The colic post

This post comes with a big, fat trigger warning. If you aren't emotionally prepared to read a sad story about a fatal colic, pass this one by. 

For the sake of continuity, here's the short version: After our fun rides on Monday morning, we returned to Rachel's house and found her eleven year old daughter's pony colicking. We tried really hard to save her, but somethings are not fixable. RIP Razzle, it was an honor to have known you, if ever so briefly.

The long version can be found by clicking the link below.

After a morning spent in the saddle on the beach and in the woods, Rachel, Beth and I drove the horses back to Rachel's house. As we pulled up alongside the pole barn, we saw Rylie's Paso Fino mare, Razzle, lying down awkwardly next to the fence. Earlier that day, Rachel had told me she didn't do anything fast, but let me assure you, she was out of the truck and by Razzle's side in the blink of an eye. Razzle lurched to her feet and for a few minutes, she looked fine.

We unloaded the horses and turned Ember and Pebbles out with Razzle. They both got a drink.

Then they laid down and rolled. 

Razzle went down, too. Rachel got her up, and she went down again. And again. 

Rachel said she had a history of mild colics. We gave her some Banamine and a tube of Say Whoa, and we took turns walking her. 

The Banamine did its thing, and almost immediately, Razzle looked a lot more comfortable. It seemed like everything was going to be okay, if only Razzle would poop. We waited and waited and waited. No poop. Then Razzle started becoming less and less comfortable. It was time to call the vet.

And here's where this story is different from every other colic story: Rachel lives on an island. Her regular vet is on the mainland, more than an hour away on a good day, and this was not a good day.  Help was three hours away at best. That was much too long.

By this time, Rachel's friend, Vicky, had arrived on the scene. She set up an appointment with her vet, who was just forty five minutes and two bridges away. We put Razzle on the trailer and headed out.

Razzle traveled well, and even though it was nearly closing time, the staff was welcoming. The vet took her vitals, which were concerning but not terrible, gave her some more meds and inserted a nasogastric intubation. This is the standard treatment for colic. 

Once again, Razzle seemed to rally. 

Once again, the effects were short lived. Another vet was consulted, and it was determined that our best and only chance was to transport her to North Carolina State in Raleigh, which was three and a half long hours away. We loaded her up and headed off into the night.

We stopped a couple times to check her along the way. She was standing and holding her own then, but when we arrived at our destination, she was down and clearly in distress.

Not going to lie, Razzle's condition when we opened the trailer door was one of the worst things I've seen - and heard - in my entire life.

The staff at NC State was wonderful. They helped us get her out of the trailer, and treated Rylie's little "trash Paso" like she was the most important horse in the world. Still, there was only so much they could do. Razzle had ruptured. That's not fixable. Rachel signed the papers and said her goodbyes. It was absolutely heartbreaking.

After it was done, we climbed back into the truck and drove three and a half hours back to Manteo, arriving just before dawn. What had started out as one of the best riding days ever had turned into every horse person's worst nightmare. Even now - some two weeks later - I can barely make sense of it.