this was not a show any of us wanted to watch.
Richard joined our vigil and shortly after that the vet arrived; she was marvelous. She told
Molly that she was very concerned with the situation, especially as Zevon was not a young horse. She left us with medications and a time line to follow. At one point in the early afternoon it appeared that Zevon had turned the corner. Richard, Molly and I commented over and over how much better he appeared to be feeling. We walked with him, stroked his beautiful neck and Molly gave him sponge baths. But our optimism was short lived and Zevon grew more restless as his pain intensified.
It was time for
Molly to make the hardest decision an animal owner ever faces. With tears in her eyes she looked at Richard. Through the years I have heard them discuss this very moment. She always told him, “I am going to have trouble making that call when it’s time. I need you to be honest with me and tell me the truth.” Even though the words strangled her, she squeaked out the question. Richard studied the toe of his boot and nodded yes. I drifted back and tried to get a grip on my trembling chin; I had no intention of making this harder for my dear friend. The call was made, the vet was on her way back over and we each paid homage to this outstandingly gorgeous being.
As I drove home later that day I thought what a precious gift Zevon and
Molly had given me. I will never forget this day, which was to be his last, and the memory of their dignity will be with me forever. When it is our time, I pray that Lakota and I will have friends to hold us up, to ease us through the transition, to answer the question that can’t even be asked. What a marvelous example they had presented me ~ filled with Love and Grief and Grace and Tears and Tenderness. Such a gift.
The end ... and the beginning.