The night Alibi died was simultaneously the most heart-breaking and enlightening of my whole life. I can pretend all I want that I’m at peace with the situation, but it still isn’t fair that he was taken from me so young. He was such a special horse that any justification of his death is paltry and shallow. But I never knew that I could love something so deeply, and it’s good knowing that I’m capable of that.
It began on Sunday while I was at work. Heather texted me to let me know that Alibi had a fever, was dehydrated, and was generally not feeling well. She had given him a shot of banamine. I called Mom and asked her to go check on him. Reports were good from her when I got home from work. Still, I didn’t like how it sounded so I went out myself.
Alibi’s demeanor told me everything. Instead of his curious little nose poking out the stall bars at me, he barely acknowledged me. He was definitely lethargic and his capillary refill was not good. His fever had broken, which to me meant that he was going to be better soon. I groomed him really well, pulled his mane, treated his hooves. After awhile with still no interest in water, I decided we should go try grazing. I had this crazy thought, ‘What if I lose my horse tonight?’ but pushed it out of my mind. He wanted to walk, which seemed good, but he put his muzzle to the grass and never tried to eat.
It was 7pm when I finally had Heather call out the vet. Mitch arrived five minutes after Mom, around 8pm. He had to ask me about Alibi because in the eleven weeks Alibi had been there, Mitch had never even known he was there…he hadn’t needed to. More banamine and a sedative and we decided to tube him; he tried to plow Heather and I over once he was sedated. Mitch told me to go walk him around a bit on the sedative to see if anything passes. He stumbled drunkenly around the yard, and his drowsiness would have been adorable had the stakes not been so high. Mitch mentioned what a tough little horse he was because he had double dosed him on sedatives: enough to lay out a big warmblood.
Tubing him did nothing. The next step was to administer an IV of fluids because the thought was Alibi was so dehydrated that he couldn’t pass anything. It was almost 10pm at this point. An IV meant that I was going to stay overnight, dutifully watching my beloved horse. He was hooked up by 10:30, heavily sedated so he would stand quietly. I had Mom watch him while I went home to get a blanket and a sweatshirt. By the time I’d gotten back at 11pm, the sedative had worn off and he was fidgeting in the crossties. I sent Mom home with a smile, certain that my pony with all the needles in his neck would be just fine in the morning.
The IV finished around 12:30; I gave him another sedative, capped the catheter, and led him out to the round pen. I fell asleep around 3am and when I woke at 4am, there were three small poop piles scattered around the round pen. I would have been hopeful if it hadn’t been for the fact that half the round pen had been dug up by Alibi’s pawing. I gave him another sedative and I sat on the mounting block I’d brought out. Alibi put his head in my lap and cocked a hip, trying so hard to get some rest. I cooed and talked to him about how he needed to get better so that Mom could have him and my children could learn to ride on him. I reminded him how far we’d come over the years and how I wasn’t the only person who needed him.
Around 4:30am, Alibi needed another sedative because the pain was so bad. At 4:45am, he got another. I understood what this meant and began to beg. Beg to save my little horse. Less than ten minutes later he needed another sedative. Intermittent tears streaked my already dirty face as I pushed the plunger each time.
When Mitch came in the morning, he palpated him once more. The look on Mitch’s face said everything I needed to know. He told me that it was unlikely Alibi would even last the trailer ride to the hospital and that we were out of options. We stood silently and I failed to stop a few tears from rolling down my cheeks. My mother stood to the side, rubbed her brow and asked, her voice low, “So what do we do from here?” Mitch wouldn’t look me in the eye as he told us that the last and only option was euthanasia. By now the tears were freely falling. I put my hand in Alibi’s mane, looking at the dimness in his eyes. “Whatever is best for him,” I managed to choke.
They asked if I was sure that I wanted to be there; they were more than willing to take care of it for me. But how could I let my Little Bear leave without me being there? It was unfair enough that he had to leave so soon, but it would be more unfair to him if I wasn’t there to the end. It would have been selfish.
