a regime of painkillers, and all seemed well enough. Gunner was no longer sound, he was harder to keep weight on than he had been in past years, but still, he seemed to be doing OK. Here’s a photo from September. Pretty good looking 33 year old horse, yes?

            But a few months ago I came down one morning to feed to find Gunner pacing and uninterested in breakfast. It took me awhile to sort it out, but I concluded that something traumatic had happened—Gunner wasn’t colicked, and he wasn’t obviously injured, and he wasn’t significantly lamer than he had been. But he was in a lot of distress. I thought/think he must have gotten “stuck” down for some part of the night and had managed to get up before I came down to feed.

            I had the vet out, and I was very close to putting Gunner down. But I gave the horse some bute instead, and he looked pretty bright, and I just couldn’t do it. Since then, well, it’s been a challenge.

            Gunner is lame. He has a big left front knee that hurts him. I give him painkillers, and it helps, but he’s still lame. He’s lost weight through this, and though his appetite has improved quite a bit since the last setback, he is still thinner than I would like. His vision and hearing are lousy, he’s hard to handle due both to this and a sort of old horse dementia that I’ve observed in other 30 plus horses, and he’s incredibly spoiled. This is my fault, I know, but I cannot bring myself to reprimand the old guy, so he tugs on the leadrope to let me know where he wants to go, and makes gentle but obvious attempts to push past me when I come to his gate to catch him. I cannot blanket him without a helper to hold him, because as soon as I go round to the back leg straps, he just walks off. He is a spoiled old pet of a horse, for sure. And this has begun to cause a problem.

            I can handle Gunner all right. I know him and he knows me, and though he will push on me because he knows I’m unlikely to reprimand him, he also won’t defy me. His training goes too deep. But his “spoiled” behavior is causing a new and real problem. For the last few months I’ve been getting Gunner out to graze him, and he now thinks it’s his due. He is very resentful if I catch another horse for grazing, rather than him. The last time I got a different horse out to graze, Gunner ran around screaming and bucking (yes, he’ll still run despite being lame) in a temper tantrum fueled by jealousy until he slipped and fell down. I will admit that I screamed “Gunner!” in a panic as my old horse hit the ground. Gunner got up, thank God, and limped off—no lamer than before, I don’t think. But I definitely had enough stress for one day. And I put the other horse away. It’s just not worth it.

            As it so happens, it hasn’t rained this winter—virtually at all. So Gunner is leading a relatively comfortable mud-free life in his big corral. There’s also almost no grass to graze on, so I’m not bothering to get horses out very often—thus no need for Gunner to pitch a fit and fall down again. But it is still a difficult situation. I walk down the hill to feed every day hoping that Gunner will be on his feet and looking OK, and worried that he won’t. I am actually afraid to get another horse out to graze without grazing Gunner first—I don’t need a repeat of the temper tantrum and crash. I have nightmares about the old horse going down and breaking a leg or his neck.

            Gunner is still bright eyed and interested in everything I do, he’s cleaning up his senior feed, he can still eat hay, he hangs out with his favorite buddy horse in the sunshine and looks content. He lies down and rolls pretty much every day—and gets back up again—a little staggery, but successfully (so far). When he feels like it he trots and gallops and spins and bucks. He meets me at his gate every time he sees me coming towards him with a halter, and grazes on what little green grass we have with enthusiasm. But that left knee hurts him despite all the painkillers and it’s slowly getting worse. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot sometimes. It kills me to watch him do this.

            I love Gunner from the bottom of my heart, and I will stay the course. He’s going to let me know when he’s ready to let go of his life—I believe this. It is still very hard for me to watch him get stiffer and lamer. I had the vet out to see him just a couple of weeks ago—simply because I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t deceiving myself—that Gunner’s weight really was OK, that he wasn’t so lame that I really ought to put him down. The vet said that he thought Gunner looked great for 34. He told me to up the dose of painkiller past the recommended amount—if it gave the horse ulcers, well, that would be that. So I upped the dose. But Gunner is still lame.

