There have been many times in my life for many reasons I've wished animals could talk to me. Many of you know Mistie. She is the horse I bought when I was 13 years old, and she remains with me today, having now surpassed the 30-year mark. This makes her pretty old in the equine realm. She's generally reasonably healthy systemically, and can maintain a decent weight on appropriate (read: mushy) feed. Her issue is that she's got terrible arthritis, and she clearly aches. She's fallen down on the farrier a few times, and creaks and groans and hobbles around - on damp, cool days especially.
I have three or four weeks left to decide whether or not I will euthanize her. I want to bury her on the farm, and around here, the frozen winter ground makes that impossible November - March. I fear she will die in the middle of winter, or worse yet, lie down and not be able to get up again and I'll have to put her down in a traumatic, painful situation. But my courage is failing me and I'm struggling with planning her demise. She is representative of so much to me: my childhood, my dream, a whole world of fun and learning and relationship. Part of me wants to spare her pain and offer her a way to go with dignity and peace, and part of me wants to hang on to her at all costs. Winter is hard on old horses. Why can't I do this? What, exactly, do I owe her? Am I right to continue to extend her life unnaturally or right to end her life unnaturally? I want a sign. I want to know for sure. But a definitive answer may never come.
Does anyone have any advice for me, or any experience in this area? How do I best honor this wise old friend? I could use some help.
Monday, October 08, 2007
When to say goodbye
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8 comments:
My dear friend Charis,
As I read your blog my heart ached for you as tears welled in my eyes. I know your love for Misty and all the memories and experiences that entails. For what it is worth, about 1 year our Choc lab, Capp of 13 years, which is old for a hunting dog, was in the same situation, he could hardly get up especially in the winter, and had a horrible cough but Capp never quit wagging his tail and coming to us when we would come outside or get home. This is the 2nd Lab we had to put down, Jerry's first dog Jake, he found out lying in the kennel and he carried him in the house to give him mouth to mouth, but it was too late. That was a very traumatic day, so as winter neared and the cold damp days started affecting Capp, we chose to have him put down gracefully & with dignity. This was not something Jerry was able to do as I drove him to the vet's, it was a day that brought much sadneess & emptiness to us but much relief to him. If he could have spoke I do belive he would have said "thank you" for releasing me from the pain. This is a difficult decision and you are the only one that can make the right one for you. Peace to you in whatever you choose.
Oh, wow, Charis. Having met Misty and having seen how much you adore your horses lets me know that this must be incredibly agonizing for you.
I have no words of wisdom other than to be peaceful and thoughtful. The right decision will come to you.
Having recently been with a beloved dog when she was euthanized, I absolutely know how heart-wrenching it is.
Many, many hugs to you and you and Misty are in my thoughts. *hug*
There are no dry eyes on my couch tonight as I read this either...this is a truly painful situation. I know that horses and cats are very different creatures, but I had a similar experience with my feline soulmate, Lucy, last year. I had her for 12 beautiful years but discovered that she had been dying - slowly - of lung cancer shortly after my son was born. Now I know that babies and cats are very different creatures too, but I know you'll get this as a momma - dealing with putting down my "first baby" just as I was welcoming my son...sucked. There's no other way to put it.
The "what do I owe her?" question rang true for me, since that plagued me something awful. I can't answer for what you owe Mistie, but I had to realize that I owed Lucy the passage out and my strength when she had none.
I still miss her...but...At the risk of sounding like a Hallmark card, Mistie will live on in you...whatever you decide.
I first met Mistie not long after you did, nearly a quarter-century ago. Each time we've reconnected over the years, I've asked you--somewhat tentatively-- "How's Mistie?" Like you, though of course to a much lesser extent, knowing that Mistie lived on has been for me a tangible link to those crazy days SO long ago. What an experience Foley's was...and that was just the beginning.
I remember the tenacity with which you plotted, planned, and executed Mistie's rescue from the slime pit that was her early existence. I remember caravaning on horseback through the busy streets of SW Portland, accompanying Mistie to her new home (what WERE our parents thinking?). The deep love that you and Mistie shared was evident through each new stage of your relationship. The epic journey of her long life has far transcended the meager promise of her early days--because of the depth of your love and commitment to her.
