When do you know it’s time? The toughest decision of all

It's a subject that has come up recently on a couple of different horse bulletin boards that I frequent.  I had to make the euthanasia decision for my first horse and I thought a lot about it afterwards.  The questions and self doubt don't stop just because the horse is gone.  Our society tends to not talk about such things, and unless you're close to someone who's had to go through it, the average person really is on their own the first time. It's too easy to second guess ourselves and listen to people who "ought to know" that first time. There is a culture of trying to help preserve life and the automatic reaction of others is "it can't be that bad" and "have you tried such and such?" and in our inexperience we wait, or try something else.  Over time as I shared my experience the knowledge was distilled into three key ideas, with a few extra bits of advice.  I wrote it down and edited it over time, and when my second horse approached the end I came back to these lessons that my first horse taught me.  For this reason I now include the revised version in my second horse's blog.

I want to let my friends go on before they are enduring existence. Before every bone is showing. Before the depression or drug stupor takes over their life. Before they spend grinding weeks suffering pain and discomfort. I want them to leave knowing the sun on their bodies, the breath of warm air in their lungs, the half dance step of delight at going out or meeting up with a buddy. Knowing that I love them.


We all secretly want to walk out in the field one day (far in the future) and find our beloved equine flat out and already gone, but realistically that's not going to happen for most of us. We're going to have to make the hard decision. Long before I had my own horse those stories printed in the horse magazines about the heroic efforts people made to prolong the life of their aged equine, and the description of their descent and ultimate hanging-on-by-a-thread condition before the owner had the guts to admit that it was time to let go always made me sad and angry (for the horse's sake). I felt it was cruel to prolong a life with no real hope of recovery or any quality, and promised my first horse (when I bought him) that when it was his time I would give him the last summer and then let him go.

First of all - this is the biggest one - TRUST YOURSELF! YOU know your horse better than anyone else, YOU can see the little things sooner, better than ANYONE else in the world. Don't close your eyes; look, track, judge every single day you see your horse. What defines your horse's personality and characterizes your interactions? Watch for the slightest changes - not once, but if they are growing more frequent or worse, or you realize that X has become the new 'norm' it is up to you to work out why and what you can do to help.

Second - be real for your horse's sake. If she/he is not comfortable for any period and the vet offers something, be direct and upfront and ask the hard questions. Will it improve back to where it was? Will this treatment heal the problem? Will it just mask the problem? Will it create more problems? Will this be an ongoing always treatment? Can I afford it? Then go away and face the answers. Do you just want to prolong your horse's life because "I'm not ready yet"? Believe me, you never will be. Are you improving the quality of his/her life, or just increasing the time spent suffering?

One of my second horse's final gifts came to me about a month before he was euthanized in October 2009. The euthanasia had been generally planned for several months, and I was doing the usual agonizing even though I knew without a doubt it was the right time (thank you first horse).  I finally realized that while the answer to the question "could I keep him going through another winter or several?" is a definite yes, that is the wrong question. The real question needs to be "Should I?" and to that question I must reluctantly answer "no". He definitely deserves better than being forced to endure life simply because I'm not ready to let him go. I never will be ready.

Third - look for and project the factors that make your horse less comfortable. In my case my first horse had two months where he wasn't doing well in his last spring. Factors - weather, temperature. Projection - autumn, spring, even a warm spell during the winter. Two months is an awfully long time especially if you can see it is likely to repeat too often.

A good relationship with your vet is a real help. Mine simply asked me "Are you sure?" when I made the appointment for my first horse, and that was it. Six months later he told me that he doesn't like euthanasia and even tries to find new homes for animals if he doesn't feel they need it - but when I said it was time, he had no doubt that I did know. You don't want to be arguing with your vet at this time.

Close your ears to all your well-meaning friends who can't believe you are doing it and did you try such and such - you know your horse, you ARE right. You will question yourself every day, but keep going back to the first thing.