 And I have to say that the endless fussing with diet and meds and the worry and the setbacks, well, it’s not the “fun” part of horsekeeping. At the same time, every time I look into Gunner’s eyes, all the many adventures we’ve had together are brought back to me and present in the moment. I’ve owned this horse since I was 25 and he was 3. We have seen a lot together.

            But I will repeat that keeping a very old horse is not for the faint-hearted. It’s worrisome and time consuming and frustrating and emotionally draining. Even though you love that horse with a whole heart. You agonize over what the best course of action is, you wonder if you are doing right by keeping your old friend going despite the fact that he’s lame. It can also be some of the sweetest moments you have ever spent with a horse—as you rub his neck in the sunshine and he leans his head gently on your shoulder, or rests his muzzle against your cheek. At some deep level you know that the two of you are both—equally and mutually—acknowledging the long bond between you. But its also hard, folks, it’s very hard. Those who want to argue with me must have kept a horse well into his/her thirties. I have mostly had very good luck with horses in their twenties, and my 25 and 26 year old horses are no trouble at all. Somewhere past thirty it gets much more difficult. Or so I’ve found. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

            

The Hardest Choice

                                                by Laura Crum

            We all face it if we love our animals. When to let them go? I am facing this now with my beloved 33 year old horse, Gunner. I wrote in my last post that he was getting steadily lamer and the Previcox wasn’t controlling the pain any more. But he was still eating well, playful, alert…etc.

            The day after I put up that post (Monday) I went down to the barn in the morning to feed and Gunner was in a state. Agitated, sweaty, pacing, not interested in his equine senior food (which he has been scarfing every day). I spent a lot of time with him and came to the conclusion that he wasn’t colicked (turned out this was right) and that I thought that he had somehow aggravated his painful knee. Maybe he fell, maybe had trouble getting up, who knows?

            Gunner couldn’t get comfortable. And Gunner’s response to pain is agitation. So he paced, or rather hobbled around. I grazed him and he ate a little, I called the vet, who said to watch him. I watched him all day (and petted him and grazed him). He paced. He never ate his equine senior food. He nibbled hay. He shifted from foot to foot, unable to be comfortable in any position. This was all completely different from the day before, when he had been lame but cheerful, with an unimpaired appetite. Something had changed in a big way. At the end of the day I decided he was just too uncomfortable. He could not live like this. Rather than call the vet that night, I gave Gunner two grams of bute, on the off chance that he might seem much better in the morning.

            I checked him before I went to bed and at midnight. He was much less lame, but still agitated and pacing. The next morning (yesterday) I had the vet out first thing. I meant to put Gunner down. I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want him to be in pain. At 33 years old I didn’t think I ought to put him through any pointless suffering. It wasn’t as if I could cure his bad knee.

            But Gunner looked a lot better than he had the day before. Still lame, still uncomfortable, but not agitated. Nickered at me to come get him, ears up. Still not interested in his senior food, but going after his hay with some enthusiasm. The vet and I watched him and checked him out and basically agonized, but neither of us felt right about putting down such a bright-eyed old horse. So we didn’t.

            We both agreed it would be soon. Maybe even days, not weeks. But the vet thought I should try him on a regular dose of bute and see how he did. Both the vet and I share the belief that euthanasia goes more smoothly if the animal is really ready to let go of life—and Gunner wasn’t sending that message.

            So now its one day at a time…and I worry endlessly. I graze Gunner and pet Gunner and watch him and bute him and I know it won’t be long now. I don’t want him to suffer. But I don’t want to end his life before he’s ready to let go of it. As long as his eye is bright and he shows enthusiasm for hay and grazing it seems to me he’s still enjoying life at least a little. The weather is currently lovely. The bute has made Gunner more comfortable. I know he probably will have to be put down before winter. Any day may be the day that I decide he’s in too much pain now. I’m just trying to find the line between too soon and too late. And trying to find that line is the hardest choice of all.

