Funny, I went back to this blog specifically to track my old dog's progress, and now find I need it to track much more.
The winter has been brutally cold this year for my liking. This means I don't spend a lot of time outside, which, in turn, means, not a lot of time spent at the barn. I see my horses numerous times over the day, and give them regular "once overs," but, its not the same. And, things get missed, or happen without my knowing, as I learned on Sunday.
As I was mucking my first stall, I took the normal occasional glances outside, sizing up my herd, watching and taking in the sights. Minutes passed, and something did not feel right. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something felt off.
I continued doing stalls, monitoring the horses from inside the barn. I noticed Tango was not moving around much. He seemed to be in one spot the whole time. This is not like him. Typically he is on the move, making sure all the horse know he has the power, and will move them around to prove it. Not so today.
Although he did get to more than one pile, he was not motoring around like his normal self. At one point, I tossed some left over alfalfa hay outside, and watched as he took note, and began to head over to see what yummy treats I had thrown into his paddock.
I noticed him gingerly turning, pivoting on his back legs, as opposed to stepping each leg over to turn. Not a good sign. He does have an old hip fracture, but, this was something I had not witnessed before.
He meandered to the new hay I had thrown, moved very slowly around the pile, obviously not wanting to put a lot of pressure on his bad leg. Not good, I thought. I'll need to start giving him more bute.
I continued my barn chores until I was just about done, catching a glimpse every now and then of how he seemed. He consistently moved slow, pivoting awkwardly, and shifting weight on his back legs.
Then I watched as he walked out to the sunny spot along the outside of the paddock fence line, a spot he loves to sun bath. He'd take a few steps, then stop. Rest. A few more steps. Stop. Rest. With his head hanging lower than normal. My heart sunk.
I walked out to him when I was done with the barn work, stopping before I reached him, catching his eye, as I always do, until our eyes engaged with each others. Tango speaks to me through his eyes. As crazy as it sounds, he does.
His head was low, his eyes were sullen, and when they caught mine, they did not light up, his head did not lift, but, he held my stare. I walked the rest of the way to him, hand outstretched, and he slowly reached his nose to me. When I reached him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, looked into his tired eyes, and knew. This is Tango's last winter with me.
I cried a few tears into his neck. His head lifted a little, eyes staring off into the distance and he breathed a heavy sigh. I scratched at his withers for a bit, as he stretched his head out with pleasure. Then, he spun his head back to me, like he always does, and in our eyes, we both knew, I would not ask him to try to get through another New England winter.
No more trenching through deep, thick snow. No more mis-steps on ice, or slippery mud, only to have it followed by more snow, bone chilling cold, and the rest that these winters bring. The old hip fracture we had managed so well together was feeling the ill effects of manipulating over tough terrain, and his body was losing its strength to keep it from progressing.
His eyes seemed to lighten a bit. My heart resolved. There would not be another season of struggling and pain.
He had not shown such obvious signs of discomfort to this point. Or at least, when we've seen them, they've been very temporary and followed by many, many days of normal activity and behavior. Days of him running around, sometimes three legged, but running nonetheless, his big, big spirit exuding from his big frame. But, Tango is done with winter, and this one has taken a toll.
In the meantime, Oliver will be 18 this year. He is having more accidents, needing to be carried more, and I am probably going to have to increase his medication over the next few months. Casey also continues to slowly decline. Marcus is on and off his grain, and Katy is not eating hay like a normal horse.
This is the season I am in, caring for their last days. I don't know who will go when, but we have crossed into their final seasons. As much as it hurts, I know how blessed I've been to have had these animals with me for this long. As hard as it may be, I will find moments each day to enjoy them and shower them with love and affection, and take whatever they are able to give back to me. And when the day comes that we do say goodbye, I will know I have served them well. My heart may be heavy, but I believe it is because it is filled, more with love, than with sadness.
The winter has been brutally cold this year for my liking. This means I don't spend a lot of time outside, which, in turn, means, not a lot of time spent at the barn. I see my horses numerous times over the day, and give them regular "once overs," but, its not the same. And, things get missed, or happen without my knowing, as I learned on Sunday.
As I was mucking my first stall, I took the normal occasional glances outside, sizing up my herd, watching and taking in the sights. Minutes passed, and something did not feel right. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something felt off.
I continued doing stalls, monitoring the horses from inside the barn. I noticed Tango was not moving around much. He seemed to be in one spot the whole time. This is not like him. Typically he is on the move, making sure all the horse know he has the power, and will move them around to prove it. Not so today.
Although he did get to more than one pile, he was not motoring around like his normal self. At one point, I tossed some left over alfalfa hay outside, and watched as he took note, and began to head over to see what yummy treats I had thrown into his paddock.
I noticed him gingerly turning, pivoting on his back legs, as opposed to stepping each leg over to turn. Not a good sign. He does have an old hip fracture, but, this was something I had not witnessed before.
He meandered to the new hay I had thrown, moved very slowly around the pile, obviously not wanting to put a lot of pressure on his bad leg. Not good, I thought. I'll need to start giving him more bute.
I continued my barn chores until I was just about done, catching a glimpse every now and then of how he seemed. He consistently moved slow, pivoting awkwardly, and shifting weight on his back legs.
Then I watched as he walked out to the sunny spot along the outside of the paddock fence line, a spot he loves to sun bath. He'd take a few steps, then stop. Rest. A few more steps. Stop. Rest. With his head hanging lower than normal. My heart sunk.
I walked out to him when I was done with the barn work, stopping before I reached him, catching his eye, as I always do, until our eyes engaged with each others. Tango speaks to me through his eyes. As crazy as it sounds, he does.
His head was low, his eyes were sullen, and when they caught mine, they did not light up, his head did not lift, but, he held my stare. I walked the rest of the way to him, hand outstretched, and he slowly reached his nose to me. When I reached him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, looked into his tired eyes, and knew. This is Tango's last winter with me.
I cried a few tears into his neck. His head lifted a little, eyes staring off into the distance and he breathed a heavy sigh. I scratched at his withers for a bit, as he stretched his head out with pleasure. Then, he spun his head back to me, like he always does, and in our eyes, we both knew, I would not ask him to try to get through another New England winter.
No more trenching through deep, thick snow. No more mis-steps on ice, or slippery mud, only to have it followed by more snow, bone chilling cold, and the rest that these winters bring. The old hip fracture we had managed so well together was feeling the ill effects of manipulating over tough terrain, and his body was losing its strength to keep it from progressing.
His eyes seemed to lighten a bit. My heart resolved. There would not be another season of struggling and pain.
He had not shown such obvious signs of discomfort to this point. Or at least, when we've seen them, they've been very temporary and followed by many, many days of normal activity and behavior. Days of him running around, sometimes three legged, but running nonetheless, his big, big spirit exuding from his big frame. But, Tango is done with winter, and this one has taken a toll.
In the meantime, Oliver will be 18 this year. He is having more accidents, needing to be carried more, and I am probably going to have to increase his medication over the next few months. Casey also continues to slowly decline. Marcus is on and off his grain, and Katy is not eating hay like a normal horse.
This is the season I am in, caring for their last days. I don't know who will go when, but we have crossed into their final seasons. As much as it hurts, I know how blessed I've been to have had these animals with me for this long. As hard as it may be, I will find moments each day to enjoy them and shower them with love and affection, and take whatever they are able to give back to me. And when the day comes that we do say goodbye, I will know I have served them well. My heart may be heavy, but I believe it is because it is filled, more with love, than with sadness.
