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Authors: Laura Crum
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torn; that swelling is probably due to leaking synovial fluid. He may never be a sound horse again."
"The leg might just as well be broken, then."
"No, not really. Given enough time, it's possible he'll heal up from this. I'd say he has a fifty-fifty chance."
"How long is enough time?"
"In my experience, at least a year. I've only had a couple of horses in my career with a similar injury. One of them did recover to be a riding horse after a couple of years."
"But that's not rope-horse sound." Doug looked down at the ground.
We both knew that team roping was a demanding event; only a horse in top physical condition could do the job.
"No," I agreed. "It's unlikely that he'll ever be sound enough to be a head horse."
"Put him down, then," Doug said, sadly but firmly.
"You want to euthanize him?" I was stunned. "What about your kids?"
"There's plenty of nice horses in the world. If I'm going to keep one and feed it, it's going to be a rope horse."
I stared at the man in disbelief. Despite the fact that it was an entirely practical point of view, I'd never even considered the notion that Doug would refuse to give Twister a chance.
My eyes moved back to the horse. Head down, hind leg cocked so that only the toe of his hoof touched the ground, Twister stood quietly. His silver-white face was shadowed with charcoal shadings; a sooty gray forelock hung between the steady brown eyes.
Horses are all different. Like people, they're individuals, some chicken-hearted, some courageous, some cranky, some forgiving. Like people, you can often see a horse's true nature shining right out of his eyes, can feel his spirit and sense his intentions. As I grew older, I knew that I could read horses better than I could humans, and Twister struck me as truly noble, a horse with a great heart.
Despite my eight years as a veterinarian and the many horses I'd had to euthanize, I still felt a plummeting sense of shock and pain at the thought of killing this animal here and now.
"If he rests out of it, you could sell him as a riding horse," I said hopefully to Doug.
"But that's a year or more down the road. I've got to feed him and take care of him all that time when I could be feeding a useful one. And he may never be sound."
"That's true," I had to admit.
"I don't want him to suffer," Doug said. "Let's just put him down and get it over with."
I looked at the horse one more time. Doug's decision wasn't irresponsible. But, still ... Mr. Twister was special. I just knew it.
"Doug," I said, "would you give him to someone who'd give him a good home?"
"I guess so. But who'd want him under these conditions?"
"Me," I said slowly.
"You?"
"Yeah. I like this horse." I stroked Twister's patterned shoulder, wondering at my own choice.
"Sure." Doug smiled. "I'll give him to you. And I'll be real happy if I see you roping on him some day. That's great, Gail."
"Thanks," I said. "I'm not sure it's the smartest thing I ever did, but I've always been drawn to this guy."
Doug's grin spread right across his face as he handed me the leadrope. "He's all yours," he said. "I'll even throw in the halter. And it's a big load off my mind." He strode towards his truck as he spoke; I had the impression that he didn't want to give me time to change my mind. "All those X rays are on you, now," he said over his shoulder, "right?"
"Right," I agreed. "The whole call's on me. Thanks, Doug." But he was already gone.
Turning back to my new horse, I stroked his neck one more time. Despite the fact that I wasn't quite sure how I would manage the logistical problems arising from his presence out at my place, I felt a deep peace at the thought that I now owned him and he wouldn't have to die.
Slowly, very slowly, I led him to a box stall and gave him some painkiller intravenously. As the stoic look faded from his eyes to be replaced with relief, I fed him a flake of alfalfa hay and filled a bucket with water.
"You're my horse now," I told him, and watched with
"The leg might just as well be broken, then."
"No, not really. Given enough time, it's possible he'll heal up from this. I'd say he has a fifty-fifty chance."
"How long is enough time?"
"In my experience, at least a year. I've only had a couple of horses in my career with a similar injury. One of them did recover to be a riding horse after a couple of years."
"But that's not rope-horse sound." Doug looked down at the ground.
We both knew that team roping was a demanding event; only a horse in top physical condition could do the job.
"No," I agreed. "It's unlikely that he'll ever be sound enough to be a head horse."
"Put him down, then," Doug said, sadly but firmly.
"You want to euthanize him?" I was stunned. "What about your kids?"
"There's plenty of nice horses in the world. If I'm going to keep one and feed it, it's going to be a rope horse."
I stared at the man in disbelief. Despite the fact that it was an entirely practical point of view, I'd never even considered the notion that Doug would refuse to give Twister a chance.
My eyes moved back to the horse. Head down, hind leg cocked so that only the toe of his hoof touched the ground, Twister stood quietly. His silver-white face was shadowed with charcoal shadings; a sooty gray forelock hung between the steady brown eyes.
Horses are all different. Like people, they're individuals, some chicken-hearted, some courageous, some cranky, some forgiving. Like people, you can often see a horse's true nature shining right out of his eyes, can feel his spirit and sense his intentions. As I grew older, I knew that I could read horses better than I could humans, and Twister struck me as truly noble, a horse with a great heart.
Despite my eight years as a veterinarian and the many horses I'd had to euthanize, I still felt a plummeting sense of shock and pain at the thought of killing this animal here and now.
"If he rests out of it, you could sell him as a riding horse," I said hopefully to Doug.
"But that's a year or more down the road. I've got to feed him and take care of him all that time when I could be feeding a useful one. And he may never be sound."
"That's true," I had to admit.
"I don't want him to suffer," Doug said. "Let's just put him down and get it over with."
I looked at the horse one more time. Doug's decision wasn't irresponsible. But, still ... Mr. Twister was special. I just knew it.
"Doug," I said, "would you give him to someone who'd give him a good home?"
"I guess so. But who'd want him under these conditions?"
"Me," I said slowly.
"You?"
"Yeah. I like this horse." I stroked Twister's patterned shoulder, wondering at my own choice.
"Sure." Doug smiled. "I'll give him to you. And I'll be real happy if I see you roping on him some day. That's great, Gail."
"Thanks," I said. "I'm not sure it's the smartest thing I ever did, but I've always been drawn to this guy."
Doug's grin spread right across his face as he handed me the leadrope. "He's all yours," he said. "I'll even throw in the halter. And it's a big load off my mind." He strode towards his truck as he spoke; I had the impression that he didn't want to give me time to change my mind. "All those X rays are on you, now," he said over his shoulder, "right?"
"Right," I agreed. "The whole call's on me. Thanks, Doug." But he was already gone.
Turning back to my new horse, I stroked his neck one more time. Despite the fact that I wasn't quite sure how I would manage the logistical problems arising from his presence out at my place, I felt a deep peace at the thought that I now owned him and he wouldn't have to die.
Slowly, very slowly, I led him to a box stall and gave him some painkiller intravenously. As the stoic look faded from his eyes to be replaced with relief, I fed him a flake of alfalfa hay and filled a bucket with water.
"You're my horse now," I told him, and watched with
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