Lame

                                                            by Laura Crum

            If you’ve owned horses for any length of time, you have dealt with lameness. It’s just a fact of life with horses. They go lame from time to time. If you’re lucky, it’s not permanent. If you’ve never had a lame horse, you just haven’t owned enough horses, or owned any horse a long time.

            So I’ve been really lucky when it comes to lameness. I can pat myself on the back and say it’s because I have great horse keeping/riding practices and I know how to pick the sort of horse that stays sound, and maybe this has something to do with it. But really, maybe I’ve just been lucky.

            As of last year at this time, I had five completely sound horses on my place, including my retired 32 year old horse, my retired 23 year old horse, my riding horse, my son’s riding horse and my friend’s horse that I board here. Today? Well, the boarder is still sound.

            I know, it sounds bad. But it is part of life with horses.

            I retired Gunner, my now 33 year old horse, when he was 18 because he had enough arthritic changes that I felt he would be more comfortable if I didn’t work him. I retired Plumber (now 24) at 19 for the same reason. Both horses became much more free moving after some time off, and would long trot freely and completely sound as retired barefoot pasture pets. And this made me happy.

            Last winter Gunner got cast and was down (I think) most of the night. I found him there at morning feeding. He was stuck in a hollow by the fence and we had a very hard time getting him up (took a couple of hours). He was in pretty rough shape when he finally stood up, and I thought it was the end. But my vet convinced me that the horse could pull through, and this turned out to be true. It took a couple of weeks, but eventually Gunner was trotting sound again. However, he was never as free moving as he had been before being cast. Still, he was sound, he ate well, his weight was good, he would buck and play—I thought his quality of life was good enough. Here you see Gunner this summer.

            Several months after being cast, Gunner fell while running around screaming for his buddy (who I had taken out of the corral). Gunner got up from that fall limping, and since then developed some very obvious arthritic changes in his left knee. And he was lame. When it became clear that this wasn’t going to resolve on its own, I had the vet out.

            To cut to the chase—yep, he had bad arthritis in his knee, and we put him on Previcox—a pain killer which works well for long term use in arthritic horses. Gunner got better. But he never got really completely sound. And now, as it gets colder, he’s a little more off on that left front, despite the drug.

            He still bucks and plays a little, he eats well, his weight is pretty good. But he’s definitely lame. Here he is a week or two ago—getting fuzzy for winter.

            Gunner will be 34 next spring if he makes it that long. Right now I think his quality of life is good enough. But if he keeps getting lamer, I will have a hard choice to make. I have buted older horses to keep them comfortable, and I could do this with Gunner, but I am not sure I want to push this 33 year old horse to make it through another cold rainy muddy winter (and he hates being confined so locking him up in a stall won’t work). The end result is the same. Eventually the bute won’t mask the pain, as the Previcox is currently starting to fail to do. Do I just want to prolong this so Gunner can stand in the rain? I’m not sure.

            And then, just for icing on the cake, three weeks ago I went down to feed and 24 year old Plumber was lame in the right front. Plumber has been sound and comfortable, so my first thought was an abscess or a bruise. It just so happened the farrier was coming that day, so we trimmed Pulmber and used the hoof testers and could find nothing. No bruise, no tenderness. Also no swelling, no heat, no sign of injury anywhere on the leg or foot. But lame in the right front. OK then.

            I did not call the vet because I have been down this road before. We had done most of what a vet could do. The next step was X-rays. I decided to wait and see if Plumber got worse or better. If he got worse it was probably an abscess and would become much easier to diagnose. If he got better, well, as we expert horsemen say, he just tweaked himself. Or, more accurately, he probably aggravated an existing low level arthritic condition (such as ringbone, sidebone or navicular).