That same love and commitment that has made it possible for you to provide for Mistie’s needs all along will carry you through this final stage of your relationship as well. Dying is just another stage of living. As Ecclesiastes says, there is a time to be born and a time to die. I know that you will face Mistie’s death with the same courage you summoned at Owain’s birth. Each of these is a season of life over which we have little ultimate control. But you made courageous choices about the things you could control to find beauty and peace in the difficult challenges of Owain’s birth. You can do the same here.
As you say, Mistie is a wise old soul. You know each other so well. Listen to her. She will tell you what needs to be done, and when.
We'll be here to share the journey.
oh dear. my heart aches for both of you. the relationship between animal and human is one of the most fascinating and true. i have experienced this with many "pets" throughout my life. and i watched my grandmother agonize over the same decision for her horse Champ, who was 27 when he died.
i helped make the decision to put down my childhood companion, a black lab who was 13, when i was a teenager. and i still think about it with a heavy heart. i dont know if it was the right thing to do. but i do know that she was in so much pain and that in death she did get relief, finally.
i know other people have said this but i want to reiterate as well... listen to her. she will tell you when it's time. you just have to be ready to hear it when it comes.
peace be with you...
Charis,
You know what my decision was when faced with the same very difficult choice. In fact, Barney was still eating solid (all be it highly digestible) food and he had yet to become difficult to work on for the farrier. However, he had noticeably slowed down, and he was having a tough time maintaining what I would consider to be an acceptable weight.
I really wrestled with this over the course of the entire summer. Not having my own farm, Barney had become quite an extravagance. Between his board and his old horse food, I have spent tens of thousands (literally) of dollars on his happy retirement. Still, he was a once in a lifetime horse for me, and he deserved to be on the 401K plan. To look myself in the eye, I had to be sure I was making my decision based on what was best for Barney, not what was the most fiscally responsible, or the least difficult emotionally. Running through my mind the entire time was Grace Karnes’ voice “The horses always come first!”
Besides Grace, there were two other strong influences that helped me to my decision. The first was offered by my friend Kathy (she shows Truman in the dressage). We were talking about how difficult it is to have to make the decision to destroy our old friends. She told me that, while it is truly devastating at the time, after the fact she has never looked back with regret or felt like she made a mistake. She said the only one of her animals that she really regrets is the one she didn't make the decision for in time. She had a wonderful old cat that appeared to be failing. She said she went back and forth about it, but made the appointment. When the day came, Kitty appeared a little better. With much relief she canceled the appointment only to have him disappear. They looked all over for him, but he just disappeared. She can only assume he wandered off to die. She said she feels terrible because she didn't make it easier for him.
The last reason I went ahead and put Barney down is how Jag (a 36 year old gelding from the barn) spent his final time on earth. Please excuse me for being graphic. I never wanted Barney to lie down and not be able to get up. I know that happens to old horses, and I have to imagine it is completely terrifying for them. I just never wanted Barney to have to go through that. That is exactly what did happen to Jag. He got down and couldn't get back up again. He struggled to stand until he was dripping with sweat only to fall down exhausted and heaving. On more than one occasion he fell backwards into the wall striking his face. Gina had to sit on his head and hold him down until the vet got there to destroy him. That horse died a terrified, bleeding, sweaty mess.
I used to joke about Barney dieing peacefully in his sleep. I would have done anything not to have had to make that decision. However, if there was even the remotest possibility that Barney would end up like Jag (which there was), I wanted to intervene. I also really didn't want him to have to leave on a rendering truck. Another advantage to planning will be that you can choose to burry Mistie on your farm. Barney’s passing was very peaceful. I cried like a baby, but I can honestly tell you I am glad I made the choice that prevented him from any possibility of suffering.
Laura
Thank you so much to all of you who have responded with such sensitivity and care. It really does help to read your words. I'll keep you posted here...
~Charis
C-
My heart breaks for you. When the photo of Mistie first came up on the screen my heart sunk.
After reading the post to Nathan he said "Charis knows what she needs to do". Reread your post and maybe you'll find the answers there.
We love you, Charis and know that this is an incredibly tough decision. But like one commenter said, you have tremendous strength inside of you (as made evident by birthing Owain) and will face this with love and strength.
I've watched a lot of people I love die this year and one quote has stood with me:
"We End in Joy"
I believe this and wish you much peace these days.
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