Hail and Farewell

Once again, my plan to write a cheerful post has been thwarted by tragedy. Last Monday evening we lost our sweet red mare, Copper. She had been suffering some time from asthma, and though we had been treating her with steroids and lots of love, her poor lungs just couldn't take the summer heat and humidity any longer. Monday evening, as Lance and I were looking at the day's progress on the front porch, I noticed that she was lying low in the grass in the front field. Since she rarely ventured out of the barn, except to pick grass for an hour or two, I guessed that something might be wrong. I called to her, she got up, walked a few yards, and lay down again. At that point, I knew she was suffering, so we started walking out in the field. When we got within 20 yards or so, she knickered and started breathing even harder. Lance went to the barn to get some medicine and call the vet while I stayed and comforted her. She tried to get up. I encouraged her, thinking that she was simply overheated and a respite in the cool barn would ease her pain. She took two steps, her back legs collapsed, and she fell over. At that point, I knew she wasn't long for this world. In less than a minute, she was gone. Lance will tell you that she waited for me to find her before she died. I don't know, but I am grateful that I was with her when she passed. After calling about ten local farmers, we finally found one who would bury her that night. It is still difficult to fathom how something so large and alive is gone. Thousands of tiny insects probably perished during her burial, but their deaths, and indeed their entire existence, seem so inconsequential compared to those of my 1,000 pound, new-penny-colored friend, whose warm neck I often leaned against for comfort. When the weather cools, we plan to plant a Sugar Maple on Copper's grave. In the fall, its leaves will undoubtedly remind us of her.

Attached are two pictures of Copper--a few days after she gave birth to Ruby. Ruby, by the way, seems to be adjusting well to her mother's death. I keep telling her that she is a young lady now with big hooves to fill.