Judging

                                                            by Laura Crum

            Advance warning—this is not a feel-good post. If you want a feel-good post, read my previous posts, Payback Time or What Happens.

            I recently read something posted on another blog that made me think hard. I am going to discuss it here because I believe it’s important. I’m not going to mention the blog or the author of the post because I don’t want to pick on this person in particular, and I may not have the details right. But I have known many situations like this, and, to be frank, they really piss me off. And so I am going to tell it like I see it. Maybe it will help one horse. If so, it’s worth it.

            The story, as I understood it, went like this. The person had a seven year old horse who had become blind. She described him as her “heart horse,” said she loved him, but said she eventually couldn’t cope with the difficulties of keeping a blind horse. She repeated many times that she could only afford to feed two horses. I don’t remember her explaining who her second horse was. She said she could not afford to have the blind horse euthanised and hauled away. So she sold/gave him to a horse trader, with the clear understanding that he might end up going to the sale and going to slaughter. The story implied that she used to judge people who did things like this and now she knew better. She said how heartbroken she was. The blogger who posted the story said something about not judging. Those are the facts as I understood them—with a lot of weeping, wailing and such thrown in.

            I spent several days thinking about this story. And the very many stories that I personally know of that went something like this. And you know what? I am judging. I think this sort of behavior is really wrong.

            The person who wrote this post sounded young to me. I understand that young people make mistakes. I made plenty—though I never did this exact thing. In fact, as a young woman in my twenties, I stepped up and found a home for a horse that my uncle had been going to haul to the sale to (probably) be bought by the killers. But anyway, young people make mistakes. There are horses that I wish I had done more to help, that is for sure. And I also wish I could have told the young woman who wrote that post, “Don’t do this. You sound like a good person. This act will keep you awake at night, full of regret and grief, when you are in your fifties.”

            Because if this gal has the money to feed two horses, she has the ability to come up with the cost of euthanasia and hauling. Most vets take payments. The money she was spending to feed the blind horse could have been used to make payments until the cost of the euthanasia was paid off. If her other horse was a useful horse, she could have sold him to a decent home and raised the money that way. What I read between the lines (not said, possibly not true) was that she wanted to replace the blind horse with a horse she could use—and thus the money used to feed the blind horse, which could have been payments for his humane end and disposal of his body (whether shot by someone who is capable—which can be cheaper-- or euthed by a vet, whether the remains hauled away in a truck or buried with a backhoe—makes no difference to the horse), was needed to feed a prospective new horse.

            And you know, I have no respect for that point of view. If this person “loved” that blind horse, she owed him better than the possibility of being hauled to slaughter. If you can afford to feed two horses, you can afford to deal with putting a horse down. A blind horse has VERY little chance of finding a good home. If she couldn’t cope with him (and she loved him), what would make her think that anyone else would want to cope with him?

            I totally understand not wanting to deal with a blind horse. If any of my much-loved horses went blind, I’d probably put them down. But it boggles my mind that anyone who says that they love a horse could ever, ever allow that horse to go to the sale and be bought by kill buyers.

            The thing is, I’ve known lots of people who did this. I will never forget a likable roper I know telling me all about his favorite horse of all time and how much he loved that horse. I asked where the horse was, since the guy wasn’t roping on him. And this is what he said:

            “Well, he went lame a couple of years ago; it was his stifles, and we rested him and tried to get him sound, but it just didn’t work. Every time I used him he went lame again. So, about six months ago, I had to send him to the sale.”

            My jaw must have dropped a foot. I could not believe what I was hearing. It would not have shocked me, not at all, to hear he put the horse down. But to let a much loved lame horse be hauled to slaughter in Mexico? I could not believe it. I literally did not know what to say. I think I just walked away.

            The thing is, people, this is not about you, and your broken heart, and others not judging you, and wanting to spend what money you have on a horse you can use…etc. This is not about YOU. It’s about the horse. And how much he must suffer. Surely if you say you love a horse, you will spare him unnecessary suffering? How could you not?

