“I’m not leaving him.”
“What the FUCK?”
“I know, I said the same thing. I’m sorry to call so early with this kind of news.”
“What happened?”
“Michelle called and just said she found him laying down, like he was asleep. But when she got closer…he wasn’t.”
“God dammit.”
“I’m so sorry. I need to do some things here, and then I’m going to head over there. There’s a possibility it was viral, or bacterial, in which case there could be a much bigger problem.”
“I understand. I’ll meet you there.”
~
It happened just a couple days ago, but it already feels like I’m looking at it through the wrong end of a telescope. Something in me wants to push it away, but I owe it to him not to. Not yesterday, not today, not for as long as I can carry it. He was my friend.
~
[Text] I’m headed to Michelle’s.
[Text] I’ll see you soon.
~
“Michael.”
“Hi, Marc.”
Hugging.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. “Are they out there?”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Is everyone in here doing okay?”
“It seems like it, so far. We took everyone’s temperature, and so far so good.”
“Good. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
[silence]
“You two were so good together. He really loved you.”
“Thanks...thank you.”
I turn and walk, fearful of tears that will be near impossible to stop.
~
It’s about a half-mile to the back pastures. In between are smaller paddocks—two mares with beautiful foals, a small herd of geldings slowly grazing in dewdropped grass. They approach the fences as I pass, and I think, “They know.”
I reach the line of gates leading into the back pastures. Callista is there, pacing the fence line. I head toward her, to tell her she’ll be okay, that we love her. Before I get there, she tosses her head, turns, and gallops away. She’s fast and lithe for a big horse. And she’s alone, without her pasture mate for the first time.
I go through an open gate, up a gentle slope thick with forage. At the top, I look farther on, but I still can’t see him. After a few more steps, I freeze, and the tunnel vision closes in. He’s there, deep in the grass.
Through the tunnel I notice the dew on his mane. The new shoe on his left front foot. A little pattern in the hair on the side of his neck. I reach out and smooth it away.
“Hi, buddy. I’m here.”
~
The equine vet who called earlier in the morning is now in clinical mode. She talks about colic and parasites and viruses. Ruling things in, or out. And a word that momentarily finds its way through the darkness of the tunnel—necropsy.
“It’s going to be very unpleasant. You don’t need to be here for it.”
“I’ve participated in cadaver labs in the past.”
“Then you know what goes on, but I have to warn you, this is not that. Are you sure…?”
“I’m not leaving him,” I say. The tears stay home, but my voice betrays me. She begins the work, and I go numb.
~
“There’s nothing here that shouldn’t be here,” she says, finally. “Everything I’ve seen is just normal stuff. Which makes me think whatever happened happened in his heart or in his head. Do you want me to keep going?”
“At this point, isn’t the goal to do blood work, to rule out risk to the rest of the herd?”
“It is.”
“Then, let’s not go any further.”
“I’ll need to open up his carotid to get the sample, is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“And again, you don’t need to be here for this...”
“I appreciate that. I’m not leaving him.”
As she’s finishing, the sound of a tractor reaches us from the other side of the hill.
~
It doesn’t take long for the hole to be dug. The operator powers down and looks over to me.
“Is it time?” I ask.
“All ready. But, I’ve got this. You don’t have to stay…”
My voice betrays me again.
“I’m not leaving him.”
Filling the hole takes even less time. When it’s finished, the driver powers down again.
“That was rough duty,” I say. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I say again, and we shake hands. My composure fails, and he’s uncomfortable.
“You go on ahead,” I say. “I’m going to be slow.”
Soon, it’s just me and my friend.
I sit, and sob.
~
“I love you, buddy,” I say after a while. “I love you. You were always smarter than me. Kinder than me. You were a good friend. Better than I deserved.”
I sit for a long time, and listen to the wind in the grass.
Eventually, I stand.
“Run free, buddy. Run free.”
And then, I leave him.
***
Quintas was a 12-year-old Friesian gelding, and the sweetest, most loving, most trusting soul I’ve ever known. We learned to ride Western saddle together, but from the start he learned better, and faster, than I was capable of. Yet, in all our time together, he never lost patience with his slow-witted friend. He consistently forgave my shortcomings, and doted on me like I was his favorite pet. I was very content to inhabit that role in our relationship. Now, where he once stood, there’s a Friesian-size hole in my heart. If I’m honest, I don’t ever want it to heal.