Make the necessary plans early - whether you are going to go spoil your horse, stuff him full of carrots and then go away, leaving him tied to the wash rack before the vet comes, or stay through the whole ordeal (or anything in between) you won't be able to do anything else on the day.

We cannot control our horses’ environments the same way we can for our small housepets. Dogs and cats can be kept in a warm environment, with limited forays into the cold. We can medicate them more easily and frequently. We can feed them special diets more easily. Horses by their very size and nature limit how much we can do for them. These limitations must be acknowledged and accepted when we decide on treatments for our horses’ ailments.

One Year Later

One year ago today the vet came and euthanized my second horse.  It's a sad anniversary made all the more sad by the loss of a friend four days ago.  She was young, and one of those people who were full of life and managed to poke fun at any situation.  Taken too soon by a careless driver, she leaves a husband and young son behind.

It was my horse's time to go last year, but he was robbed of time by whatever accident caused that chipped bone in his hock.  My friend should have had many more years with her family and friends.  Time taken away from her by another person's poor decisions.  That the other person died too is no consolation.

My uncle died five days ago.  He lived a long life, surrounded by family and many friends.  Another person full of the joy of life with a grand sense of humour.  He will be missed just as much, but there is a sort of peace or conclusion that is lacking in the death of my friend.

Death is an inevitable part of life.  But sometimes it seems to come too soon and we struggle to come to terms with the loss, and grieve for what will never be.

Two weeks

Two weeks from today will be one year without my horse.  He's been on my mind a lot lately.  I'm remembering last fall and the sight of the trees changing colours, losing their leaves, the grass fading all brings back the sadness of those last days.  I have no regrets.  Not about helping him go, nor about the time we had together.  No regrets about buying him.  He taught me a lot in our years together.  I'm glad we had that time.

Memories of my Friend

I can't believe it's September again already. Those few trees that always start to change colour weeks before the rest are going yellow and orange and red. It was about this time last year that I made the decision to let my horse go before the winter. Telling the barn owners was tough - that was the first time I'd shared my decision with anyone.

My horse has been on my mind a great deal lately. I finally managed to start the little 8"x8" memory scrapbook for him at the end of June. It's almost done, only two more pages to go. Some of the pages are okay, but others turned out really well with the colours just coming together with the photos beautifully. The whole book will have a total of 40 pages, bigger than I'd planned, but it's what I needed to have. Many of the pages have one 5x7 photo, some have a mosaic of small images covering the whole page.

One page is a mosaic of shots of him looking at me as I went to get him out of the field. He had a distinctive way of turning to look with both eyes, ears up and poll slightly below wither level. It wasn't at all a dull look as one might expect from the low head position, nor was it suspicious, but rather a bright eyed and interested expression. The pics are various sizes and cover the full range of our life together.

There's a two page spread for his dressage career. Those are two of the pages that turned out beautifully. The colours are just perfect, and really pull the four photos together. I deliberately chose to keep the scrapbooking design very simple to keep the focus on the photos and journaling. The embellishments are limited to some fancy edged matts and a few very simple stickers. The colour palette was mostly greens, blues and browns with some yellow (mostly accents). I did get a couple of purple pages and one orange (with browns) but no red. I never thought of red for this horse, it just wasn't him.

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Overall I'm quite pleased with the result. It's full of the little tidbits about his character and characteristics that made him an individual, along with the odd incidents from our life together.

The Next Phase

It's been really hot and humid here in the past few weeks. While the tack room is much cooler, it does tend to hold the dampness in the summer and with that dampness comes the inevitable fuzz of mold growing on the unused tack. My QH's bridle being one of those unused items. I have decided that my two year old will inherit the bridle, but it's going to be a few years before his head is big enough to be anywhere near fitting. Since it was too hot to be any fun for riding, I spent some time today cleaning and conditioning bits of tack, including that bridle.

