Minot's Ledge: Paramedics, Pitbulls, Ponies, and Poultry

 

 

         Chicago was on fire today.  It started the minute I went out to fetch him.  He was standing in his paddock with the girls, baking in the sun.  All three horses turned to look as I walked through the gate.  I patted Sassy as I went by, Chicago and Willow were out of my immediate reach.  As I went by Chicago came over to follow me through the paddock.  I walked out into the field, dropping his halter at the edge of the fence.  Some of the jumps had blown down, or been knocked down by other riders.  I wanted to set them back up, and look for Willow’s shoe, which was still missing.

         Chicago stood patiently next to his halter, waiting for me to come back.  He nickered several times loudly, as if to remind me that I had forgotten something.  Rachel was out picking up manure in the paddock.  Your boy is waiting for you!”  She laughed.  “Look at him, he only has eyes for you!”  Indeed, there he was, gazing intently at me, what does he see?  I returned and put his halter on.  Rachel was still laughing because Chicago was examining me closely.  He always does, and again, I am not sure what sort of information he collects.  He checks my pockets first, all of them, with his nose and lips.  I am amazed at the dexterity of the equine mouth.  How a horse can lip a sugar cube out of a jeans back pocket is nothing short of miraculous.  After he has ascertained exactly what I am carrying, he sniffs me head to toe.  Then he arches his neck and looks at me, often initiating eye contact.  This is unusual among horses.  He always looks slightly amused, perhaps by what he sees?  His breath is warm and smells like grain and dirt.  He blows gently on my face and looks me in the eye again.  If I do not stop him here he usually licks my face.  I have never known a face-licking horse and am not entirely comfortable with the idea.  When I allow the intimacy he licks my jaw line on both sides, sometimes gently grazing me with his teeth.  He will carry this one step further and lick my eyes, which is one of the strangest feelings on earth.  His tongue is very smooth and strong.

         Today I did not let him lick my face because he looked very devilish.  “This will be the day he takes my nose off,” I thought, fighting him away.  He settled for burying his head against my chest and nickering again.  Rachel was making fun of me again, but that is okay, she has an intense love affair with her horse Reef.  However, Reef is a mare, so the dynamic is different.  Horses are very aware of the sex of their rider, and respond differently.  As Chicago and I walked out of the paddock, his neck under my arm, his head pressed into my chest I laughed.  Any man who loves a professional horse person will always play second string.  How could a mere man compete with this sort of loving?

         Once aboard my devil horse I could see the ride would be interesting.  He was vibrating with energy; I could feel his heart thumping against his ribs.  There was no real excuse for this behavior; unless putting my jumping saddle on him had raised his hopes.  This little horse loves to jump.  He has absolutely no fear, and so far has jumped every ridiculous object that I have requested of him.  Now, after the jump is a whole other story.  Then he is just as likely to throw his head between his knees and bounce around like a mad bull.  I believe this is physical manifestation of jumping joy. 

         Because of his mania we went out for a hack before tackling the jumps in the field.  I mistakenly thought it would take the edge off his excitement.  We walked down to the meadow, loose rein, relaxed.  The second his right front foot hit the grass he was off and running.  He had a mission; there was a log jump at the other edge of the meadow.  Luckily for me he wanted for us to go together, otherwise he could have tossed me off right then.  So I went along for the ride, gathering my reins, staying with him powerful and gathered over three fences.  Then we tore up the hill and into the woods.  Somewhere along the way I persuaded him to walk and we bushwhacked through the trees for a while.  He was spooking and dancing at the wind, and the chipmunks, and the dappled light on the ground, and every other little thing.  It was maddening. I finally got him out on a larger trail and set off in a gentle canter. 

         This is one of my favorite things to do, cantering on a trail with hills.  Staying in half seat above the saddle, weight in my feet, balancing with my abdominal muscles, the horse carries us like a boat over waves.  I could do this for hours.  Fortunately, Chicago likes it as much as I, and displays great courage and coordination.  Some of the hills are quite steep and rocky, and a less sure-footed animal would have fallen.  I depend on his ability to balance both of us while cruising along at fifteen to twenty miles an hour.