            To say it is about money, other than a situation where your children don’t have food or you can’t pay the rent (and in such a situation you absolutely should NOT own a horse, anyway) is a complete cop out. It is not about money, it is about priorities. If you love a horse, you prioritize what is best for him (or at the very least you try to spare him suffering)--even if it causes you to have to give up something you want (like another horse that you can actually use). In my opinion, the blind horse should have been given a humane end if the gal didn’t want to keep him or couldn’t find a home for him (and I do understand that it would be very difficult/impossible to find such a horse a good home). Yeah, it would be sad for her to put him down, yeah, she would still be heartbroken, but the horse would not suffer. And that is what counts. I’m willing to bet that some day this young woman will see it this way, too, but by then it will be too late to make a different choice.

            It is definitely the kindest possible end to put a horse down at his familiar home, whether by bullet or injection. There is absolutely no question that a reasonably humane end for a horse is possible, if you will put the needs of the horse before your own stupid frivolous wishes or your cowardice. (There is very large group of horse owners who simply don’t want to deal with the trauma of putting a horse down and think sending him to the sale or giving him to a horse trader is somehow better—perhaps the horse will “find a good home.” It’s possible, but very unlikely in the case of blind or crippled or unbroken or old horses. What is really at work here is it’s easier for the owner to think that the horse may find a good home than to face the horse’s death head on. In short, the owner—with a bit of denial—finds the horse trader/sale option “easier.” Easier for the owner, but much harder on the horse.) There is much suffering involved for a horse in being taken to the sale and hauled to slaughter. Sorry, but it’s true. It is a really terrible thing to do to a horse that you pretend to love. And a blind horse or a lame horse is going to have an even worse time of it than a horse without weaknesses. An old horse that is bonded to his companions and home will suffer an enormous amount of distress and fear on top of the physical suffering.

            Every single person who can afford to feed two horses can afford to give a horse a humane end. That’s the straight truth. If you are not willing to do this, you just shouldn’t own horses.

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.

Right or Wrong?

                                                by Laura Crum

            OK, this isn’t a horse question—but I guess it could be. It’s an animal question. Something happened the other day that really upset me. I’m not sure if I’m right to be upset. Maybe I’m totally wrong. You tell me.

            Before I begin, I want to warn you that this isn’t a very pleasant post. Owners of expensive purebred dogs would do best to click on the “X” now. Because though I like many of you personally, I am in general opposed to the concept of paying a lot of money for a purebred dog when many sweet, intelligent dogs are euthanised for lack of a home. So don’t read this if that stance offends you, because I’m not intending to pick on anyone, except perhaps the acquaintance I talk about here. I am, however, going to state my point of view and express some of my feelings.

            I have a friend/acquaintance that, for various reasons, I see from time to time. We both have kids, we both have animals. She has rescued a couple of stray cats; she has a horse. I think she takes good care of her animals. We have things in common, obviously. But she recently did something that, quite truthfully, left me aghast.

            My sort of friend has had a small dog the whole time I have known her. Small and furry dog named Maxi. Good with the kids and cats, getting older. Sometimes the friend would complain that Maxi was getting incontinent and deaf. I have an older dog who is getting incontinent and deaf, so I sympathized. We would both remark about how our old dogs still seemed to enjoy life. And Maxi clearly was a happy little dog.

            And then, a few months ago this friend started talking about getting a puppy. I had acquired a puppy—a little rescue mutt—a couple of years ago, and I immediately waxed lyrical about what a great addition she was and how she has perked my older dog up…etc. But it soon became evident that my friend had something else in mind.

            She asked my opinion about Labs—because she wanted to buy a purebred Lab puppy. I have to admit, I took a deep breath. Amongst my friends/acquaintances, I can think of roughly ten people who have bought a purebred Lab puppy in the last couple of years. With all the sweet, wonderful dogs in this world that are being euthanised for lack of a home, these folks had to spend a thousand dollars or more on a purebred Labrador retriever—the trendy dog of the moment. This particular woman couldn’t decide on whether she wanted yellow or chocolate (rather like deciding on a piece of furniture), and what did I think of Labs?

            I told her the truth. (She asked me, remember? I didn’t hand out my unsolicited opinion.) I said I had grown up with a Lab and it was a sweet dog, very enthusiastic and high energy, and pretty stupid, by my lights. Almost every other Lab I have ever met could be described in these words. The smartest one I know is described by her owner as not too bright. (He used to have cowdogs, so he knows the difference.) Another Lab owner that I like said that she preferred dogs that weren’t too smart. Good for her. She knows what she’s signed up for.

