Addendum

Two days since Drifter died. Dakota still calls for him, trotting from one paddock to another looking. Not all the time, just once or twice a day. The others are more prosaic but they didn't know him as long as Dakota. Dakota was born here. He's known Drifter all his life. He lost his mother last year and now, for want of a better description, his uncle. It's only natural that he'd miss him.

One of the saddest things of this episode is knowing that Drifter was trying to get me to help him. All his life, if he was in trouble, he would leave the other horses and come search for us. Once he split his lower lip. We don't know how it happened but it was a two inch slice that separated one half of his lower lip from the other. It needed stitches. He was in the creek paddock when it happened and came to the fence, blood dripping, until we noticed him. He left the other horses to seek help. You can't tell me horses aren't smart. Another time, two times actually, he was stung or bitten by something and had a reaction. He came out in welts and his lips swelled (after the second time we kept a bottle of histantin in the fridge). As with the cut lip, he came to the fence for help. He actually whinnied until he got our attention. So when I went out that morning and he was on his brisket next to the fence at the closest possible point to the house, I know what he was thinking. We'd help him with this pain as we had always done. Well, we did try but this time it wasn't to be.

After Drifter died, I thought I'd try a technique, bibliomancy, I'd been reminded of while reading an article in Mind, Body, Spirit magazine Issue 27 (which is really one big advertisement for Watkins Bookstore in London). In it the author of the article used the Arthur Conan Doyle books as a sort of of psychical communication wit ACD. (Proof of Survival? Elementary, My Dear Watson! by Roger Straughan, page 28). I thought I'd use it in a slightly different way, opening the magazine at a random page and, with eyes closed, placing my finger on a random bit of text. What I got was this: 'The consequence of this is that we come into suffering.' And then, 'We observe that bodies feel pain, suffer disease and die, so we are convinced that we will die also.'

I was suffering, not from my own disease or pain but from witnessing Drifter's. A small thing perhaps and probably if I'd had Womens Weekly rather than MBS, the outcome would've been different but it still rings a distant bell of synchronicity. It wasn't divination as what I may have attempted to avoid had I known about it had already happened but I still think it's eerily appropriate.

Drifter is Dead

Friday the 13th. Not a good day. Drifter was euthanized this morning for a twisted bowel.

When I went out to feed the birds I noticed Drifter down on his brisket near the fence. Balthazar and Dakota were standing with him, licking his eyes. I stopped feeding the birds and went to get a halter. Colic. I didn't notice his eyes until I was next to him. Worse, much worse, than I thought. Dropped the halter and finished feeding the birds. He was sitting quietly, not thrashing so I had time.

When I slipped the halter on and asked him to get up he did, wobbly and shaking, hind legs spread for balance. I gradually led him over to the gate so the other horses could go out and then we made our slow way back to the yard gate. Thought if he was going to go over then best he go over on the softer ground of the yard. Richard rang Laidley vets. Talked to Kerri. Too busy to come. I came in and rang Gatton (Exclusively Equine) and spoke to Gemma, a vet I haven't met before. Told her what was happening and she said she'd come.

While we waited I kept Drifter away from obstacles in case he went down but he didn't try. He was sweating and shaking. He had haematomas under his chest where he'd struck himself and one eye was nearly swollen shut. The other eye had pus in it. The skin around both eyes on the orbital bones was raw and hairless.

The sad thing is I couldn't sleep last night and heard a horse trotting in the paddock making that rhythmic snuffling sound a horse makes when it's relaxed at the trot. I should've gone to investigate but figured that snuffling sound, and the fact it was only one horse, meant things were okay. I did look out the laundry door and saw one horse, I don't know who, standing quietly in the moonlight. Perhaps if I'd gone to check, he'd be alive.

Gemma came with Nicole as offsider. Led Drifter, dear compliant Drifter, through the stone walk past the bird bath to the driveway. Gemma took his vital signs. Heartrate 76, almost no gut sounds, the pelvic muscles along his spine hard. He was sweating and shivering. After she took his parameters she gave him drugs for pain and mild sedation so that she could tube him with Timpanyl, Lectade (he was dehydrated) and paraffin oil. Before that she did a rectal exam to see if she could detect an obstruction. There was none but she suspected it was more cranial (small bowel) as there was very little manure in his rectum and it was covered with mucous indicating that it had been sitting there for awhile.

