And Then There Was One

In a perfect world, when it is our time to go, we should all be able to pass quietly in our sleep.  It brings me a deep sense of peace to know that that is exactly what happened to my beloved Mo.  He lay down for a morning nap in the mid-December sun, with his buddy Hero standing behind him.   As he started to rise, he instead slumped over, his face in the morning sun, it's warm rays probably the last thing he saw as he passed away.

The solstice sun sets over the barn and Mo's fresh grave.

As much as I miss Mo I simply cannot be upset about the way he died.  I wish all horses could go so peacefully.  Hero handled this initial transition with his usual light playfulness, nipping at Mo's muzzle, tugging on one of his legs.  We finally gave Hero some alfalfa hay to keep him away from Mo until we could bury Mo's body.

Hero tolerated the backhoe chugging into his field and digging.  He came unhinged, however, when the scoop began to nudge Mo to his grave.  I expected this, and held my breath, hoping Hero wouldn't hurt himself while running, bucking, rearing, and crow-hopping in the pen outside his field.  It probably lasted only five minutes, until the backhoe left and we closed the gates.  My husband bravely got a lead rope on Hero's halter.  The connection helped Hero cope immediately; he followed my husband dutifully for an hour, with a few little jigs along the way, and eventually he calmed enough to be led quietly into his stall, where his sweaty body could dry without too much chill.

I learned more about Hero in the hours after Mo's death by watching his reaction to both this change and to us.  Hero had been on the racetrack for almost three years, and my guess is that human companionship was familiar to him.  As long as we stayed near him on that long awful day, he accepted our company and gradually relaxed, yawning and stretching to relieve his tension.  I stayed with him until 11:00 p.m. that night, when I could hear Hero's breathing deepen as he fell asleep in his stall in the dark barn.

Horses are herd animals, and I feared the worst once Hero realized that he was completely alone.  We kept him on lead for the next two days (the weather was awful and forced us to restrict his activity anyway).  We gradually began to leave him at large in the horse-safe barn and in his pen, supplementing his day with hand-grazing and hand-walking down the lane as conditions permitted.  He coped beautifully, stayed supremely calm, and after a few days we began to leave him alone for longer and longer periods, and eventually returned him to turnout.

Deepening the bond.

This transition was the greatest test of my faith ever, but Hero rewarded that faith with his stellar ability to cope and accept human companionship.  Sometimes we need to be reminded that we are not in control, and to be reminded to have faith that life always seeks to right itself.  I have a deepened bond with this horse, and I trust him even more.  I do not intend to leave Hero alone for very long, but his calm acceptance allows me the chance to find the right companion for him, and for us.

My reason to smile.