            I told my friend that I found Labs boring, but if that’s the sort of dog you wanted, fine. Me, I like smart dogs. My Queensland heelers could outthink plenty of people, and the two terrier crosses I have now are both plenty bright. I made a brief plea for the friend to consider a rescue dog (which was shrugged off), and then I asked if she thought Maxi would mind a new puppy. The friend made no answer to this. I got the impression that I hadn’t produced the feedback she wanted (as in Labs are wonderful, I like the chocolate ones --or yellow ones--best), and she was done talking to me about it. Oh well.

            So last month I ran into my friend and her new Lab puppy (chocolate, in case you were curious). The puppy was cute, of course, but in my opinion not one/tenth as cute as my little terrier cross mutt. But to each his own. I petted the puppy and looked around. No Maxi.

            “Where’s Maxi?” I asked.

The friend glanced pointedly at her young children, shook her head, and said nothing.

It took me a minute, but I got it. And I have to admit, it upset me. I said my goodbyes as quickly as I could and I got out of there. Because I didn’t want to contemplate the fact that my friend had obviously put her old dog down so she could get a new puppy. Old dog was inconvenient, so let’s get rid of her.

I was and am afraid to ask the friend directly, and its none of my business, but the last we talked Maxi was doing fine, just like my old dog. Yes, my old dog is a nuisance in some ways, but she’s been my dog for fifteen years. She’s been my little boy’s companion, as Maxi was my friend’s children’s companion. She’s a sweet dog who still trots happily down to the barnyard to feed the horses with me. I cannot understand the mindset that would put an old friend down because she is inconvenient. Because you want a new, trendy, purebred dog and you don’t want to cope with the old dog any more. I can’t stop thinking about it.

So here’s my question. Am I wrong to be aghast here? I have said nothing to my “friend,” though I am avoiding her. I don’t plan on inflicting my thoughts upon her. I’m not even sitting in judgment on her. How could I? I don’t really know the exact circumstances; I’m not in charge of the morals of others. But I do have a right to my feelings and my feelings are appalled.

Any thoughts?

PS--Here's a photo of my two not purebred or trendy, but very sweet (and were both free) dogs. They are wonderful family dogs. The little black dog (Star) is as smart as any dog I've ever owned. And you've got to admit, they are entertaining just to look at (!)

            

On Being There Until the End

by Laura Crum

Not so very long ago I read a blog post with a similar title to this, written by a blogger who runs a retirement farm for horses. She had some interesting and worthwhile things to say, along the lines that the horse doesn’t care if the owner is there at the end, and that choosing to place your horse in a good retirement home (and paying the bills for his care) is one of the best things you can give your horse. She also had some (to my eyes) rather scathing comments about people who didn’t want to send their old horses away and who thought it important to be there at “the end”.

Now I agree with some of what this blogger said and from what I can tell, she runs a great retirement farm. But she missed a few important points, in my view. I wrote a comment listing these points, and lo and behold, it was not posted. I don’t know if got filtered by accident, or she just wasn’t willing to post any comments that didn’t entirely second her own opinion. So today I’m going to enlarge on what I said in my “unposted” comment in reply to her blog—because I think it’s important.

First off, the notion that many of the horses at her farm don’t seem to recognize or be interested in their owners when said owners visit makes perfect sense to me. People, when you send your horse to a retirement farm, its exactly the same as selling your horse to a truly good home. From the horse’s point of view, that is. The horse doesn’t know you are still paying the bills, and that you still own him and care about him. From the horse’s point of a view, he has made the transition to a new home and new equine friends and new human owners. The people who run the farm and feed him and care for him are his owners now. He is interested in them (if he’s interested in people at all), not his used-to-be owner.

There’s nothing wrong with this. Sometimes sending a horse to a retirement farm is the best choice for both horse and owner. But its good to be clear about it. This is the reason many of these retired horses at the farm show no particular interest in or recognition of their owner— with whom they may once have had a great bond. If an owner doesn’t mind this transition and knows its what’s best for their horse because they are no longer able to give him a good life at home, more power to that owner.

