It was my habit to check
on Fred every morning on the way to work. On the morning of Wednesday,
December 14, 1994 I noticed Fred did not complete breakfast. This disturbed
me enough to check back on him at noon and still there was alfalfa left.
I handed him some which he gingerly nibbled, and I observed he showed
no signs of colic distress.
I came back at three
in the afternoon and still hay was left. Fred was slightly nervous or uncomfortable.
I waited. In about half an hour he was very uncomfortable, swatting between
his legs with his tail and wanting to roll, classic colic symptoms. For
those unfamiliar with colic, it is a blockage or stoppage of intestinal
movement. It can become lethal if a horse thrashes and twists an intestine.
Horses can't throw-up, so intestinal gas makes them very uncomfortable.
The immediate remedy
is to not let them lie down and thrash. I did this but determined Fred
was in considerable pain. I injected a dose of Banimine which I have on
hand for such emergencies. Three times before when Fred had coliced the
Banimine had calmed him within about 15 minutes. This time the same response
occurred.
I stayed for about
an hour, he even nibbled on some alfalfa. I decided to return at 6:00,
7:00 and 8:00 p.m. He was showing no discomfort at eight and I decided
to check him again at 10:00 p.m. At the time he was munching his alfalfa.
I decided to hang it up for the night and check him at 5:00 a.m.
When I arrived at 5:00
a.m. (dark) he was not in the barn. Something was wrong. I searched the
pasture with a flash light and found him lying and
moaning behind the
barn. I got him up and stabilized him, and then decided to get my trailer
and to take him to the vet.
I trailered Fred
to Dr. Terry, the vet in Chino. Destiny helped by getting her there before
seven. She put a hose through Fred's nose into his stomach.
She put in oil for
his stomach blockage and noticed his rectal exam exuded hard stool. She
shot him with Banimine, and said to take him home and inform her of progress
late in the afternoon.
Fred was groggy from
the Banimine most of the day. I walked him on and off not allowing him
to lie down. He showed some interest in bran with water and drank water
only twice.
I called the vet at
2:30 and was advised to trailer Fred back to their office. She was not
there, but her cohort Dr. Bill was, and was tracking the case. He asked
how important Fred was to me, and I made it clear that Fred was not to
receive superficial attention. The vet indicated if expensive surgery was
an option for me, I should immediately embark for Phoenix-Gilbert while
Fred still was strong. This would maximize his chances in surgery
if it were needed. Then he again tubed Fred and loaded him with electrolytes
which are a nutrient. I immediately embarked for the Phoenix surgical facility
(of which there were none in the Prescott area).
Three hours later with
a horse trailer through very heavy Christmas traffic, we arrived at the
center located in Gilbert Arizona. A staff was pre-informed of our
arrival. When I opened the trailer door I did not know what to expect to
find. Fred came bounding out. He was in good spirits. Apparently,
the electrolytes had refreshed him. After an examination and x-rays, the
head surgeon, Dr. Scott again asked how important Fred was to me. He said
he could feed Fred intravenously for a day or two and wait to see if it
cleared. However, he said if Fred were very important part of my life,
I should not delay immediate surgery as his chances were 95% to come
through it with the problem resolved. And if we waited, these chances could
be reduced.
I said, "go".
Fred was in good spirits
and getting along well with everyone. He nuzzled my shoulder several times,
lip-twitched my hand, and licked me once lightly on the hand. He was indicating
to me that I still had his trust and confidence after a day which must
have been sheer hell for him after being trailered three times and tubed
twice, and driven through frantic Christmas traffic on the freeway.
I even mentioned to
the two surgeons present that I had written a book about him and got a
copy from the truck and gave it to them. They were delighted and I read
them the first page aloud, so they might know what Fred was about, how
I felt about him, and do their absolute best in the operating room. I kissed
toward Fred and he followed me into the padded prep room without
being led. Only later did I learn this doorway he followed me into was
his entrance to eternity.
He was cheerful and
never in any pain.
Here in this room he
was to be administered anesthetic and tilted on to a rolling surgery table.