When she tubed him there was reflux. He never got the tympanyl or parrafin. Quite a bit of crap was coming back through the tube. She asked would we consider surgery. No, Drifter had Cushings, he was 21 and I didn't want to put him through it, especially as it isn't always successful and it costs a great deal of money. That sounds harsh but with an older horse who has Cushings his life expectancy wasn't great anyway. The drugs were making no difference. I took his heartrate. It had only come down to 72 even with the second lot of pain relief. He was foaming sweat between his ears. His muscles were jerking and shivering. Sweat darkened his neck and withers and hips. He was in so much pain and I couldn't bear to let him suffer. If she went away without him feeling better than he would only suffer until I could get her back again. I asked her to put him down. She did. I held him, kissed him. He was brave and a gentleman through the entire process, even the rectal. Drifter was a gentle soul and although he did suffer and suffered for many hours, his suffering ended,

We've dragged his body into the dressage arena. The backhoe will come this afternoon to bury him. It's always the same with a dead body of someone you love. Drifter is gone, only that beautiful red shell remains. Came in and heard Eliza's Aria by that Australian female composer whose name escapes me. It was beautiful and so fiting to have that play as his requiem. I imagined him galloping free, mane and tail flying in the wind, no human on his back, just the wind on his white-blazed face and long green grass whipping around his legs. Free and young and strong.

Cushings Disease and Drawing Disasters

There are four horses outside the window. Occasionally one, usually Drifter, looks at the house. They know I'm up so why have I not come out to let them through to breakfast. The peach paddock has become the Jenny Craig paddock. They are all too fat but locking them into the yards, although denying them food for the night, is just a bit tough. Its hard ground isn't conducive to a good night's sleep and although horses sleep standing up, for a really good sleep, they like to lie down.

Suspect Drifter has Cushing's disease. Peter is going to give me some Chaste Berry which has helped horses with Cushings. Anecdotally at least. A study was done that says it made no difference while lay people have used it with success. Want to give it a try before going to drugs which can have side effects (especially to the liver). Should've known last year that Drifter had Cushings. He grew enough hair to pass for a buffalo and shed it in the same way, in great strips. This winter he again grew a long hairy coat and although most of it has come away, not all. Another sign was the sweating. In winter. But I passed it off as a result of the extra long coat. Plus he's been dull and rather lack lustre in his bearing. This sign was particularly difficult to notice as Drifter has always been an extremely laid back, shall I say, bone lazy, horse. But now, even without the drug tests, I am willing to wager he has it. He's the right age (21) and Cushings usually manifests around age 20.

Cushings is a disease which results from a benignn tumour growing on the pituitary gland. It prevents the pituitary gland from releasing cortisol (if I remember correctly). There is no cure. So again, we have a horse that we know is doomed and will one day have to make that difficult decision. Until then we can find something, whether it's chaste berry or traditional medicine, to help him spend his last years in comfort.

Strange how the animals one shares one's life with are like family. I know it's trite to say so as people talk about their furred or feathered family but when I think I've known Drifter for 19 years, that's a bloody long time. We've been through a lot together. He's taught me more about humility than anyone else. Because he forgave me. Always, all my mistakes, my pique, my temper, impatience, dumb arse ideas and misplaced enthusiams, were borne with equine equanimity. He is a wise old soul in a rough red coat.

I haven't written about the latest painting because it's a disaster! Most of it I like; like the concept, the look, the atmosphere, even the workmanship but the blasted woman sitting in the chair has been reworked and reworked and reworked to the point of possibly no return. The paper has held up well but there are just so many times that colour and material (pencil, chalk pastel) can be removed before it is no longer workable. The drawing is okay but it's the darned colour. Does she pick up the colour of the big red chair and if she does, how much? Is she in deep shadow (in dim light and with eyes half closed, it suits the mood of the painting best. Unfortunately, I have been unable to duplicate that look in bright light with eyes wide open). I'm gettingn to the point of putting it away and starting on something else. Perhaps a solution will come when it isn't before me every day. And I need to be working on something and this is just reworking with no reward.

The previous painting is a write-off too. Thought I could cut up portions of it to keep but with a second look it isn't worth saving. Thankfully, it will make good fire starter for next winter.