But…people who don’t feel that they would ever want to send their old horse “away”, are not to be ridiculed. If a person has the ability to keep their retired horse at home (or in a nearby boarding facility) where the horse has plenty of room to move around, the company of other horses, and good feed and care, that is, in my eyes, the best possible choice. No matter how good the retirement farm, it simply doesn’t offer the incredible benefit of looking at your sweet old friend every day, seeing he is happy, and hearing him nicker when he sees you. And, in my view these things are priceless.

I have two retired horses on my property. One is Gunner, who has been featured throughout my mystery series starring equine vet Gail McCarthy. Gunner is 32 years old—I have owned him since he was three (see my February blog post “Feeling Good” for more about Gunner). For ten years Gunner was my main riding horse—we competed at many events, covered many miles. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to see his blaze face and bright eyes every day.

Gunner lives in a big paddock where he can run and buck and play (and he does) and socialize over the fence with other horses. He has a shed and gets free choice hay (and equine senior feed night and morning). His weight is good, he is sound, and his attitude is happy. I kept him turned out in a neighbor’s pasture for awhile (with other horses) and I honestly think he seems more content here in my barnyard, with all the human and horse activity that goes on. My son and I pet him and give him cookies and though he doesn’t see or hear well any more, he really is thriving overall. So his life is good; and my life is better because he’s with me. I missed him when he didn’t live here and am happier now that he’s home. Gunner seems happier, too. Isn’t that what its all about?

My other retired horse is Plumber. Plumber is also a featured “character” in my mystery series, where his registered name is “Plumb Smart”. My real life Plumber is “Plumb Brown”. Plumber is 23 this year and I bought him as an unbroken three year old from my uncle, who raised him; I did all this colt’s training myself. I have known this horse since he was born—in fact I was the first one to see him. Plumber was my main mount for twelve years and we competed at team roping and completed many mountain pack trips. I gave my little boy rides on Plumber when my child was a toddler. Plumber has lived in his same large paddock on my property for twenty years. He is completely dialed into life here—knows exactly when I am going to turn him out to graze—has involved relationships with his equine companions of many years. He nickers every time he sees me, whether it’s feeding or grazing time or not. Does anyone really suppose that the best thing for Plumber would be to uproot him from his comfortable life and move him to a retirement farm? Even if it was the best farm in the world?

Below you see Plumber about six years ago, when he was 17 years old and still in full use as a riding horse and team roping horse (we retired him at 20, still sound, because he gave us signs that he didn’t enjoy working any more). Look at that sweet face. How could anyone choose to send a horse like this away if they didn’t absolutely HAVE to?

And yes, I know, my kid and I are not wearing helmets. If I had it to do over again, we would be. But this photo was taken before I began blogging—and interacting with so many horse folks on the internet. No one in my real life horse world wears a helmet—and their kids don’t either. I did buy my kid a helmet (and made sure he wore it always) about a month after this photo was taken—at the same time I bought him a pony for his 5^th B-day. And, in my defense, we rode Plumber just as you see for many years, with absolutely no problems. My conviction that Plumber would not dump me, and that I could hang on to my kid if the horse spooked (and he did spook occasionally), was perfectly accurate. And yes, to those who have an eye for detail, I am wearing pirate pants and clogs. I ride in pretty much whatever I have on.

Anyway, Plumber is a very sweet little horse, and he knows who his people are, and it would make me, and I think also him, very sad if I had to send him away.

Mind you, if I couldn’t keep him here for whatever reason, and chose to send him to a retirement farm, he’d get through the transition. Horses do. Sometimes its harder than others and a horse will really mope for awhile, but eventually the new place would be home. But given that I can keep him here in what has been his true home and not force a big transition on him late in life, I think its much better choice for him (and me) to keep him here.

Yes, it’s an inconvenience in many ways. Gunner and Plumber take up two of the four large paddocks that I have for horsekeeping and I get no “use” out of them. But it is more than worth it to me to have them with me—for my sake as well as their sakes. I love them. I don’t want to break the bond between us. I want them to remain “my” horses. And yes, I want to be there at the end—to take upon myself the responsibility of when is the right time to make that choice and to insure that it goes as smoothly as possible. This is not something that I want to give away to someone else, no matter how experienced and well intentioned that person may be. These are my horses. It is my privilege to care for them until the end of their lives. I don’t want to send them away if I don’t absolutely have to. And I don’t think this is a point of view that should be ridiculed in any way.

