A winter tragedy struck our farm yesterday. Annie, our sweet nearly 20 year old Morgan mare, took a bad fall on the ice in her paddock. I found her struggling to get up when I got out of bed, and helped her get to her feet and back down to the barn. But while I communicated back and forth with the Veterinarian, she laid down in her stall and passed away. As we later found out, the trauma of the fall had caused a great deal of damage to her lung and vast internal bleeding -- there was nothing anybody could have done for her.
The Map Man rounded up a couple of other hearty men today to give him a hand dealing with having to remove something that large from the barn. I won't go into details, it wasn't pretty (as anyone who has ever had to deal with this situation can attest to), and I very much appreciate them having given the time (not to mention the effort and inner fortitude) to help us in our time of need.
I find it horribly ironic that we had recently come to the decision to find a new home for Annie, and had just found what I thought was the right place for her a few days earlier. They were in the process of making transportation arrangements when the accident happened. The day before she died, I told a friend that I really wished they would have come to get her that day, as the weather was being cooperative (it started raining in torents that night) and I just had a gut feeling that she needed to leave right then. Twelve hours later it was too late.
It's just one of those things, a complete accident, a mistep of her foot on the perpetually icy surface, made extra slick by the rian. But I of course feel miserable about it. It's awful to see a beautiful life cut short by a small twist of fate.