            Every day I checked Plumber out. First he got better. Then he got lamer. Then better. Then lamer. And then consistently a little better every day. Right now you can’t tell he is off unless you jog him in a circle on hard ground. Trotting in a straight line in his corral, he looks sound. And that’s sound enough for his pasture pet life. We’ll see what the future brings.

            Here you see my son giving Plumber a little love.

            Ok, retired horses having soundness problems is par for the course. At least my riding horses were sound. We’ve been riding two or three days a week all summer and having lots of fun. I’ve particularly been enjoying riding in the redwood forest on Sunny.

            My son and Henry have enjoyed chasing cattle.

            My son started his junior high homeschool program three weeks ago, and we have been really busy getting up to speed with that. We took a brief break from riding just due to how busy we’ve been. But last week things seemed to smooth out and we decided to go for a ride. We saddled up and my son started to warm Henry up. Henry is 25 and though he is still sound, his hocks are getting stiff. He needs lots of walking before he is asked to do more.

            I led Sunny out on the driveway to climb on and dang, he looked lame. I jogged him. He WAS lame. Lame in the left front. I picked his foot carefully. No obvious problems in the foot. Also no injuries, swelling or heat in foot or leg. I jogged him again. Still lame.

            This was a big surprise because Sunny gallops around in his corral every day at feeding time and trots up and down the fence, and I had seen no sign of lameness. But he was definitely lame in the left front now—too lame to ride. I unsaddled him, let him graze a little, and turned him back out.

            I bought both Sunny and Henry roughly six years ago. They have both been completely sound virtually the whole time I have owned them, and taken us on hundreds and hundreds of rides. In the nearby hills, on the beach, gathering cattle—we even hauled them to the Sierras. They have been barefoot almost the entire time. As Henry has gotten older, we’ve quit loping a lot of circles on him, but that has been the only real change. These two horses have been sound, solid riding horses for six years and given us an amazing amount of use. Henry is 25—Sunny is possibly as old as 20. So I wasn’t entirely shocked to find that Sunny was having a soundness problem. To be frank, I knew this would happen eventually. And eventually just happens to be now.

            My horses are all older. This is what happens when you don’t get rid of your beloved friends once they get past their best working years. To put it simply: you have older horses with soundness problems. I accept this. That doesn’t mean it makes me happy. But I accept it.

            I am going to give Sunny some time off and see if his lameness will resolve (unless he gets worse, in which case I will have the vet out ASAP). But if he still gallops up the hill at feeding time and trots without a head bob in his corral (as he did this morning), I think his quality of life is OK. I’m not sure about mine. I am pretty addicted to going for a ride any time I feel like it.

            Anyway, it’s early days to make predictions. Sunny may be sound next week. Or I may have the vet out and we’ll put Sunny on the Previcox, if that seems like the right choice. Or maybe it’s an abscess. If so, it will show itself and I’ll deal with it. For the moment, I’m going to take a deep breath and be grateful for all the happy rides I’ve had on my good little yellow mule. I’ll turn him out to graze, and give him lots of attention and accept the fact that owning and loving horses means dealing with lameness. It’s not all about happy rides in the sunshine. Sunny has given me plenty of wonderful rides and taken really good care of me—now it’s my turn to take care of him.

           

            

Sadness, Old Horses, and a Free Book

                                    by Laura Crum

            My good friend lost her 33 year old horse last week. He had been having problems getting up and finally one day, he was just unable to get up, and she knew it was time. This doesn’t make it easy. Even when we know it is the right time, it is so hard to lose a horse that has been part of your life for many years.

            I, too, have a 33 year old horse. I bought him when he was three years old and had thirty days riding. I trained him myself and competed on him at several different events. The bridle my son uses on his horse, Henry, features a headstall that Gunner won in a cutting contest many years ago. The trophy buckles Gunner and I won together are in the drawer next to my bed.