If I truly didn’t have room for them or couldn’t keep them in an appropriate way, or if I lived in a harsh climate where I felt the winters were too hard on them, I might indeed send them to that retirement farm for their sakes. But in my own circumstances I think it a far better choice to keep them with me, and I feel sure that many others would benefit from making the same choice.

So my point is not that retirement farms are a bad choice. They can be a very good choice, depending on your circumstances. A much better choice than selling an old horse and not keeping track of him (which is a terrible/evil choice, in my view). A good retirement farm is a responsible, loving choice. But the best possible choice is to be able to keep your old horse with you and enjoy his company, and be there with him at “the end”. The rewards of doing this are huge, and I’m pretty sure that others who have followed this path will agree. So…no ridiculing those of us who do NOT want to send our old horses away, and who want to be there with them at the end. Not without a rebuttal, anyway.

Please feel free to give your own thoughts on this subject in the comments.

And…my fourth book, “Roped” is now available on Kindle for 99 cents. I have to say that re-reading this book (which I haven’t read in over ten years) was kind of fun. I almost have to pat myself on the back. The book is set in the ranching/team roping world of central California—the world where I spent my twenties and thirties—and the story brought the working ranches of my youth back so vividly I almost felt that I was there again. The gathers in rough country, the horse wrecks, team roping contests, and hours spent hanging out in the local bar with the cowboys, everybody talking horses….it’s all there. Along with an exciting mystery plot. I mean, even though I knew how it was going to end (duh), I was still pretty gripped.

OK—its silly to blow my own horn. Of course I like the book—it’s my book. But I do think that any of you who have the slightest tinge of interest in the ranching life will enjoy this mystery.

Anyway, Cutter, Hoofprints, Roughstock, and Roped—the first four books in the Gail McCarthy series, are now available on Kindle for 99 cents. Click on the titles to go there.

Also, anyone in the continental US who would like a free review copy of my latest book, “Barnstorming,” (12^th in the series), can have one by emailing Susan Daniel at susan@danielpublishing.com with your snail mail address. Your only obligation is to post a short review (can be a couple of sentences) on your blog or on Amazon.

And last thing, we FINALLY updated my archaic website, which I’ve pretty much ignored for oh, about the last ten years. It was very 90’s—and that’s putting it kindly. It’s still a work in progress, but thanks to my husband, it now has a slightly more current look and up to date info. We are going to keep working on it over the next couple of months and hopefully it will soon be pretty interesting. Check it out at www.lauracrum.com

Sad

by Laura Crum

I’m very sad today. My horse partner made the decision yesterday (with my agreement) to put down our two pasture pets who have been going downhill for the past year. ET was 31 and Rebby was 27. Despite our best efforts at feed and care these two would not maintain their weight—ET could not see or hear much any more. With the winter storms coming and both Wally and I completely maxed out on the expense and time involved in trying to keep these horses in borderline OK shape, he finally decided it was time. We both felt terrible, but I couldn’t really argue with him. He very kindly agreed to hold them while they were euthanised—I don’t think I could have done it. I took care of these horses for over ten years and tried very hard to give them a good quality of life in the pasture. Neither was ever my personal horse, but I did train Reb (who belonged to Wally). It is so hard to draw an arbitrary line like this. Neither horse had an acute failure going on. They were just skinny old horses who were slowly failing, despite the fact that we were putting out about $500 a month in supplemental feed to try to help them. ET had a constant mildly snotty nose. Both horses looked pretty rough. Nothing was going to get any better. I don't think we were wrong. It's just very sad.

When?

by Laura Crum

I’m currently facing a very difficult question. I’m sure you all can guess what I mean. Among my retired/rescue herd, ET, who is 31, is going downhill. Those of you who have read this blog for awhile will know that I have written about this exact situation before. But every time (and there were several), ET pulled out of it. I would worm him at a two week interval, up his feed, and in a month he’d look better and on we went. But this time the situation is a bit more complicated.