         A mile or so later his enthusiasm had not dampened.  Usually when he is wound up like this a good mile canter or gallop loosens the knot.  I will feel him drop into the bridle, and his stride becomes steady.  Today he felt like prancing, with a huge hump in his back.  Knowing how readily that hump becomes a buck I was reluctant to turn for home.  I did not want to stay out too late; there were still the jumps in the field calling us home.  As I brought him about he curled up his spine and leapt forward.  The gallop was manageable, so I let him go.  I did not dare go into a half seat, for fear of that buck.  He is so athletic that he can buck and gallop simultaneously, a terrible combination.  So I sat on his back as we pounded along.  For such a little horse he has a large stride at the gallop, and he really eats up the ground.  Since receiving his back shoes he has even more thrust behind, and he was throwing up rocks everywhere.

         At the last hill he decided that he needed to communicate his joy to me and jumped straight into the sky.  Because I was sitting on his back, and felt the wave rising, I was not jarred in the least.  It was some form of capriole, and I felt his hind legs kick out in merriment.  Again, what is he trying to say, and why?  It feels like an affirmation that this is the way things should be.  That galloping in the woods is one of the finest things imaginable.  It would be easy to misinterpret such a statement, particularly from this horse, famous for dropping riders left and right.

         We entered the jumping field on that note.  I had already decided to play it very safe, his attitude could get us both hurt.  He immediately tried to bolt at the oxer, and slipped on the grass.  We had to have a little discussion regarding who was driving.  He wants that oxer so badly; I do not know why it has such a pull for him.  Instead I offered him a little cross rail.  He was offended by this and trotted sideways, as if to say, “no, lets go the other way, over the oxer!”  I pushed him over the cross rail and he let out a grumpy buck.  With a little more discussion we did the cross rail until he stopped sulking.  As a reward I headed him to the green and white, and of course he bolted off again and sailed over as if it were a brick wall.  He is such a drama queen.  We jumped five more fences, and the last one was perfect.  He knew it too, and stopped dead immediately after the fence.  He went from gallop, to soar, to complete stop.  The he turned his neck around and bit my foot.  We were done, no questions asked.        

Flutie Galloping Away

“Look at him, he just doesn’t want to move anymore, I think he’s given up.” These were the words that would seal Flutie’s fate, the end to a long story. Painful words spoken by my friend Sara. Words regarding her horse, true words, but painful nonetheless, the words of someone who has decided to put an animal down. Flutie, oblivious, continued to eat his hay, not the picture of a horse on the edge of a grave.
Putting an animal down is a difficult process. There are so many reasons, both good and bad, and many animals travel that road. It was actually one of the things that put me off becoming a vet. Working as a vet’s assistant I saw animals put down because they were unwanted, because their illness was too much trouble for the owner. Any vet can tell you horror stories about euthanasia.
Even the language is peculiar: ‘put down’ or ‘put to sleep’ as if it were that simple. It is death; the practitioner has to kill the animal, which exacts a personal toll from the vet. I have slaughtered my own animals for their meat; I have killed puppies that suffered from physical defects. These killings were separated by time and space, a luxury that is not enjoyed in a busy vet practice.
As with any highly emotional topic, there are opinions on all sides. For each owner that will put an animal to sleep to be rid of it there is an owner who will pay thousands to keep an aged animal clinging to life. Then there are people use euthanasia to ease an animal’s pain. Lots of people would argue that we have no right to make such a decision, that an animal has the right to die at Nature’s hand.
If you want to confuse the issue further, just bring up the topic of euthanasia in humans. The same people who defend an animal’s right to a natural death may defend the right for people to choose euthanasia. Death with dignity, rather than the ignoble death that one might suffer at the hands of Alzheimers or AIDS. If dignity is what is important about how one dies, than what is the difference for the sufferer, be it human or dog? When a dog dies after a long battle with cancer, a cancer that leaves him weak, unable to walk, incontinent, or even demented, has he died with dignity? If the owner intervenes while the dog still possesses some vestige of normalcy, is that death dignified? It is still death, and each creature must face death in its own way.