            Gunner and I covered a lot of miles. Thirty years of him being my horse. Today he is a bit peggy, but pretty sound. Will trot and lope and even buck and spin a little. Here he is in a picture taken just a few days ago –33 years old. He is growing his winter coat, so looks fuzzy, but I think you can see that his weight is still pretty good.

            I know that Gunner probably doesn’t have many years left.      I bought him when I was 25. He’s been with me the whole time since then. He really is part of my family. I treasure every day with him. But there is an underlying sadness. I know our time is limited.

            My other retired horse, Plumber, has had an off again on again slight lameness in his right front for awhile. Every time I get ready to have the vet out, he seems fine. His feet were trimmed recently and we could find no sign of a bruise or any tenderness using the hoof testers. There is no swelling or heat. No sign of an injury. So I’m just keeping an eye on him.

            Here you see my son giving Plumber (a very friendly horse) a little love.

            Winter is coming. Much as I like fall, I can’t help thinking about the rain (and mud) to come. Horse keeping is so much harder in the winter, especially with old horses. I’m kind of dreading it. So I’m a little sad right now. And then again, its Sept 11^th, a day which seems plenty sad enough.

            But, there is much that is good. Sunny enjoys mowing the grass outside the veggie garden…and his bright gold self always makes me smile.

            We go swimming in the ocean on pretty days.

            And we visit the fields where my husband grows begonias—which are in full bloom right now. How pretty is that?

            And there is always riding in the woods.

            Ok, last cheerful thought. My second novel, Hoofprints, will be free as a Kindle edition for the next three days. Starting today, Weds the 11^th, and going through Friday the 13^th (how fortuitous, right?). Hoofprints has always been one of the most popular books in the series, so if you’d like to check out my mystery novels featuring an equine veterinarian as a protagonist, here’s your chance. Click on the title to find the free Kindle edition. Cutter, the first book in the series, is only 99 cents. Again, click on the title to find the Kindle edition.

The Downside of Loving Horses

                                    by Laura Crum

            First of all, Happy Mother’s Day to everyone--to those with horse, dog, cat, other critter kids, as well as those with human kids. I used to resent Mother’s Day before I had a child—I felt as if I were somehow being excluded from this role as “mother,” even though I loved and cared for all my animal kids. So I want to acknowledge that everybody with a dependent creature is a mom. Happy Mother’s Day to you all.

            I have been thinking about what it means to be a good “mom” to a horse. I love my horses. I think a lot of us who read this blog love our horses. And when you love your horses, you don’t get rid of them when their useful life as a riding horse is over. No, you retire them and take care of them as long as they can be reasonably comfortable as pasture pets. And when their life is no longer any pleasure to them, you have them humanely put down. Sounds simple, doesn’t it?

            In theory it IS simple. In practice, not quite that simple. Let us take my particular situation. I have owned horses all my life. Twenty years ago I was able to buy a small horse property (actually I bought raw land and slowly built a horse property—but that story has been told before). The maximum number of horses that I can keep here is five. And not only do I have my horses, but my longtime friend, Wally, boards his horse (s) with me.

            Over the years there have been times that between Wally and me, we owned a dozen horses. Our using horses, our retired horses, rescued horses, and young horses we were training. It was a real juggling act to find places to put all of them. For many years our retired/rescued horses were turned out in a pasture, where either a friend or the pasture owner looked at them every day. When we weren’t training them, we turned the young horses out, too. And this worked pretty well for awhile.

            But our retired/rescued group got older. They all needed more care. Some of them were no longer thriving in the pasture, though they had been happy there for many years. And Wally and I got older, too. Neither one of us wanted to ride young horses any more. And neither one of us wanted to be constantly running out to the pasture to try and give adequate care to the old horse herd—on top of taking good care of the horses here at my property. So we made some tough choices a couple of years ago.

