D’s parents live on a hobby farm in Comox Valley, on Vancouver Island. During the summer, there are few places more pleasant to spend a week or two. There is a farm bursting with spring produce (although we were too early for blueberry season and couldn’t take advantage of their eight enormous blueberry bushes) and there are horses. D’s mother spent the last decade breeding and training a dressage champion horse.
This is Roca, all 17 hands of him. He would be a champion except for a lameness he developed a couple of years ago. I got to ride him last year when his lameness was not so bad and he seemed to be recovering. He was a delight to ride — so responsive, so willing, and patient with a novice like me.
While we were on the farm, Roca was scheduled for surgery. This photo was taken right before he left for the vet’s clinic. The surgery went flawlessly. However, as he came out of sedation, he twisted and broke his leg.
The vet called. D’s mom approved his recommendation: Roca had to be put down.
Horses can’t really handle broken legs well. Dogs, by contrast, can still enjoy high quality of life with one or even two limbs out of commission (there is a curly poodle mix in my hood that cheerfully trots around with the aid of wheels replacing his back legs, for example.) But horses can’t walk on three legs. A broken leg means months of being confined, without physical activity, and even when the leg heals there is a chance it would remain weakened for his entire life.
I didn’t realize I was saying goodbye when I kissed his nose and wished him well on his journey. But I’m glad I was able to look in his eyes before he left.