Epilogue

 This post started in July around Goosiversary Year 11, and I didn't get around to posting it. It's been a busy year, and a tough one, and with more and more blogs falling off, I've found myself in the same category. 

I wish this was a happy post about our 11 magical years together, and initially it was, even though I was going to announce Goose's retirement. Now instead, three months later, I have to announce his passing. 

For sake of documenting my life and events with Goose, here goes. 

For the past year, we haven't done a whole lot. He's been my rock since work got tough, and we weren't going off property or doing much of anything. In May, my trainer and best friend, Kendra, came down from PA for her 'bachelorette' (aka, a great excuse to come visit me) with a few friends and it was the first time she'd seen Goose since she brought him home from the clinic post-surgery in 2017 before I brought him to NC. We had such a fun weekend, and I'm so grateful she got to see Goose one more time. 

It wouldn't be us if we didn't take silly pictures. This is a tamer one.

Goose got a whole bunch of joint injections in June, and when I got back from Alaska in July, he wasn't quite right behind. We had the vet out, and I took one look at the ultrasound and knew he was retired. He had a big tear in his right hind suspensory, and though he was visibly sound at the walk, he's a big horse and it wasn't going to be worth trying to rehab a 19-year-old giant. With my vet's blessing, he was turned out to pasture (aka where he's lived for five years) and we called him retired. 

I was sad, boy is it weird to grieve when your horse is still alive, but I knew it was the right choice and he had three months of snacks and grooming and love. The best part about Goose was how people-oriented he was. Such a fun horse to be around no matter what. 

Marissa and Amy came down and we threw him a retirement party. It was fun and silly, and it helped heal my heart a little bit. 

Since the day I retired him, I'd been battling a horrible, sinking feeling in my gut that Goose was not long for this world. I've said for years that I just had a feeling he wouldn't have a very long life, and once I retired him I couldn't shake the feeling we were on borrowed time. I'd been telling my barn manager to prepare herself, talking to my friends about it, and despite my therapist saying "that sounds like anxiety, we don't have to let our anxiety take over" (my therapist is lovely and she wasn't really wrong, she just ended up being wrong in this case, if that makes sense) I just knew. 

A few weeks ago, it became apparent that he had torn his other hind suspensory as well. He was still walking around okay, but both legs had blown up behind and I had my vet evaluate him during fall shots two weeks ago. I love my vet, and we discussed a realistic plan for Goose. I reiterated that stalling him is a last resort option because he weaves and stall walks. I don't believe that a long life is necessarily a good life, and I'd rather risk him further injuring himself in his field but enjoying himself in the meantime where he's happiest than make him miserable in an enclosed space and have the same outcome anyway. My vet agreed with me completely, and we kept him out. We believed his suspensory damage to be degenerative, there wasn't really anything else we could do, but the likelihood of him having a few good years on grass was good. Except I knew it wasn't. 

Early last week, I noticed he was a little hitchy behind at the walk, and I began to think about the long winter ahead. We're lucky in NC that the winter is fairly mild, but we still get mud even in our well-maintained pastures and I thought to myself I might make a decision for him before the end of the year depending on how he did over the next few weeks. I am a firm believe in No Bad Days, and I will always do right by my animals when given an opportunity to do so. 

Last Thursday, I got the call at 11am. Goose was laying down and wouldn't get back up. 

In the 11 years I had this horse, he never once let anyone come up to him while he was laying down. He would immediately pop to his feet upon approach and beg for cookies. Haley said that when she was at the barn, he was laying down and kept calling at her. He wasn't colicking, he wasn't panicking, just whinnying to her. She got him up while I was on my way, he was given banamine, and my barn friend Courtney, also a trainer and amazing horsewoman, walked out to the field with me. 

Sweet Goober whinnied at me as I walked up to him, ears pricked and already searching for snacks. His eyes were bright, he seemed happy, and I was so glad to see it. I'd already made up my mind, even though I got there and he was in good spirits, but taking a look at his hind legs confirmed what I'd already been thinking. His fetlocks had dropped so low, it was heartbreaking. It seemed to have happened overnight, and likely it did. His fetlocks just gave out, his suspensories done for. He's a big horse, and so stoic, and this was the absolute first sign he gave me that something was very wrong, and I listened to him. 

I looked at Courtney with tears in my eyes and asked her to make the call to the vet. I then called Kendra, needing one of my people, one of Goose's original people, to confirm what I already knew in my heart: that this was the right choice. "If you're saying it's time, then it is. You have always done right by him and there's no doubt in my mind you're doing right by him now." 

Over the next several hours, Goose ate most of a bale of alfalfa, countless apples, carrots, German horse muffins, and sugar cubes. So many of our friends came out to see him, and he greeted each one with a nicker. 

We have a distinct lack of available vets in our area, and it was a long and difficult wait to find someone who could come out. My regular vet was out of town on a personal trip, and it got to the point where he offered to drive three hours back to help me out if no one else could. As we made calls and waited, Abby brought out some things for a picnic, including a bottle of Grey Goose. We shared stories and memories about him, and stuffed his face full of snacks. By 3pm, he finally laid down, he had started looking so uncomfortable on his hind end, and we all sat around him, feeding him and loving on him. He napped with his head in my lap, and I got closure knowing how lucky I was to spend this time with him. He had enough banamine he was comfortable, and I was grateful he stayed down until the vet got there. 

He napped in my lap and it's a memory I will always cherish. This was a little before the vet came.

A vet finally came out around 6:30pm, and after a long day of waiting he was finally at peace. My regular vet sent his parents out with a truck to pick him up after the fact. My friends stayed with me until the very end, and I left when the truck pulled in. Abby made sure I got his tail and forelock, and they're living in my trunk until I'm ready to see them. 

The greatest gift and burden of having animals is one in the same: we have the power to make the right decisions so they don't suffer. It is the hardest choice we will ever have to make, but it is the most important one, and I'm proud to say that while he had a few uncomfortable hours, he never had any truly bad days. 

My heart is shattered. Sometimes I think I'm okay until I remember I'm not, and that's all part of the process. The number of people who have reached out to me over the last week sharing memories and heartfelt condolences has been overwhelming in the best of ways - boy did that silly horse I bought on a whim on July 7, 2012, really touch a lot of people. 

I can't quite find the right words to pay tribute to how profoundly this horse impacted my life. So here's my best shot.

To the horse that I love, who infuriated me, challenged me, broke me, built me, rewarded me, tested me, delighted me, and loved me. Thank you for the best 11 years. I'll see you over the rainbow bridge, Goober.