            We found good, happy homes for a couple of the younger horses that were ridable (where they are still happy today). We euthanised two of the older horses that were steadily failing. We brought my oldest horse (Gunner) home to live with my recently retired horse, Plumber. This gave me five horses at home—my two retired horses, my riding horse (Sunny), my son’s horse (Henry), and Wally’s horse (Twister). Sounds simple, right?

            In some ways it IS simple. I can take good care of the horses here at my home. They get fed three times a day—a mix of alfalfa and grass hay. The ones that need more alfalfa get that, and the ones that need more grass hay get that, too. Each horse is kept in a large (averaging 50 feet by 250 feet) paddock where they can be fed exactly what they need. They hang together under the oak trees and interact as a herd, but the old horses are safe from being bullied, and each horse is carefully fed what that horse specifically requires. Gunner gets lots of equine senior and free choice hay and is thriving at 33 years old. In green grass season the horses get turned out to graze, in the rainy season they are blanketed if needed and have run in sheds, in fly season they get fly spray and fly masks..etc as needed. I look at them many times a day and can catch problems very quickly. I can do all this because they are living here with me. So yes, in some ways, it is simple.

            Sunny grazing in the riding ring.

            Henry climbing the steps to the back porch.

            The problem? Well, the problem is that the youngest horse on the place is Twister, who is 17. Sunny is somewhere between 15 and 20 (no papers/weird teeth) and I just ballpark him as the same age as Twister. So I have two 17 year old horses, two that are about 25 (Henry and Plumber) and one that is 33. They are all doing great. But it doesn’t take a horse expert or a mathematician to tell me (or you) what is going to happen next.

            If I am committed to giving these five horses the best care I can for the rest of their lives (which I am), sometime in the next five years or so, I am apt to have five retired horses to care for and nowhere to put a useful riding horse. What’s a good horse mom to do?

            The option of a good retirement home isn’t viable for me. Every truly good retirement home I have ever heard of (and there are none that I know of near me) costs a LOT more per month than I can afford. I consider myself comfortably middle class, but it would be next to impossible for me to afford board for more than one horse in this part of the world. The option of keeping the horses in someone else’s pasture—or my own pasture (3 hours away)? Well, I’ve done that. And I have to say that even though the people who looked at my horses did their best, the horses got glanced at once every 24 hours, if that. The pastures were big and if the horses weren’t in sight of the driveway, no one was going to hike out to find them. Without being paid big bucks, no one was going to put blankets or fly spray on these horses or give them their daily ration of senior food (separating them from the herd to do so), or painkillers that they might need. I always worried that a colic or injury might not be caught for a couple of days. I went out to do the chores as often as I could (in the pasture near my home), but it was impossible for me to be there more than once a day. I just felt that the level of care wasn’t really adequate, especially as the horses got older.

            So I’m left with the fact that when my current five horses are all (possibly) too old to ride, I’ll just be taking care of them—like a good horse mom. And the truth is, I won’t really mind. I have done SO many things with these horses over the years—competed at cutting and roping, ridden in the mountains and on the beaches, taught my son to ride…etc. Every time I interact with my horses, even to feed them, all these happy moments come back to me. Time past is present along with time present. So, for me, taking care of my retired horses is OK.

            But…it wouldn’t have been OK in my 20’s and 30’s. I wanted to compete and train—most of all, I wanted to ride. Faced with this herd of old horses, I would be looking anxiously to find good homes for some of them so that I could get a new riding horse.

            I’m glad I don’t feel that way now. But I did feel that way once, and I understand the feeling. I’m wondering how many other horse moms out there are looking at an increasingly older horse herd and wondering what their options will be when none of the herd is ridable. Any thoughts or solutions?

PS—Don’t forget that Linda Benson’s book Six Degrees of Lost is on special for 99 cents until May 15^th.

And the first two books in my mystery series, Cutter and Hoofprints, are also on sale for 99 cents each. Click on the titles to find the books.

Happy Mother’s Day! (Look what my husband gave me—a hanging basket begonia he raised from crosses he made—ain’t it great?)