I have also finally started on the little "Who Was He?" scrapbook. Oddly enough the last pages, those photos from his final morning with the poem I wrote for him, were the first I did. After that came random photos from the pile paired with memories of him that seem to fit with the pictures. For example I had a photo of us going through knee deep water and I remembered that water never bothered him. In our first year I rode him into the pond in his field one day, and even though the mud was a bit sticky and he had to heave to get his feet out, he wasn't the least bit worried about it. The time I asked him to walk through a deep puddle that was covered by floating chunks of snowy ice gave him pause as they all moved when he did, but once he'd had the chance to look and I encouraged him, he did cautiously continue through the water. This isn't meant to be a "story of our life" book, but rather a collection of anecdotes showing his character and the little things that defined him.

One page, one or two photos, one memory at a time. I'm ready for this step now. Perhaps I will be ready to put his shadowbox together soon too.

It Is Almost Time

Almost time to start putting together his scrapbook - the little one answering the question "Who was he?" I went through the hundreds of photos from our years together and pulled out many that I thought I might use. In the last week or two I've gone through those stacks again and again, trying to thin them out, to choose only those photos that show him the way he was.

I did try out the photolab's collage software about a month ago. I took a lot of the close up photos and a few "normal" pictures of him and put together an 8x10" collage. I found the software limiting in some ways, but the result is quite nice. I arranged for it to be laminated and just got it back last week (some difficulties with a new transport company caused quite a delay). It's really nice and will go up on my wall shortly.

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I almost cleaned his halter the other night too. Eight months later and I'm almost at the point of being able to put his memorials together. Time heals, and healing must not be rushed.

The Little Things

It's the little things I miss the most. The way he'd pop his head up and look when he heard my voice, or his very distinctive whinny. Little incidents that showed his character.

Recently I remembered being out in the field with him one spring - memory says it was the first or second spring we were together, but I couldn't find it in my journal entries. I had taken a shedding blade out to do some spring cleaning on the boys. My QH was very nosey about the shedding blade and kept turning his head to see what I was doing. I held the blade out to him and he sniffed it and then gently took hold and lifted it out of my hand. After waving it around a bit he dropped it and turned his head back to me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but the gist was an offended "Hey! Pick that up and give it back to me!"... and he did just that!

The Carnivorous Mouse Incident

or The Definition Of Courage

Every horseman or women knows that horses are flight animals. We all know they can overcome that flight instinct to a remarkable degree given a supportive environment and practice. I have always taken my horses hacking at night and after the initial adjustment period each fall, they were quite comfortable going out in the dim light at night. Some nights I literally could not see my horse’s ears, but I could see the trees silhouetted against the sky and I knew the trails we walked well enough to know where we were. I trusted my horses to see better than I could and enjoyed our night hacks immensely.

On a windy night early one November I took my boy out for a hack. It was getting cool but was surprisingly warm for November. We headed out across the road into the fields on the other side as usual. I couldn’t see his ears, but there was enough light to see the fence lines and landmarks I used to guide us. He was calm and walking forward on a long rein. I was relaxing and feeling my worries drop away, drinking in the comfort of my friend’s presence.

In a split second that peace was shattered and his world caved in. A small animal rustled the grass ahead of us at the edge of the field and he spooked, swapped ends and bolted back towards the barn. I came off and landed on my hip and felt the reins slip out of my hand as if I wasn’t even trying to hang on to them, and my horse was gone, the thunder of his hooves fading into the darkness. Heart in my throat and heedless of any injury to myself, I leaped to my feet and started walking quickly after him calling in a soothing voice. I wanted to run, but feared that if he had stopped or slowed I would scare him into further flight before I realized he was there. I fixed my gaze on the lights by the barn hoping to see him run through that patch of light, mentally calculating where he would be given his speed, and hoping desperately that no vehicle would barrel along the road at the wrong moment.