I have six pasture pets on this property about fifteen minutes from my home. Four live in the “big” pasture—about forty acres that grows pretty good grass year round—we feed hay from Sept through December in an average year and the horses usually look fine. The two oldest horses, both 31 right now, live in the two separate smaller pastures (about five acres each) and are fed year round equine senior delight (this is not Purina Equine Senior, but a complete feed made by a small mill around here that works wonders on all old horses I have tried it on), in the amount each needs, which in ET’s case means free choice, as he can no longer chew hay up, or graze much (no teeth). And this has been working pretty well for several years.

I have agonized over putting ET down off and on, as the horse will, for no reason that we can see, sometimes start eating less and losing weight, or not eating less but still losing weight, but every time, as I wrote above, I have been able to turn the trend around and he looks better. This is all complicated by the fact that as old horses will do, he seems to have lost much of his sight and hearing and at times seems a bit confused. For several years now, every fall, I wonder if its right to take him through another winter. This fall, he once again began to get thinner, and my friend Wally, who helps care for the horses with me, insisted it was time and we should set a date.

We both felt sad at the thought, but lets face it, ET is very old for a horse who was ALWAYS a hard keeper. Were it not for our willingness to pump a lot of very expensive feed into him, he would be dead long ago. Neither Wally nor I are wealthy people and the financial burden, though not the bottom line, is a factor. But both of us really want to do what’s right for ET. The cold, wet storms are coming and though we blanket him, and there is shelter, he often stands out in the rain looking miserable. Is it right to try to keep this skinny old horse going through another winter? Is it in his best interests, even leaving our best interests out of it?

And then there is Rebby. Rebby is part of the group that lives in the big field and he is in his mid/late 20’s now, and is no longer keeping his weight on in the pasture. In order to take proper care of Rebby, we really should put him in one of the smaller fields and supplement him with the senior feed. But we can’t put him in with either of the two older horses as he’d be dominant and would take the feed they need to survive. If ET were gone, Rebby could have that field and be able to thrive.

If we lived out there, or had endless free time, we could bring Reb in and supplement him, and then put him back out. But Wally and I have busy lives and we don’t live there and its all we can do to make it out there every morning to feed, with the occasional extra trip to blanket, or meet the farrier…etc. We divide these chores between us and periodically moan over the money and time we spend on these perfectly useless horses, but we just keep doing it. We’ve been caring for the horse herd in this pasture for over ten years. In that time we’ve euthanized two horses due to the maladies of old age, and both were pretty clear cases. One had gotten so crippled he could hardly hobble without major pain killers twice a day, and one went down with a stroke/seizure and couldn’t get up. Of course, nature abhors a vacuum, so these two horses were promptly replaced by two others, one of which was ET.

ET makes no sense at all. He was never my personal horse. He was a team roping horse that I saw at many ropings, being traded from cowboy to cowboy. Nobody ever cared much about him that I could tell, but he gave good service to many. He was perhaps the oddest looking horse I’d ever seen, and yet a very effective performer. He was also dog gentle, little kid gentle, and endured several very abusive owners without protest. Just kept doing a good job. But he kept being put on the market—I suppose because he was so odd looking, and each time he was older and the price was less. The last time he was 18 years old, and it was easy to see what his eventual fate would be. So I bought him.

Yep, I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer. For awhile I was able to farm him out as a kid’s horse, but ET was always a terribly hard keeper. One home returned him because they couldn’t afford to feed him, and the second, as I discovered, after a few years lost a job and didn’t feed him enough. When I saw how thin he was I took him back and put him in the field where I had a vacancy due to an old horse that had died. And I have kept him and cared for him ever since.

But even with all the equine senior feed in the world and a good pasture, it was hard to keep weight on ET. He’s a long skinny snake of a horse by nature (with short legs and a very long neck and one eye). He looks a little like a dachshund crossed upon a giraffe. Honest. I’ve done a pretty good job keeping weight on him, but it ain’t easy.

So, OK, I sadly agree with my friend Wally that maybe we ought to put ET down this fall. And the next day I go out there to have a good long look at the horse and see what he tells me. Well…

My son and I walk out in the field, where ET is standing, looking pretty content. Its sunny, with a breeze, and I note that ET still has plenty of equine senior in his feeder. He polishes it off in a leisurely way, over the course of a day. I walk up to the old horse, talking to him, and he swings his one eye around so he can see me and snuffles the hand I hold out to him. That one eye looks pretty bright to me. I note that I cannot actually SEE ribs or hipbones, though I can darn sure feel them. ET is getting fuzzy with his winter coat, which helps. But I don’t think he looks that bad. I rub on him a little while and then walk off to check the water.