I was left alone with him for a few moments. He sweemed his usual effervescent
self, was cheerful after having entered the prep room of his own choice.
The unheld lead rope was draped over his shoulder when he walked into the
ominous, strange room.
Then in those precious
last moments, I hugged him and told him I loved him.
I was asked to leave
the padded room before the anesthetic was administered. A few minutes later
Fred was rolled into the operating room which had a full view window through
which I could watch the whole procedure. I was informed the surgery would
take about 2 hours. I waited and watched through heavy, lead minutes for
2 hours. There were 3 vet surgeons. an anesthetist, and an another assistant
using all the latest technology.
The doctors were "relentless"
as they operated, especially Dr. Scott. He projected a focused intensity,
the likes of which I had have never before witnessed. I would say it was
one of his finest hours as a surgeon.
I sensed the operation
was not routine after 2 hours. There was intensified discussion which I
could not hear. They worked fervently. He was valiant. I sensed sheer determination
to deny and defy death from the doctors. They stood for hours, cramped
together with their arms in Fred's chest up to their elbows and shoulders.
They were covered in blood. They were giving him their best shot and I
knew it. Dr. Scott and the rest of the surgical team worked bent over Fred
with sutures reaching far into the abdominal cavity.
The decision was made
to move the operating table back into the padded prep area where there
was a hoist. The table was frantically moved with tubes hanging out of
Fred and solutions poring into him. They hoisted him up and worked frantically
on him for another half hour. My heart sank when the doctor left the room
taking off his mask to talk with me. I could see the conceern on
his face.
He told me he had stayed
with the surgery an hour longer than he had with any other horse trying
to suture Fred because he knew how important he was to me. He said how
he felt he was attempting an impossible operation and said Fred would only
awake to misery until he had to be put down.
I asked "Tell me from
your soul, is there anything possible we could do for him?"
The response was eyeball,
to eyeball, soul to soul, "No".
I responded, "OK let's
put him down."
At approximately 11:30
p.m. with Dr. Scott at my side, he permitted me to administer a lethal
injection of anesthesia to Fred which expired him in a few moments.
I felt Fred was entitled
to have me administer it. I told Fred "I know you would do the same thing
for me. I love you." Then I moved the plunger down.
After he expired, I
throbbed into tears. One vet, Dr. Rene', hugged me and cried with me. She
had taken Fred very personally.
I was invited to spend
the night at the hospital but declined, requesting help from them to load
Fred and take him home. I had made up my mind Fred would have a proper
buril at home.
The staff recognized
I was sturdy enough emotionally to carry out this function, and I arrived
home with Fred piled in the back at 3:30 a.m. safe and sound. My focused
task, as I saw it, was to be the one who put Fred down and then get him
home. The unspoken deal I had with Fred throughout our relationship was
that I gave him everything... everything... and he gave the same back...
and more.
It was spiritual to
me. After my task was done and my promise kept, then I could break into
sobs.Somehow, I managed this desired restraint.
The official written
opinion of Dr. Scott was "Fred had a diaphragmatic hernia. (a tear in the
muscle between the chest and abdomen). It was not repairable. Usually these
are caused by a fall or blunt trauma."
There remains a mystery
of how or when this happened. Two days later when Dr. Scott reported to
Dr. Terry in Chino, he told her, "if there were one horse he ever tried
to save, it was Fred."
Fred was buried
12 feet deep on a ground cloth with a copy of the book he inspired, his
blanket, and the shirt off my back to cover his eyes from the dirt falling
from the backhoe.
His friends were there,
even a neighbor with a disabled back, all of whom helped lift
and hoist Fred from the trailer into the grave.
I always encouraged
Fred to have his own friends. He knew it, and they knew It. I never owned
him. I only helped to set him free, at last.
I wrote in the book
buried with him; "For Fred: From your Maintenance Man and Soul Brother,
God be with you. I love you. Jim"
Fred was thirteen years,
seven months. (Foaled 5-9-81) I had stewardship of him for eight years,
one month. He passed on December 15, 1994. Although he won many trophies
in the show ring, I seldom mentioned them. What he was spoke for itself.
