Lucky

In the fall of 2023, Olive developed a slight limp when trotting to the right. It didn't seem like a big deal at first. There had been an incident with a recumbent bike, during which she went back to the barn without me, traversing a lot of pavement at a high rate of speed. Sore feet seemed like a reasonable consequence. I gave her some time off, expecting a full recovery.

That did not happen.

In November, my vet did a full lameness work-up. Her x-rays were unremarkable, but nerve blocks revealed heel pain. My vet settled on a diagnosis of mild navicular syndrome. We made changes to her shoeing and diet and started her on Equioxx.

That helped, but I never really felt like she was one hundred percent sound again.

Oh, she was fine at the walk. Olive had an amazing walk. She consistently out walked horses who'd finished Tevis. I never, ever felt bad about riding her at the walk.

The trot was a different story. As long as we were on a straightaway or turning to the left, she was fine, but when turned right, the head bob came back. Sometimes, it was so slight, everyone told me I was imagining it. I wanted to believe that, but deep in my heart, I knew I wasn't.

I really like riding, so this was a problem. As much as I loved Olive - and I loved her so much - the thought of spending the next ten years only walking was... not great. If you talked to me at this year's BreyerWest, there's a good chance you heard about this. I was really struggling with it in March.

Things had leveled out a lot by June, but when we reached the critical decision point during Olive's first colic, it occurred to me that if I let her go, I could get a horse with fewer limitations. I sat with that for a few minutes, but all I could think was, "That horse wouldn't be Olive." 

I told the vet I'd changed my mind and wanted to proceed with surgery. 

After that, I never looked back. I'd made my choice, and it was Olive.

No horse has ever been more appreciated than Olive was during the last six months of her life. Every day, I went to the barn and rejoiced in her mere existence. It didn't matter if we trotted or cantered or even rode at all. 

Just being with her was enough.

Just being with her was everything.

Even though it ended the way it did, I have no regrets. Much the opposite. While I am absolutely devastated by grief, I am also overwhelming grateful for the time we had, especially that last half year. 

That time with Olive was everything.

Olive was everything.

I was so, so, so lucky to have her.

You need to know

"For a mustang"

I heard that phrase a lot during Olive's first ICU stay at Littleton Equine.

"She's very cute for a mustang."

"She's well behaved for a mustang."

"She's well built for a mustang."

I know it was meant as a compliment, but after a while, it started to get to me. I vented about it to my friend, Cheyenne, who was - at the time - working in the Littleton office. 

She said, "Well, we really don't see a lot of mustangs in the ICU. It's mostly..." Then her voice trailed off as she tried to think of a nice way to say "valuable horses."

Okay, I get it. I've lived in that world, and I know that for a lot of people, the value of a horse is measured by how it's bred and the ribbons it's won.

Olive wasn't that kind of horse.

Instead of going to competitions, she gave pony rides...

and kisses.

So many kisses.

She wore costumes...

albeit reluctantly...

and posed for photos.

Oh, how she loved posing for photos!

She went on walks.

Miles and miles of them!

This year, she even walked to the ballot box and voted with me.

I did ride her, of course.

I loved riding her.

There were a million little bareback toodles...

interspersed with big and small trail adventures.

But really, Olive's value wasn't measured by what she could - or could not - do under saddle. 

She was valuable for who she was...

and what she meant to me...

and so, so, so many other people.

None of this was evident when she arrived at Littleton on Saturday. She looked terrible. Her body was bloated, her heavy winter coat was drenched with sweat, her expression was blank and her eyes were hard and glassy. The staff treated her kindly and professionally, but also impersonally. Which was fine. Seth, Angelo and I were there. She had her people. We knew who she was.

But, at the end, when the impossible decision had been made, I felt compelled to tell everyone present, that this was Olive, and she mattered.

"You need to know," I said. "This little horse is more than just a mustang. She is important. I know everyone thinks that about their horse, but this one really is. I waited fifty two years to have a pony of my own, and when I got her, I shared her with everyone. Literally, everyone. More than two hundred people chipped in to pay for her colic surgery. She is my horse, but she's also everyone's horse. She is the best."

And she was.

She really, really was.

Olive

DB Olive

2011-December 29, 2024

My dear, sweet Olive colicked yesterday afternoon. We tried so hard to save her, but this time, it was not meant to be. She died early this morning with her head in my arms. She was the best pony. I was so lucky to have her.

Limbo

The week between Christmas and New Year's is always a weird one. It's the holidays, but it's not. It's the old year, but it kind of feels like the new year. It's a little bit of a lot of things, but not entirely anything. It's just weird.

There's still a Christmas tree on my photo table today.

I started to put it away, and was quickly overwhelmed by the disaster that is my 1:9 scale Christmas box.

As I was sorting and organizing, and a funny thing happened.

I realized that even though Christmas is over, 

I want to take these craft supplies and make them into something.

I'm not sure exactly what.

 But also, I don't think it matters.

When inspiration hits, you just have to go with it.

I'm officially giving myself permission to spend this weird limbo week making more Christmas things. After that, it's on to NaMoPaiMo!

Christmas wrap-up

Unlike Thanksgiving, which is often a circus, our Christmases tend to be pretty low-key. 

My holiday got off to a good start with a fun, warm Christmas Eve ride and barn buddy lunch.

Christmas morning was just James, Seth and I and a whole bunch of presents.

In keeping with longstanding Buxton family tradition, all the wrapping paper ended up on Emma. She never minds.

Later, I went to the barn to see my best girl.

She was extra cuddly, and we took a whole series of silly selfies together. 

Seth's father, Tom, and Ryan and Sarah came over for dinner. 

There was another round of gift giving, and I made both kids pose for the camera in their new clothes.

I'm so glad they still let me do this.

And just like that, Christmas is over. Today, I am back to work, and soon, this long, hard year will be over.