Sure enough, just about the time I figured he would be reaching the road a car came over the hill. It braked suddenly, and though I strained to see, I didn’t catch a glimpse of Tommy. I was afraid the car would have frightened him away from the barn, and running blind he could have ended up anywhere. My mind raced and I listened intently for the sound of bare hooves on the road.

The driver turned out to be one of the lesson student’s parents and he told one of the other boarders in the barn that the horse had gone “that way”, pointing down the road. When I heard that, my heart sank to my boots. The highway was “that way” and my horse had gotten himself lost once before after spooking and dropping his rider (in daylight that time) and running fear blinded. Within minutes we had three vehicles and several people out combing the area. He was wearing his splint boots with the reflective strips on them and would have been easily spotted if he were on the road.

After what felt like a hundred years of looking and calling while fighting an increasing panic level, one of the drivers came to find me. My horse had been found in his field. He hadn’t bolted down the road, but had gone through an open gate into the field next to his own and jumped the fence to get back to the pasture herd. By some miracle he had sustained nothing more than some lost skin and a couple of tiny nicks. One boot had a hole almost completely through the neoprene, but none of his other tack was so much as scratched. His worst physical injury was the loss of a patch skin over his right stifle the size of my spread hand.

Mentally was a completely different story.

The running joke with my horse had long been that he’s one quarter horse, three quarters chicken. His brain is hardwired for flight and he has managed to overcome it to an incredible degree in the time we have been together. After escaping the carnivorous mouse that had rustled the grass, he was starting back from square one again. For the next two days simply taking him into the wash stall to tend his injuries was enough to send his heart racing at least double time, his pulse clearly visible through the winter hair at the base of his neck.

The first time I took him out of the barn for a ride two weeks later, that pulse pounding was clearly visible from six feet away, and his body shook with the effort of not bolting as he tried to look in every direction at once. His fear was thick enough to taste, but he went where I asked, when I asked, and tried very hard not to spook. By early January I was beginning to wonder if he would ever recover. Riding him was like sitting on a ticking time bomb and being unable to see the clock counting down. I seriously considered leaving him in the field until spring.

But he was making progress, no matter how painfully slowly. We started in one fenced in field in daylight and gradually pushed out, walking the far side of the fence, then halfway into the next field, and finally all the way around it. He had good and bad days, and some days were so cold it was all I could do to take him out for fifteen minutes.

On February 17th we managed to walk twice round the mare’s field at night under a waxing moon – our first night hack since the incident. In April I was over the moon when he walked quietly and calmly on a long rein for SIX steps on a daytime solo hack! In June his triumph was a trot on a long rein on a solo hack, and my heart sang all the way back to the barn. He still had his bad days, days where he couldn’t help spooking at things I couldn’t see. But he was spooking in place, stopping his flight within the first six inches, and those bad days were becoming fewer. It took about nine months before I could say he was back to normal; it took about seven of those for me to realize what he was teaching me.

If courage is being afraid, knowing the dangers and then going ahead and doing it anyway then my horse was Courage incarnate. He knew the world was a dangerous place. He had been hurt by nothing more than a rustle in the grass. He was afraid. But he went ahead and did what I asked, went where I pointed him, and tried his best not to be ruled by his fear. His bravery, his courage and trust inspired me to face my own fears and I am more self assured and confident because of the lesson he taught me.

Horse, thy name is Courage.

Five Months Later

Tomorrow is my horse's birthday. He would have been nineteen and we would have had one more summer together had he lived to see it. Four years ago, in consultation with the vet, we switched to pain management for my horse. There was nothing else that could be done. Driving home that day I knew, somehow, that he would not reach his twentieth birthday.

In the last couple of days I have spent hours going through the digital photos I've taken in the last few years. There are so many photos, and so few really good ones. I want only the best or those that spark specific memories for the memory album I'm creating. Now I have to go through the older photographs. Unfortunately I will probably have to scan those old pictures as it is just about impossible to get film printed properly now - these days the negatives are scanned before the scan is projected onto the photo paper. They all seem to turn out like bad digital photos.