During those eight
years we spent together, he gave me a lot to live for. Now that he is gone,
it will take several months to assimilate and reconcile. But now a couple
of notions seep in. First, some losses, we will never get completely past.
They become part of us. Though not by our choice, our souls have grown
wider and deeper.
Secondly, it dawns
on me his story, "our story", deserves to be told. (Because both he and
I pulled out all the stops for each other from day one; our relationship
was a "one of a kind.") I discover this meaning in my life as he passes.
I was destined to be his maintenance man and biographer. It was likely
inevitable I would write the story.
Will Rogers said, "Something
about the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man."
Often I would go visit
Fred three or four times a day. I'd bend over, and he would nibble the
back of my neck. Our trust was so complete I could put my ear to his mouth,
and feel absolutely safe and comfortable. Sometimes he would be eating,
yet he would stop to acknowledge me. Often he would stop and come over
to nudge me. Always, something inside reached out from him, and it inevitably
made me feel calm, reassured and repenished. He just made everything OK.
Today, in retrospect
I would not trade our time together for ten million dollars, a yacht, or
even the presidency of a major corporation. I would go back and do it all
again in an instant. I was blessed and honored to have had this privilege.
It was always about freedom for both of us. No regrets, no hard feelings.
Only sweet sorrow and humble gratitude remain, in every bone and
every day. It was totally complete.
continued...
(Months later)
Dear Marsha
Last week I lamented
I would sell everything I had if it would bring Fred back.
And now because of your efforts, on Sunday I will bring home his brother
in kind, from the Bey Shah lineage, whom I call "Biff" or Biffer.
Words only point to
the meaning in all this, and my heartfelt gratitude for your negotiations
for Biff. Yet, likely, you are one of the few who understands without words.
I know Fred would have
said to me, "Pick the right angel for the job, and then let her do it."
Because of you, the
owners were magnanimous as they accepted our offer. More than our
money, they accepted our pocket full of stars.
Thank you, and God
bless you.
Sincerely, Jim, Fred,
and now Biff
(Several months later)
Now some months later,
the dust has settled and two observations remain.
First I am astonished
how much Biff is turning out like Fred. Maybe it's because he reflects
the same parts of me that I gave Fred, and also what Fred's "Principle"
brings forward in him. The most precious moments are after dinner at night
when I check on him. He will snooze with his nose in my hand, and his head
on my chest. Several times we have stood there for five minutes or so in
this silent prayer. He must trust me a lot to do this, and it is good for
my soul.
All this is a result
of Fred's legacy. I've learned anyone can have the same affection, deference,
respect, and mutual trust and confidence which seemed so special with Fred.
It's blossoming all over again. The same thing. There was a time when I
never thought I would have this again.
Second there was one
other special event in the last evening of Fred's life as I was bringing
him home for burial which is now noteworthy.
On that evening, as
we topped the long steep hill which brought us back to the high country,
there was a most unusual event to which I now attribute a closing syncronicity
and leave open for interpretation.
Streaming across the
windshield, from upper left to lower right was the most prolific falling
star, bursting into several brilliant particles. Even in my grief, I remarked
to myself, "My God, I have never seen one like that."
Since then I have seen
two shooting stars. Both of those distant sparks in the sky caught
my breath in wonderment and awe, as I remembered Fred, our ride on this
planet, and the spark which he helped rekindle in my soul.
In my interpretation,
saints are made from similar dust falling from the sky. Perhaps whoever
reads Fred's legacy might find a little of this unique stuff inside and
therein recognize a golden moment yet undiscovered in which they might
give someone back to himself or herself.
I'm grateful for my
experience as I now recognize Fred's final rest in the sky. Henceforth,
I know every shooting star I see, I will again experience the brilliant
majesty of Fred's dignity and free spirit. Thus, I am left with the humbling
sensation he, and perhaps all of us, are camped out only briefly on this
tiny orb circling in the milky way.