Farewell, Sweet Cappy

The beauty of the sky Wednesday seemed a mockery of Cappy's relapse. Misty pastel hues a backdrop to his staggering back legs, pain accentuated by the awe of Mother Nature's handiwork. I raced into this awful beauty as I drove west to the vet's office to pick up a new round of steroids for Cappy, taking note of the irony. I was worried, but glad that I'd caught the change quickly, and grateful for my vet who made a special Christmas Eve morning drop so I could get my beloved Mustang dosed and back on track. I couldn't imagine what could have happened on Christmas otherwise.

But, it happened anyway. As soon as it was light Christmas morning, I headed out for chores, eager to see Cappy's progress, his second dose of steroids hidden inside his favorite German cookie treat. Cappy was lying near the south side of the horse barn. I was relieved, thinking he'd finally been able to rest, until he tried unsuccessfully to stand. His fronts pushed his body up, so he was sitting like a dog; but his poor hind legs were useless. "Shhhh, Cappy...it's okay, buddy...just stay there." I whispered soothingly, already knowing in my heart what my Christmas now held in store. 

Grasping for hope, I moved beside Cappy and offered his treat. Unbelievably, he eagerly ate it from my palm and even dug into his breakfast when I set his feed pan down where he laid. Any hope of a miracle vanished over the next few minutes as this majestic Mustang tried repeatedly to rise. Knowing, my heart breaking, wanting only the best for this horse who has changed my life, I left a message on the emergency vet line, and waited. Chad hovered, frustrated at knowing there was nothing to do, that he couldn't make this nightmare disappear. 

Cappy's struggles to rise brought him in front of the gate dividing west from center. Cinder moved behind her down friend, head over the gate, keeping him company. Not wanting a new attempt to end in Cappy's legs tangled in the gate, I went the long way around to open it without causing him to try and move again. It was just a waiting game now, no chance of recovery, only trying to reduce trouble areas. I closed the barn door, swung the gate fully open, and moved back around to where Cappy remained, quieter now.

Understanding and wanting to honor his boundaries even now, I gave him his couple feet of comfort space and sat down to wait for my friend/vet. Leaning over, I placed some loose hay in front of Cappy and smiled as his fuzzy white muzzle and lips dipped down and delicately chose his preferred stalks of hay. Oblivious to the bitter wind chill, I did my best to comfort my horse. "You'll feel better soon, Caps. I promise. No more pain. No more worries." The crunch of driveway gravel told me she'd arrived. My vet who wasn't even on call, who'd insisted it be her who came to help me in this terrible, awful Christmas morning twist of fate, whose father accompanied her, an old "horse guy" who wanted to support.

Cappy allowed me to slip his halter on one last time, and then, finally, sedation to help him relax before the inevitable needle that would release him from this realm. As she administered the injection, I did my best to stay calm for Cappy. "It's almost over, sweet boy. You can run now, chase those mares, fly across the landscape..." There was no way to hold back my tears as I removed his halter, wanting him to cross over free of equipment, the way he came into the world fifteen years ago.

Once he was gone, I stroked his beautiful white face a final time. Cappy was at peace. He was and always will be the horse that changed everything for me, taught me so much, gave me so much more than I could have ever imagined. 

Cappy was an unexpected love in my life. Handsome. Proud. Fiercely protective. Wary, for well earned reasons, of humans. 

But, I know he found joy here with us. Reunited with Cinder. Learning to play and be curious. Racing with Cinder through the pastures. Making me laugh with his antics. His kissy faces he offered. Stealing the applesauce jar and jogging around the arena with it as I chased. Dropping his head down to nuzzle the tiny new kitten who showed up one day and has stayed. Nickering good morning and hello. His soft eyes watching me as he walked up, so trusting and wanting to offer more.

Cappy did not have an easy life, but I hope the happiness he found with me his final four years made up for the rest in some way. 

I made it through the rest of Christmas. My friends and family showed up, figuratively and literally holding me upright as this new grief tries to consume me. Once I sat down last night, shock settled over me. Worry about final details and Cinder's first night alone here, ever, sat heavily. Predicted freezing rain and dropping temps, of course. Sleep did not come easily, nor stay for long. 

At 3 a.m., I pulled winter barn clothes on over pajamas and headed outside to check on Cinder, my writer's imagination feeding me worst case scenarios. Cinder nickered before I stepped into the pasture, walked up to meet me midway, and moved beside me toward the barn. Part of me wanted to sleep there, keep her company; but I know she doesn't like being kept inside. Instead, I gave her the new enrichment toy I was gifted for Christmas, and left her playing with it as I made my way back to the house. 

This morning, I will head out for chores for only one equine. No Cappy waiting at the gate. No deep throaty nicker. No kissy face greeting. 

This morning, I found the strength to write this so Cappy's friends and fans would understand what an amazing gift I was given in my too short time with him.

This morning, there is no dam strong enough to contain my tears, the sadness of knowing he is gone, one more grief in too many for one lifetime.

It would never have been enough time with Cappy, but every moment will be remembered with more love than I have words to explain. 

Run free, sweet Cappy. Run free.