This evening I buried my oldest horse. Allie was probably over thirty, an appendix quarter horse, originally called Chana Rose. Nicely bred but abused before I got her. I think I bought her mostly because I wanted to get her out of her crappy situation and hoped we could develop a partnership.
Well it was never a great riding partnership (and I have the broken pelvis to attest to that) but though she wasn't the right horse for me I was the right owner for her. I cared for her, I gave her good home good pasture, good horse buddies, good beet pulp hay bran mash, good love.
She ate her breakfast this morning! She wandered out, as she usually does, a little stiff and staggery, but nibbled grass, and looked fine.
Then at two o'clock this afternoon we noticed she was down in the field, and when we ran to check, dead.
Very kind neighbour with backhoe came to bury her. Very sweet sensitive guy, knew just how to set her in. Even the dragging part was not too tough. It's interesting how people can make bad things better just with their kind ways.
She was a tough independent old girl. Never much liked me I think. Just was her own creature. Never made any trouble. Never had a day sick. Vet said this was probably a heart attack. Typical Allie. Just to lay down in her field and go like that. Without me getting a chance to say goodbye.
Chowder is more a New England thingy, isn't it? Like clam chowda, crab chowda and corn chowda.....
