If you will allow me to be uncharacteristically serious for a moment, I'd like to indulge you in a little therapeutic eulogizing...
There are two types of pet-owning families... those for whom pets are an amusing addendum to the family, and those for whom pets are considered an integral PART of the family. I grew up in a family where the latter was the case... and yesterday, we lost one of our own.
Bella was 22 when she came to us just a short two years ago after a long hard career as a workhorse. She'd been acquired by her then owner as a possible brood mare, but after two tries it became clear that, like a favourite spinster aunt, the old girl was 'past the point of that foolishness', and simply needed a nice home to spend her retirement years.
Upon her arrival, Bella quickly took to her surroundings. She almost seemed to take on that spinster-aunt role to our 6-year old workhorse-cross, Clyde. This persona extended to her interaction with the family as well. Like that loveable old elegant 'auntie', she was always gracious, always supremely gentle and loving, never missing an opportunity to be near to you. But she also made it clear both to Clyde and to us, that she wasn't interested in putting up with any 'nonsense'.
Having said that, she wasn't above trying new things. To our knowledge she had always been a harnessed workhorse and never been broken to saddle. With a little ingenuity on our part, she took to it like a duck to water, almost as if, after years of hard labour under the harness, she welcomed the relative ease of carrying a person on her back. She seemed to love going out on trail rides with Clyde, equally at ease following along with her nose tucked up to Clyde's tail or taking the lead and blazing the trail herself.
She was also very protective... invariably, when you'd go out to feed her in the dead of the winter she would meet you at the fence and escort you to the barn. It was clear from her demeanor that she wasn't simply following you to her source of food, but ensuring that you were safe. When the pasture was a bit slippery, she would walk even closer, giving you a moving handhold, and even going so far as to nudge you away from spots she knew to be particularly treacherous.
Yesterday, as I got the show underway, I got a call from my wife that Bella was 'down' in the pasture and would not get back up. It was unclear both what the problem was and how long she'd been laying in the snow. The vet was called and didn't find any obvious issues. He gave her a couple of shots and went on his way, adding what we all already knew... she needed to get on her feet by the end of the day.
I headed home as soon as possible, and with the help of the entire family, a number of my incredible neighbours and a tractor, we spent hours on end trying to get the poor old girl on her feet... to no avail. After realizing that our desperate plan to try to pull this gracious 1500 pound purebread Clydesdale over to a tree and use block and tackle to get her up was not only futile, but could result in further injury to her, we were forced to make the tough call before she got to the point of suffering. Besides, it just did not seem right that this elegant girl should be subjected to such an indignity at the end of her time.
The deed was done, and the remainder of the day was spent in comforting reminiscences and a fair share of tears by one and all... never more so than when Clyde was let out of the barn and, after madly searching through the pasture, finally found his old auntie lying still and refused to leave her side well into the night... and so life goes on.
I will miss Bella. Eventually, another equine companion will be found and join Clyde in the pasture and our hearts... but like that favourite old Auntie, Bella will neither be forgotten, nor replaced...
Goodbye, old girl...
