When is the When?

By Maddy B. Gray

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Phoenix, my lovely paint, is 30. I adopted her five years ago.

Over the past year, it’s been an increasing challenge to keep weight on her and take care of her within my means. Giving her every supplement on the planet and swaddling her with constant care are not feasible options.
I write this piece knowing there will be plenty of critics with suggestions for better feed and better care. There will be people who will tell me I’m cruel.
Then, there’ll be others who will call for the immediate “gift” of euthanasia.
There will be plenty of critics with suggestions for better feed and better care. There will be people who will tell me I’m cruel.
Then, there’ll be others who will call for the immediate “gift” of euthanasia.
It runs the gamut.

Mine, like any other, is a personal journey and dilemma. But the other night, as I came in teary-eyed from the barn, I realized writing about it and putting it out there for discussion was something I should do. We’re a community, right?
So, with a box of Kleenex and a cooling cup of coffee, here goes:

Phoenix quids most of her hay and grass. Three times a day, she gets a ton of soaked beet pulp and alfalfa pellets added to her complete senior feed and Cocosoya oil. She gets forage, too.
Most days, she will stand in her stall while the others are out grazing.
This past month, I’ve noticed her hanging her head low for long periods of time. When we pony across the street, she’s slower and slower. Sometimes I leave her home because I think she’d rather not make the effort.

Give her more grain.
Give her more forage.
Give her more supplements.
Give her something for her elderly aches and pains.
I could do all that and quadruple my costs.
But to what end?
I don’t think she’s having much fun anymore. And it’s not because she’s starving.
I think about winter. Do I want to put her through it?

When is the When?

Sometimes the quality of life question is an easy call – suffering is obvious, with no good end in sight.

But what about Phoenix?

If it weren’t for my care, she wouldn’t have lived this long. Do I re-up my efforts? How long is too long?

If I choose euthanasia am I doing her a favor or snuffing out an unfulfilled life?

If I choose euthanasia am I doing her a favor or snuffing out an unfulfilled life?I remember going to a funeral recently and the son of the deceased praised his mother for the very clear wishes she put down on paper before her terrible stroke. When it came time to disconnect life support systems, there was no question of what she would have wanted.
“It’s never easy,” he said. “But with those documents in front of us, it took our self-doubt away. In essence, it had been her decision, not ours. We knew we were doing the right thing.”

If only I could sit down with Phoenix and plan for the end.If only I could sit down with Phoenix and plan for the end.

So maybe you bring in outside voices and ask for opinions. But who are they to have the answer? If they agree, are they right?

In the end, it’s still a personal call. We do the best we can. We try to be good leaders.

In the wild, of course, there would be no mercy. The herd would have dealt with it one way or another – by leaving her behind, by bullying her further into starvation, etc.
I see these behaviors in microscale at my barn:
I used to feed Phoenix out in the open with her barn mates. She had a curled lip for anyone who dared come close when she ate.
Not anymore.
Her status has dropped from Number 1 to Number 3 out of 4.
So I close Phoenix in her stall so she can eat in peace.

Dave Matthews Band sings:
“Funny the way it is, if you think about it
One kids walks 10 miles to school, another’s dropping out
Funny the way it is, no right or wrong…”

A horse’s life depends on chance and circumstance, too.
How well a horse does, how healthy she stays, how long she lives aren’t things she can control.
We make the difference between happy, productive lives or sedentary, unhealthy ones. We can make the difference between life and death for a horse.
That’s the heavy blessing of horse ownership.

To be continued…

The End of October, The End of a Life

A few months ago, I told myself that it'd be best to put down Phoenix when she came off grass for the season.
She'd been doing much better on grass than hay. When I gave her hay at night, she looked at it and looked at me.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" she seemed to ask me.
And so this last week, when my horses were back from the pasture for good (until next May), I made the dreaded call to my longtime friend and veterinarian, Dr. Linda Barton.

These thoughts, as I wrote about earlier, bubbled to the surface as I dealt with the reckoning:
I could, with more time and money, keep her alive for a few more years.
Or, in contrast: She would have been euthanized already at someone else's farm. Hers was not a sudden injury. Some days, as I watched her and groomed her thin coat, I changed my mind a dozen times. Some days, I was mired in the mud of indecision.

My friend, Kim, happened to email from Idaho where she is working with Martin and Jen Black on their ranch: "...the cow boss lost his horse today. The horse broke its leg and it had to be shot in the field...we will have to ride by the dead horse for the next several days."
The cow boss's decision was quick and correct. In comparison, I felt like I was waffling and second-guessing every day, every hour.
In the end, I stuck to my decision. And as the grass goes brown and the days get colder, I'm relieved - for her sake.
The actual process -- from administering the shots to burying her - was dreadful. All the credit due to vets like Linda who must be there time after time.

We don't think about death when we acquire our animals, do we? At the time, on the decided day, all the joys and routines of her life seem crushed by the weight of this cruel moment.

I never stopped much to contemplate the final moments until they were upon us.
And now that she's gone, I am trying to overlook those ugly minutes and focus on happy, richer times.

That's what Phoenix did -- she enriched my life. I tried to tell her Thank You.

Rest In Peace, Phoenix, with as much grass and sun as you can manage!

Phoenix, in 1990, with one of her four foals:




















Here is one of my favorite poems by Henry Taylor.
It may be about the passing of a human friend, but I think of it fondly when I lose an animal, too.

Someone we love, old friend, has telephoned
to let me know you're gone - and so you are.
I touch the steady books: my mind casts back,
then forth, and says, as you said once, "so long -
I look forward to seeing you everywhere."

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