What happened

Everyone has been so kind. I have heard from people I had not talked to in years, and my kitchen table is overflowing with flowers and cards. Everyone has been so, so, so kind.

But also, there's this thing that happens when I'm in a group of horse people. They wait until they see that I am okay talking about Olive. Then, very gently, someone inquires, "Can I ask what happened?"

I am not offended by that. Much the opposite, I totally get it. Olive was mine, but also everyone's. She was a community pony. People were invested in her. People loved her. People are still mourning. I understand the need to know. 

So today's post is the story of that day. It's long and sad and does not have a happy ending. If you're not up to it, feel free to pass this one by.

That morning started like any other. I got up early, checked Facebook, fed the dogs and made Olive her breakfast. When the beet pulp was soaked all the way through, I put on my jacket and drove to the barn.

I was working that day, so I didn't have a lot of time, maybe an hour. I thought about getting on Olive and going for a bareback toodle, but instead, I groomed and did a little groundwork in the ring. After that, I walked her out to the field, kissed her on the nose and fed her some carrots. She stood with me for a few minutes, hoping for more carrots, then headed off to see her friends.

Several house later, my phone rang while I was at work. My heart sank when I saw Karen's name on the screen. We talk almost everyday, but never on the phone. I knew it was bad, and I was right.

I told my boss, and she said, "Oh shit. Just go." 

I did.

When I got to the barn, Karen was walking Olive in the outdoor ring. She looked alright. She was clearly uncomfortable, but nothing like she'd been in June. At this point, it looked like a very mild bellyache. I took the lead from Karen, saying, "We're going to the indoor. Olive always poops in there."

Sarah was in the indoor helping Heather back her young horse, Jet, for the first time. It's a small indoor, and normally, I wouldn't muscle in on something like that, but this was important. I explained the situation as I walked laps. I watched Heather sit on Jet, and then Olive made a nice big poop.

The crowd in the arena celebrated both achievements. For a few minutes, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

I led my pony back down the hill to her stall. She pushed her way to the manger, took a big mouthful of food and held it, without chewing. Then she took a couple lurching steps to the middle of the stall and laid down to roll.

I got her up, haltered her and led her back up the hill to the indoor to update Sarah. She said, "I know you don't want to here this, but it's time to call the vet."

I called the vet.

It took almost an hour for her to arrive. While we waited, Olive got significantly worse. We gave her Banamine, which helped a little, not enough.

Finally, the vet arrived. She administered drugs, inserted a nasogastric tube and performed a rectal. All signs pointed to this being exactly the same colic as the one she'd had in June. Probably, the smart thing would have been to let her go then and there, but I was not ready. After all we'd been through, I just wasn't ready.

At some point during all of this, Seth and Angelo arrived and Karen went home. There were a lot of comings and goings during the night, but at no point were Olive and I left alone. I truly appreciate that.

The vet couldn't stay - she had another emergency call - so we moved Olive into the show barn and waited. She had a lot of drugs on board and was feeling a lot better. Although I was adamant about not taking pictures of her while she was in pain, she looked so cute in her fleece cooler, I couldn't resist taking snapping a couple quick shots.

Unfortunately, the relief didn't last. As the drugs wore off, Olive's pain returned with a vengeance. I knew it would take less time to take her to the hospital than it would to get the emergency vet back out. I called Sarah, who had left for the evening. She came immediately. We hooked up her trailer, loaded Olive and headed out.

At this point, I was pretty sure we were going to end up euthanizing her, but since we were already at the hospital, I availed myself of their better diagnostics. Unfortunately, the results weren't encouraging. It was, in fact, that same colic she'd had in June. Without surgery, her odds were about fifty fifty, and even with surgery, it was likely we'd be back in this same place in another six months. Because we were able to (mostly) control her pain, I decided to let her fight a little bit longer. We moved her into the ICU barn. Then it was more drugs and more waiting.

It was late, and Seth opted to go home, but Angelo stayed with Olive and I.  Olive was too uncomfortable for butt rubs, so I scratched her withers and braided her mane. I could feel her body relax when I did that, so I did it over and over, all the while telling her how beautiful and perfect she was.

The ICU was busy that night, and mostly, the staff left us alone. That was fine, but eventually there came a point when I knew Olive had had enough. I shared my thoughts with Angelo, and she went to get a vet.

When she arrived, I said, "If you reasonably think there's a chance, you can talk me out of this, but I think it's time to let her go."

The vet said simply, "I'm not going to talk you out of it."

She asked if I needed time to say my goodbyes. I did not. Truth be told, I'd been doing that all night. I told everyone present how special and amazing Olive was. Then I clipped the leadrope onto her halter, and we went for our very last walk.

I am a fifty five year old barn rat, so I've been present at a lot of euthanasias. They always suck, but I can say this one sucked just a little bit less. Olive was ready. She laid herself down, tucking her cute little feet up under body. I sat on the ground in front of her with her head in my lap until I heard the words, "She's gone."

Then I sat there a little longer, because as it turned out, I did need more time to say my goodbyes.