Sad happenings

This is the email I sent around a day ago.  It tells it all.

Yesterday sucked.

I had to put my old mare Chigger down.  Chigger was my first horse, my perfect horse and I had her for 12 wonderful years.  She had the exceptional ability to do the right thing no matter who rode her.  She could work cattle with the best of them, and loved that job above all others.  She would balance a child on her back with great care.  She would go on trails and calmly walk along highway traffic, barking dogs, and other horses.  She was disobedient only when someone inflicted pain on her or when she was in pain due to an injury or infection.

My best estimate of her final age is between 33 and 34 years old.

That is remarkably old for a quarter horse, especially one who had an unconventional rear end (damage a foal had caused).  The actual deed was quick and not very traumatic.  Chigger was a bit agitated, for I had led her out into the tall grass.  She kept tossing her head.  But once the catheter had been inserted, she was quiet and the first sedative had her drop to the ground.  She seemed relieved to lie down without having to worry about getting up again.  Getting up had become harder and harder for her to do, and she would injure her legs and exhaust herself in the struggle.  I could no longer blanket her, for fear she would get tangled.

Once she was stretched out, her life ended without a twitch.

SweetPea has been racing the paddocks all day and is screaming and hollering for Chigger.  It strikes us as funny, as she always tried to get the upper hand on Chigger, and it hardly seemed that the two horses liked each other.  Brownie and donkey on the other hand are just doing their thing.

A few years ago, when she could still balance a rider, this was Chigger, ready for work:

And here, not so long ago, when she gave Sweetpea, the paint, what for.