There is a recurring image of my horse, one taken again and again over the years. The way he would look at me when I went out to the field, ears up, eyes bright, poll slightly below wither level - this look is my horse to me. The most familiar image to be treasured.

Horsecare 101

Our vet of many years first met my QH when he was four. It was spring and time for the annual vaccinations. I had phoned around to the local clinics and asked about prices for the basics and ended up making an appointment with Dr. KB. The visit was uneventful, and Dr. KB had time to sit and answer some general questions.

One year later Dr. KB couldn't believe he was seeing the same horse I'd had the year before. Between the ages of four and five my QH grew up and matured. Between five and seven he muscled up and got wider. In full fit competition weight (ie. very slightly ribby) he hit 1343 lbs on the height/weight tape. Proportionally he was built like a classic working QH, but on a larger scale both taller and wider.

Over the years Dr. KB looked after my boys I learned a lot from him. I'd gone for several years with my first horse without needing much in the way of veterinary care, but my QH had a knack for finding new and unusual ways to injure himself. At first I called the vet for every bump and slice, but over time I grew comfortable with treating the problem and waiting for a day or three to see if it would improve. Dr. KB. almost always had some tidbit of information to share with me, some of which became useful later on. Something as simple as sugar for wounds, or as complex as the effects of various joint supplements, or as subtle as the results of a complete blood count.

Accident prone horses can be frustrating to deal with, but they (and their vets) can teach us a lot in a short period of time.

My Student, My Teacher

He was my first green horse. Pretty forgiving of my mistakes - and I'm sure I made a lot of them. When I bought him he could walk, trot, canter, steer, whoa, and stand for mounting - provided I didn't touch his butt when swinging my leg over. I did find that one out the hard way. He started bucking before my butt hit the saddle and I came off a few hops later. I was more careful when I mounted up after catching him again, but within a few days I had arranged for a helper to hold him still while I crawled all over his back and dragged my feet and legs all over his sides. After that the odd bump was of no concern to either of us - except that I always apologized for my clumsiness, and I always teach the babies I start that they must allow that kind of bumping without fuss.

He frustrated me many times, but it was all a part of the learning process. Young, green horses don't move in a straight line either in real life or along the training level. They wobble, the backslide, they leap forward, they forget everything they ever knew. Through it all he taught me that if I focused on the end result, on what I wanted to happen right now we could get there.

He showed me how horses tend to lose their finer control over their bodies when those bodies go through a growth spurt, and that he needed my understanding, encouragement and support to help him work out how everything worked together again. The up and down path of training helped me develop the mindset that allows me to think of and try various approaches to break down activities for a green horse to find understanding and success. I learned that sometimes we teach a response that is unexpected. Somewhere along the way my horse decided that "Good boy!" meant he'd done what was asked and so he could stop doing whatever it was. Most often on the longe after I asked him to "Trot up!" (meaning push more and go forward) he would trot on and I would approve with a "Good boy!" and then immediately have to get on his case again as he dropped back into his lazy trot.

Even as I taught him, trained him, he was teaching me. Those lessons are an integral part of my horse sense now. One lesson in particular carried over into the rest of my life - a story that deserves a post of it's own.

