Sunday, November 04, 2007

 

letting him go



I planted Big Guy’s hydrangea yesterday.

That planter has been sitting in the yard for over a month now. The beautiful urn that Kathy and Cathi purchased the day of Big Guy’s crossing. An urn filled with vines and candy corn-like flowers and a huge, blooming hydrangea plant. It has been propped up with wood and tied to the corral fence, just waiting for me to plant the plant and store the urn for the winter. It’s been there since right after the Open Barn, in fact.

I’ve been working on planting some select perennials on DukeDuke these past few weeks. A huge, donated mum on his head like a crown. The rusty, tall windmill top behind him for an architectural accent with an Autumn Joy sedum in its base. Lily trees – eight of them that should each grow to six feet and bloom most of the summer – in front of him. A huge Allium at his feet. Select plants in select places for one of the original Giants.

And yesterday, Big Guy’s hydrangea, too.

It has taken me over a month to work up the courage. And finally, the threat of freezing ground convinced me that I could not wait any longer. Couldn’t avoid it or conveniently put it off for other things that needed to be done before winter. So I cut the plastic and dug the hole on Thursday. Everything was ready. And then late yesterday afternoon, I finally planted the plant.

Seems easy enough, doesn’t it? Get your hands in the dirt and plant the darn plant! But my heart was screaming as I tenderly placed the roots and surrounded them with new, freshly purchased soil to give this little blooming wonder its best chance at survival.

And that’s what my heart is screaming about. A chance for survival. I am still wrestling with my supervision and decisions and responsibilities and failures that day that Big Guy died. It seems impossible for me to accept what happened and to let him go.

I’ve talked with many of you and asked some of you what you think happened. Some of those that were here at the time say it was something else going on. Some of you looked me right in the eye and confirmed my fears that I had killed him. I have called several times and discussed the day, the decisions, the symptoms, and the results with Isaac and each time the man patiently listens as I search for an answer. Each time we conclude we will never know.

And I have re-called four of the six veterinarians that I originally called and re-discussed the events with each of them. One local vet, I actually made an appointment with and went for an office visit to discuss everything all over again.

Each and every one of the vets has concluded that it was not an overdose. That our steps may not have been preferred or typical but were not, in themselves, fatal. Each one has concluded that the horse had something else going on and the situation and other factors on that particular day simply triggered his death.

The bottle of meds is in a ditch somewhere.

And I hear them. Really, I do. It’s just that I can’t let him go…

Big Guy was a very sensitive animal. And I don’t know if he was like that before the shootings and the beatings and the starvation? Maybe he was always sensitive and shook whenever you put a lead rope on his halter. Or shook whenever you fed him. Or shook whenever he got his feet trimmed. I don’t know if he shook before he came here, but I know he sure shook after he got here.

Every time I brought feed to him, his shoulder flesh shook and his feet danced. Every time I put a lead rope on him and walked with him anywhere, his shoulder flesh shook. He was stressed the first Christmas when he was in the barn for Mr. & Mrs. Claus. And he was stressed in the trailer at Applebee’s® last December. Anything out of the ordinary or the least bit of excitement and his feet started moving and his flesh would begin to quiver.

Was this a result of his abuse? I’m tending to think not. The animal was unbelievably sensitive to touch and maybe he was like that his entire life. Easily stressed and so if that was true, the shootings and the beatings and the starvation would have caused tremendous stress on his heart and nervous systems. Maybe the damage extended beyond the flesh and in to his internal organs…

And then there were the symptoms of colic all summer long. The first time it happened, I walked him out of it, but I moved his feeding spot from his corner to the doorway of the barn. Easier to get him walking straight out the door than to have to take the time to get him up in the barn and out the gates to the driveway. I used eight tubes of paste to ease whatever was causing his guts to hurt during last summer. Something was troubling and hurting him and I was always watching him out of the corner of my eye. Looking for the signs of pain in his gut. Initially, I thought it was just the heat since he was so big and the heat was so oppressive for him. Maybe…

And the meds we used that day? The dosage is 1 cc per 100 pounds. I used 4 cc’s – barely enough for Gracie let alone a 2,300 pound Big Guy. But on that day, was it too much?

One of the vets has described to me a technical term of “incidental responses”. I think that’s the term. Anyway, that’s the term I remember. It is the unexpected and unexplained response one sometimes gets when doing something that has been done before and has not resulted in this same response. It’s a technical term for the unexplained, it sounds like. This vet used it to explain Big Guy’s death that day.

And this vet went on to tell me that what was happening that day to Big Guy was my caring for him. I was putting shoes on him to help the cracks in his feet. I was not hurting him or beating him or doing anything wrong. I was trying to help him! And he died. All the while, during his explanation, my tears were flowing and finally he said, “I don’t want you – no I insist! – that you not carry this, Sandy. You were trying to help the horse. You gave him a second chance – a chance that he would not have had otherwise. He had many wonderful days and months here. You gave him a second chance.

Does all of this help me wrestle with his death and allow me to let him go? Not a damn bit.

If you know me in the slightest, you know I take The Three Promises very seriously. And that Mission Statement says, “I will watch over.” I tell each and every horse those things when I first touch them. I tell them that I will watch over and protect them and help them and do whatever is humanly possible to care for them. And knowing how I explained all of this to Big Guy as we walked down that driveway from that Barn of Death, I know, too, that I broke my promises to Big Guy.



And in my mind, I remember that I promised him that morning that I would feed him breakfast after he had his new shoes on. Big Guy died with an empty stomach. Of all the stupid things to carry around, that one hurts the deepest and the most…

I have and still carry regrets around with me. Regrets that I didn’t respond sooner or recognize something sooner with a horse. Regrets that I didn’t take that big gelding in the kill pen with Bonita on that Thanksgiving Day. Regrets that I wasn’t in the barns at 3am instead of 4am on the day that Big Jim crossed. Regrets that I didn’t see Frannie lying down earlier in the day. These regrets I have and can deal with. They cause me pain and hurt and I learn from them but they don’t cause me to not let go. This one causes me to not let go. And time does not seem to be working its wonder this time…

So, begrudgingly, I planted the Big Guy hydrangea yesterday. And I planted it on DukeDuke. Hoping that some of the peace and gentleness of DukeDuke would help me and allow me to go in the corral beyond only the first twenty feet. That some of the kindness of that big, blind Belgian would flow up through his Memory Bed and get under my nails. Seep in to my skin and help me to go to Big Guy and plead for his forgiveness. And then try to forgive myself. And finally, to let go of him.

It was late yesterday afternoon – three o’clock or so – and I heard the door to the kitchen open. I came to the door and there stood MaKenna. Of all days, there she stood with a special present in her hands for me. How timely, MaKenna. How timely.

In her hands was a white, wooden frame with a picture of Big Guy in it. Now MaKenna had no way of knowing what I was struggling with or had yet to do that day. But there she stood, just the same, with Big Guy in her hands. A gift for me from her Aunt and herself. A white wooden frame with a golden starfish in the lower left corner. Over the face of Big Guy was written:


Safe journey, my friend.



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