Annie

I should have known better to write an entry about death and be brave enough to state that we had not lost any horses since I’d been here.

On Tuesday, Barbara decided it was time to put Annie to sleep. The vet was coming to x-ray Emily’s hoof, and Barbara felt that she had delayed the inevitable long enough. Annie, a thoroughbred, one of our older horses at nearly 30, has been suffering from laminitis. It took some time before I really understood what it is, but at its most basic level it is a condition where the bone in the hoof rotates and begins pushing through the bottom of the hoof. It causes lameness in the horse, but more significantly, it is extremely painful and there is no cure. Laminitis is what caused Barbaro to have to be put down – the feet are just so crucial to the operation of all a horse’s basic functions that if something goes horribly wrong in the hoof, the options are apparently very limited. Annie had been operating for months now on high doses of crushed Bute tablets (painkillers), and apparently if laminitis didn’t kill her the Bute eventually would as it deteriorates the liver over time. So to put an end to her suffering, Barbara told the vet to plan on putting Annie to sleep when he came.

The evening before was a somber one. I was the one feeding the seniors that night and Claudia made mention that I could feel free to spoil Annie, giving her extra senior, some grains, and all the alfalfa she wanted. After feeding everyone, and giving Annie extras of all the good stuff, I’d found that I finished ahead of Adam and Claudia who were on hay duty. I stood outside Annie’s stall for a bit, resting my head and hands on the bars, and just watched the gentle old lady eat and I wondered if she had any idea what the next morning was to bring. I tried to think what I could do as a final gesture of appreciation for her. I knew that Annie was one of Claudia’s favorites and that Claudia was planning on coming down later in the evening to feed her carrots and groom her, so I wanted to do her some other kind of service. I decided that I would clean her stall for her. I went and got a rake, and another flake of alfalfa since she was finishing the first one, and I began to meticulously rake out her corral. It was not a lot, but I thought that at the very least she deserved to spend her last moments comfortably, and if when euthanized she should fall, she had the right to lay dignified in a clean space. After spending close to an hour scraping out every corner, and re-raking the areas where she had messed, I put up my rake and went to her. Claudia had told me that she loved to have her neck scratched, so I took this advice and did my best to give her the best neck rub she’d ever had. Mary had come down to the barn and started laughing as she watched me because Annie not only stopped eating to enjoy the treatment, but she stretched her neck out, let her eyes close, and she curled her lip in euphoria. When I finished, my nails were blackened with horse grime, and I felt contented to know that I did what I felt I could to make her final hours good ones. I stroked her mane and kissed the side of her face and bid her goodnight. After dinner I stepped out on our back deck and gazed down the hill to her stall and saw her eating her hay peacefully and content.

Tuesday was my off-day, but since the vet was to arrive at 8:30 am I was up early. I felt I owed it to Annie to be there, and I also felt it was something that I needed to experience. The vet first x-rayed Emily’s ankle (and it turned out the problem was just an abscess, not a fracture thank goodness), and when he was packing up and Emily was taken back down, I walked down to Annie’s stall. Again I propped my foot on the bottom rung and laid my arms and chin on the top and just looked at her as if concentrating extra hard on her in her last moments could really solidify her in my mind and might be able to communicate to her a level of concern that couldn’t be vocalized in another way.

The vet came down and, as this was the first time Adam, Claudia, and I were to experience a horse being put down, he explained the process. Holding a huge syringe filled with translucent pink fluid in his hand, he told us that it essentially shuts down her system starting with her brain. He said the only pain she would feel was the prick of the needle and that after a few moments she would collapse, but that before she even fell her mind would already be gone. He said that though she would feel nothing, he liked to try to keep the horses’ heads from hitting the ground when they fell and he would try to do the same for Annie. I stood close between Claudia and Mary as we all leaned on the corral gate, watching while Barb put a harness on the unsuspecting Annie. Barb stroked her and talked to her calmly as the vet stuck the syringe in her neck. I watched the pink liquid drain out of the needle, and then he removed it and he and Barbara stepped back.

Until that moment I’d held myself together. But those ten seconds after the injection, when she stood by herself as the euthanasia took her over, and she looked at each of us in turn with her gentle stare, I couldn’t help feeling horrible that she was alone in her final seconds – without fingers in her mane or a hand on her neck, simply standing there unaccompanied, possibly confused by the changes she felt in her body, while the rest of us stood around like an audience, waiting expectantly for the end she didn’t know was coming. Then she fell. Claudia and I were sniffling and I felt glad that we each had our sunglasses on so we could both fake a degree of strength that we didn’t really have. I knew I had tears cascading out below the frames of my glasses, but I felt a little more protected knowing that my eyes themselves were hidden. Mary took my arm.

A few minutes later, after Annie’s diaphragm released and her body had taken its final reflexive breaths, the vet checked her heart and told us she was gone. I then helped Claudia and Barbara take the harness off of her, and I lifted her back legs as they attached the rope around her hips so to pull her to the bone yard. After her body was securely connected, I stroked her face one more time, and then they took her. I watched as her body was towed away and the other horses turned to see her pass. I walked back up to the house thinking I might cry again. For whatever reason, I didn’t.