Special Delivery

I had heard of horsehair pottery and somehow imagined pots with horsehair embedded in the glaze on the pot's surface. I couldn't figure out how this could be done as glaze is fired at a high temperature and hair burns very easily. Once I started following links to horsehair pottery sites I quickly discovered that the ease of burning hair is the major part of the process. The hair is applied to a piece fresh from firing and as the hairs burn some carbon and ash are absorbed by the pottery leaving black lines and smoky areas unique to that item.
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After spending a fair bit of time searching for horsehair jewelry sites, and following links to various horsehair pottery sites on the internet I found Donovan Designs. In addition to the usual pots, vases and bowls Denise has various statues in her catalogue one of which is a Quarterhorse bust (head and neck). This looked sufficiently like my horse that I sent her an email and asked about the possibility of having my horse's markings painted on one if I sent photos with my order. Denise responded quickly that she would be happy to do so at no extra cost. I scrounged up some photos (lip spot photos were difficult to find), carefully pulled about thirty hairs from his tail bundle and mailed them off to Denise.
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At the end of last week I received an email from Denise to let me know she was almost finished and expected to ship my order out on Monday. I was excited and even though I knew it would take time to arrive I hopefully looked for a package notice on Tuesday after I saw a postal truck as I was nearing home. The box arrived yesterday and I could hardly wait to get it inside and see the result. Denise did a beautiful job and packaged the piece up securely to ensure that it would arrive safely.
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I cleared a space on my bookshelf immediately, but ended up carrying it around and setting up close at hand to whatever I was doing for the rest of the afternoon and evening just so I could glance up and admire it at any moment. The photo doesn't do it justice at all.
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Denise gave me permission to include a link to Donovan Designs website so here it is:
http://www.myhorseart.com

Fresh Reminders of What Has Passed

It snowed here about three weeks ago. The snow stayed on the ground, fluffy and deep enough to provide some cushion over the frozen earth. There's something special about the first few snowfalls that come before the first thaw. Hacking in the snow, or during a snowfall is just about the most fun that can be had with a horse. After the first falls there's no need to worry about hidden ice until the thaw comes. There aren't any layers of crusty snow and ice to scrape the horses' legs. Just a bouncy trotting horse spraying snow into the air as he asks for a gallop.

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My boy hadn't asked for a gallop for a long time, but we did a lot of hacking in the snow over his last few years. It was great exercise for his stifles. With the first snow came the reminder that I will never take him out for a hack in the snow again. He won't reach out as we pass a snow laden cedar and bend back a branch that will fling it's load all over me as it snaps back when he lets it go. We won't head out into the glow of a moonlit snowscape, or wander through a forest of bare limbed trees as snow gently falls.

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First snow hack without my boy. First Christmas without my boy. I miss him still. These firsts bring back the loss, but without the tearing intensity of the first days after he was gone. It's a bittersweet sadness as the first snow, first hack, first Christmas without him remind me of the times we had together.

The Spirit That Was My Horse

It's been a month now. The hole is filling with memories of life and I find myself drawing him back by telling people what he used to do, what he was like. Some of us were talking about our horses reactions when we go out in the field - variations on walking or turning away until we get close and then turning to us as if surprised to see us there. My boy used to watch for me at night and his distinctive whinny would come out of the darkness when he saw me take my other horse back out to a different field. As if to remind me not to forget to come down and bring him up for his dinner.

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I remember more details. Things to remember for next time, for sure as I loved him I will be making the decision again for other horses. His issue caused him well hidden pain for a very long time, even before we identified the problem. His subconcious, instincts told him that a lame horse was vulnerable and I used to call him my quarter horse, three quarter chicken because he was such a chicken. I wanted him to know that this pain and the fear it caused did not define who he was. The pain and fear must be left behind. He should take his great courage and generosity for these defined the spirit that was my horse.

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I still miss him dearly, but the great gaping sense of loss has eased and I now remember him in life before death.

Inheritance and memory

I brought my yearling in yesterday for some training and grooming. I managed to go through my old horse's grooming kit and sort it out so I could use it for my yearling's stuff. He inherited some items from my old horse, and I put the few items he already had into the box.

I felt a bit weird bringing the box out to the crossties - somehow the box still isn't my yearling's kit yet. I still look at it and think of it as belonging to my old horse.

