The Death of a Horse, the Birth of Memory

The rain didn't fall last night so much as it was thrown. The wind didn't blow last night so much as it was whipped. And a whip is a thing which lacerates, it cuts. The day after was the last day and the next days will be filled with no more and no longer until the next days outnumber the here-with-us days and the days after those days will pile on, unmercifully as well. The whipwind cuts. Whippy storm. Shallow breath. Dirtied coat. Abraded eyes. Right one swollen. No bowel signs right, and few on left. Unwilling to move - pressed rump-first into a corner facing southwest. Signs of sweat. "My other horse went this way." she weakly offers to the morning air, to the isn't there, foreshadowing shadows and coming despair. "I wish the doctor would hurry up and get here." though we knew he would, he was, he would be... soon. How soon? We didn't know. - - - Shaving tummy, seeking what's beneath, what is deep. Ultrasound inconclusive. Which leads to a conclusion, the conclusion. Mommy cooing for hours. She's brushing him now. "He's toxic" says doc J. "It's time." quietly said to all who already know. But the spokeness of it is it's own gift. The haunting guess brought into Life, into the moment into Astro's stall. - - - Outside, the crows cried. The grey winds sucked warmth. "You're gonna like where you'll be." repeated Momma K. A stroke. A kiss. A nuzzle. A forelock felt. He thumped down. Momma started. We four knelt down, knowing that but three would rise. Syringe after syringe. Twenty two years. "His heart's stopped now," says Doc "That's just his diaphragm tryin' to do its job." Astro huffs heartily. - - - Blankets cover him now, in a damp paddock. His bridle off. At long last. He is still. She shakes. Tears from both. - - - The wind won't stop. He seems to breathe. It's just the wind under the blankets. He really seems to breathe. - - - "I learned so much from this horse."