ET watches us go and then, after a minute or two, he ambles towards his feeder. And then, who knows why, he breaks into a trot. And gee whiz, the old fart still trots sound. Rickety but sound. And he looks comfortable.

My son says tentatively, “ET looks pretty good.”

“Yeah,” I say. And I know right then I am not going to put this horse down. Not until he looks like he needs it. Which he does not at this moment. The idea of walking out into that sunny pasture and catching this sweet old horse and leading him out to get the green needle fills my heart with revulsion. ET is not suffering. He may not be exactly thriving but he looks content. He sure doesn’t look like he needs killing. And I, quite frankly, can’t bring myself to do it.

BUT. The other reasons still apply. How am I gonna feel when I walk out there this winter and see him looking miserable in the rain? How about if he goes down and lays there some cold nasty night unable to get up and we don’t find him until morning? Am I going to wish then that I’d had the heart to put him down now?

I’ve heard it said that its better to do it a day to soon than a day too late. But what if you are six months too soon or a year too soon. Is that doing them a favor? Aargh!

Let alone that I want to act in ET’s best interests, it is still totally impractical for me to be stretching us financially just to keep this one very old, borderline OK horse going, especially since I need a way to properly take care of Rebby. Practically speaking, I SHOULD put ET down. But I can’t. It feels wrong.

So when is it going to feel right? After he’s suffering? Is that a good idea? Burt and Pistol (the two old horses we euthanized) clearly needed to be put down. But ET seems to be on a slippery downhill slope and I don’t know where to draw the line. I just know I could not have led him out to the vet for the kill shot on that sunny day when he looked at me with a bright eye and snuffled me gently, then trotted over to his feeder. But when exactly am I going to feel right about it? The proverbial day “too late?” After he’s already gone through too much?

My other 31 year old horse, Gunner, looks fabulous—nobody who sees him believes how old he is. He has pasture, gets a heavy flake of alfalfa every morning and half the senior feed ET gets, and he’s doing just great. And my previous horse, Burt, survived into his late thirties in very good flesh and spirits on this same diet—right up until the morning he had his stroke. ET is just a VERY hard keeper. I guess its possible that I could devise a diet that would be more ideal for ET, but to what purpose exactly? Wally and I both feel maxed out on the amount of time, energy and money we are putting into our pasture pets already. (And for those who read my last month’s post on “Good Enough—Or Not?”, we did end up rebuilding the worst section of fence—at our own expense.) And its not as though I can make ET young again. No matter what, his inevitable end is drawing near.

Argh! I am frustrated and worried, and I have to admit, if you gave me a magic wand I might make that whole lot of old horses disappear. I have enough on my plate just caring for the four horses here at home. But there is no magic wand. There is the kill shot, and if I do not have the heart to kill a horse than I must keep taking adequate care of him. But what is adequate care in this case? I cannot afford to spend more money on ET than I am already doing, so diagnostic vet work is out of the question, and I don’t really think it is appropriate at this point. I don’t have a cushy box stall to put him in for the winter, even supposing he would care for that, which I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t. The horse is sound and not in obvious pain—he’s failing because he’s getting very old and always had a tricky metabolism. No magic pill from the vet is going to fix that—at least in any significant/permanent way. And nobody is going to take this problem off my hands. In the springtime, when I see all these old guys grazing on green grass in the sunshine and looking very happy, my heart just fills up with joy and it all seems so worthwhile. Heading into winter storms with an old horse that is slowly going downhill it seems like a very heavy burden to bear. Whatever I choose is wrong. Or at least not right.

Its easy to say ET is old and failing and a burden therefore its OK to put him down. Its easy to say that’s the best choice for him. It’s a lot harder (at least for me) to look him in his kind, bright eye and decide to kill him here and now when he doesn’t seem to be suffering. I’m stumped.

OK—anybody have any insights? I am pretty worn out with worrying about this and a bit, OK more than a bit, depressed over it, as I’m sure you can tell. Or maybe its just the autumn doldrums, which others have referenced on their blogs. Whatever it is, I feel sad and confused.