Dawnfire

This morning I looked into the field and saw one of the other chestnuts at the hay feeder. He was standing broadside to me, had the same colour blanket that my old horse did, and his head mostly in the hay. The early morning sun slanted across the field and fired a wide golden highlight along the crest of his neck. For a moment, just a moment he looked like my horse as that golden highlight looked like my horse's mane the way it was always neatly arranged along the left side of his neck. I knew it wasn't my horse, but the shape and colour just vividly brought my horse back to mind instantly.

Tidying up

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It's been well over a week, and while most things have returned to normal there are still some tidying up jobs that I need to do. I think about them almost every day I am at the barn.
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His bridle is still hanging up on a hook. His grooming kit is still in my locker. His rainsheet still in the trunk of my car. I need to go through my stuff and decide what to do with his things, clean and store the ones I won't be using for a while, and give away, sell or chuck out the rest.
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I can't face them yet. I can look past his things without feeling his loss fresh, but I think the act of going through them will be difficult. I need a little more time first.

Who was he?

Almost no one knows who my first horse was now. I think about that, and then I think about my second horse and how I could answer the question "Who was Tommy?"

There are many answers. He was a sorrel American Quarter Horse. He was my first greenbroke horse. He was the horse with whom I entered the dressage arena for the first time - the horse that started my love of dressage. He was the horse with whom I entered the Hunter rings and learned about the hunter/jumper discipline. I wanted to try eventing with him, but his hock issue prevented that from occuring. He was the accident prone horse who came up with so many varied injuries that I became competent in recognizing and treating a wide range of issues - and knowing when to call the vet. He was the horse who kept me going out to the farm after my first horse was euthanized. He was the horse that nickered to me when I called him. He was the horse who was guinea pig for my various trials in keeping an active competition horse on pasture board. He was the horse who taught me about the importance of saddle fit as he showed white hairs from pressure spots very quickly. He was the horse that showed me what true courage was all about. He was the horse who looked after my friends when they rode him. He was my goto horse for teaching people about lateral work. He was lazy enough to not argue with a rider who was determined, but also lazy enough to give the minimum asked for. He was a worrier. He was generous. He was a great heart. He was a trier, willing to try anything if I asked it of him.

He was my student. He was my teacher. He was my partner.

Most of all he was my friend and I am richer for having had him in my life, and poorer for having lost him.

Remembering and Healing

After my first horse was euthanized I took his bridle home and dragged it about from residence to residence for several years before I finally figured out what to do with it. I always knew exactly where it was - it was never left in a box. I knew I wanted the bridle on display but it took me a long time before I worked out how to manage it. I ended up putting it in a shadow box with a laminate mounted photo, a lock of mane, a feather I'd found out hacking one day, a horse shoe and a couple of engraved plates - one with his name and dates, the other with the final verse of the poem I'd written for him.

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I know I want to make a shadow box for this horse too. I have his tail and his halter. I will get a plate with his name, registration number and dates done. The photo is, as it was the first time, the most difficult task of all. Going through all the photos I can find to see which would be the best choice to put into the box. It brings back many memories of the days we shared and I think about some of the photos I really liked and go looking for them. Maybe that one? No, it's not quite right - the pose, or perhaps a cluttered background. Do I want a head shot or a full body picture? I chose a full body shot of my first horse - one that I took the day before the vet came. He was a difficult horse to photograph, but I got better at taking good pictures of him over time.

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My second horse was quite photogenic and I have lots of good photos of him. Very few photos good or bad from our competitions - somehow the show photographer was always at another ring whenever we were on. I haven't yet found the photo I want, but I have time. There is no hurry to get the shadow box finished as it is a part of the healing process.

Saying Thanks

Friday was just about normal and yesterday pretty good as well. I did carve my horse on a pumpkin and it turned out not too badly.
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I spent a part of the evening making thank you cards for the few people who helped me out on Monday. That was difficult. Between trying to find the words to express how much their support meant to me, and not being able to set the memories of Monday aside there were a lot of tears again. But it was something I needed to do sooner than later.