He’d been sedated all night and Mitch had just given him another dose to palpate him. We had about a quarter mile to walk to the appropriate location, and Mitch was worried that he might fall on the way there. My horse is tough. He never showed that it hurt, and he wouldn’t let sedation slow his swagger. I was right. My little man walked straight and bold over to the woods by the trailers. I cried silently the entire way there, clutching the leadrope until my knuckles were white. Mitch and Heather asked me again if they were sure I wanted to be there. I nodded again. Mitch felt for a vein and injected that last cocktail.
Alibi’s head dropped lower and he staggered a little to the side. I kept one hand on his nose and the other clutched the lead even tighter. He swayed a bit, the weight shifting from side to side. Finally, his front legs buckled and my breath caught in my chest. Very quickly, his back end followed, landing with a deafening thud. I crouched down to be closer and stroked his blaze, watching his eyes go from sad to empty. His stare was hollow, and he was gone.
I am so sorry….I have walked this walk and put down the best horse I ever owned! I am so sorry!!!
Just met you, still so sorry.
Is it strange to say I envy you?
After reading some of your other entries about your relationship with Alibi, I can’t help but relate. I had a gelding that I grew up with, that my dad chose to sell at a time in my life when I needed him the most, and didn’t even have the guts to tell me what he was about to do. I have battled my feelings over that for years, and was able in 2008 to find out what happened to him. He met an end much like your beloved Alibi, but I wasn’t able to be there with him in his last moments. As hard as it is to think about, be thankful you had the chance to be there for him. I know I’d have given anything to be there with my guy when it was his time.
My daughter was 15 when the Best Horse in the World, who she had ridden for 6 years, broke his hind leg and had to be euthanized. I always felt her childhood ended that day. Be proud you were with him till the end, and that you did all that could be done. Barbaro’s owner said it best. “Surely grief is the price we all pay for love.” The love is worth it, thought the grief if fierce. Condolences for your loss. Congratulations for the love, and learning, you had with Alibi.
Words fail me. Tears flow. You loved and were loved, capturing it magnificently. Wow.
I have tears running down my face now. How sad. The best horse I ever had colicked on me when she was 3 months pregnant. I opted to do the surgery and she held onto that baby and had a healthy but small baby. Then 2 years almost to the DAY of her surgery, she was found in the pasture by my long time friend, trainer, dead. I was so glad that I never had to make that decision of putting her down. It would have killed me and I would not have been able to be there for her…I am not strong enough. She was everything to me for 17 years. I won many buckles on her in cutting and have been offered good money for her. As my grandpa always said, “Thats when 2 fools met..One to make the offer and one to turn it down” LOL I
I can’t imagine being there when they put a horse down…I have worked for vets and I always HATED that part. I guess thats why I can’t do it anymore. I had to put my dog down a few years ago and the vet asked me if I wanted to be there. I told him I didn’t want to be there when his heart stopped, but I would if he sedated him first, then when he was asleep, I would leave and he could give him the final shot. The vet did as I asked and I sat on the stall floor and held his head in my lap while he was given the sedation…when he was asleep I got up and left the stall until the vet came out. I cried soo hard and my mom and I talked on the phone for an hour crying and talking about all the good things…I did the same when my mare died. But No one at work understood why I was so upset…I collapesd on the floor when I was told on the phone…my manager said, “Its just a horse” some people just don’t get it.
As I read your post on Alibi last day, the tears fall freely down my cheeks. On 12/12/11 I had to make that awful decision to let one of my horses go. He was 20 years old, and the best darn horse. He was a snuggler, a cuddler, and trotter, and lover, and enjoyed giving anyone a ride, that I swear he just smiled the whole time! So my heart is with you. My tears are for you and me. For going thru lifes tough spots. And yes, Marlene, Some people DO NOT get it!
I lost a special horse, only 7 years of age to colic three years ago, and last year had another horse go down three times wth serious colic…long nights like yours as things get worse, thankfully she always came through. Our horses seem so strong, its so unfair that things can go downhill so fast, and just like that…they are gone.
This was a very sad post, but thank you for sharing. You were there to the end, and he would have appreciated that.