I don’t know how to say this, or how to go about explaining what suddenly began floating around me the day Errika coliced. Yes four weeks ago, I began having these rushing thoughts about a role which we aren’t ment to play. I think that, in addition to potentially saying goodbye to a very special friend, filling this role in a way, was the hardest thing to do.
I respect both life and death. Because of Errika, and being around horses altogether, my mind has been opened to the optimistic side of everything. And not only that, but knowing what it means to say goodbye and be open to seeing and hearing things that aren’t even talked about in daily life. What I’m talking about is the path we all walk. How one event, that seems like change to us, is just another thing that was and is ment to happen. I am one of those people that believe that things happen for a reason. And I am also a person that believes there is a far greater message and purpose in those circumstances.
Another larger question that haunted me in way during Errika’s colic, surgery, and eventually recovery, was; how do I know what the right thing to do is? That to me was very difficult. I, by any means, did not want to keep Errika alive because of selfish reasons. But how was I supposed to know if we should go through and should’ve gone through the surgery? All at once I began feeling like this wasn’t my place to chim in. We didn’t have thousands of dollars lying around to put this horse through surgery, and it wasn’t an easy decision. But it happend, and I later found out it was ment too.
That late night up at UCD, quietly and not very openly, discussing the two options, was not my place. But Errika knew what I didn’t, and as I stood in the exam room hiding my head next to her’s, I let God take over. For reasons I do not know, surgery happend. My dad had put together the money, and in such a blur we said goodbye, gave her kisses and let the vets do their work. Emotionally I was with Errika, but I was in a different world. I wanted to be apart of the whole thing, I wanted to feel my horse’s thoughts, and I wanted to feel my own pain, high’s, and low’s that came with it. Again, in a way which I am still learning about, Errika took me to that place. I would sit at home, nearly 2 hours away from Errika in her ICU stall, and I could feel her. I knew when things weren’t going well, or when they were, and I was openly willing to feel everything.
From the moment I first visited her, she was ok. Oddly for the first few times she stood with her head facing the corner, and wasn’t very social. But I knew she loved the staff there, and enjoyed their company.
On a Thursday night (2 weeks ago), I tossed and turned in my bed. I cried for reasons I couldn’t validate. The pit of my stomach was turning, and I had that heart dropping feeling. I knew something was going to happen, but I didn’t know what. The next morning I was upset. No one told me what was going on, but I felt like whatever it was, wasn’t good. That evening we drove back up to UCD.
I thought it was strang, because everytime we had visited we couldn’t take her out. But this time one of the assistants went and got Errika, and then brought her out to me. I walked her around the ICU grass paddock. Her IV was gone, and I didn’t think that was a good sign. After walking her around for a bit, I got up the courage to ask my mom why they took it out. Because I had thought she was getting fluids still. I asked my mom if they were feeding her, and she started to tear up and say “no.” She would colic if they did because she was impacted and they couldn’t do anything.
As we were walking, Errika would turn her head completly to my stomach and look at me. I honestly believe she was telling me it would be ok. I didn’t know what exactly that ment at the time. If she was saying that if she did have to be put down everything would be ok, or something else. She was completely perky, curious, and happy. I had Matt walk her around and I followed behind, holding her tail.
The vet had came out and talked to my mom, and then they came over and talked to me. The vet said the best thing to do would be to put her down now, while she’s not in pain, then wait until it becomes painful for her. Her large intestine wasn’t functioning well and she was impacted. I couldn’t hold back, I just had to cry. Then the vet gave me a hug, the nicest hug with true compassion. I knew she knew somewhere inside of her, that there was something else.
We walked around some more, and a horse trailer pulled up. Two ladies loaded up a paint, and Errika was very interested. Not two seconds later, she passed feces.
The vet said she wanted to try one last thing, and she’d give her the night. We walked around some more, then said our goodbyes and left.
On Sunday night my mom, my younger brother, our neighbor friend(who is basically like my other brother), Matt and I were sitting in the living room. My mom started talking about the conversation she had over the phone with the vet, and at this point I wasn’t sure the outcome. But deep down I was at peace. Errika had done a complete 1-80, the vets were amazed. She was eating, drinking, and passing. The impaction softend and she was functioning well. They opened the upper part of her stall door and she would stick her head out and watch all the action. And as I sat there and listened to what my mom was saying I knew that Errika was going to stay with us.
I believe that if this horse was ment to travel a different path, she wouldn’t have suddenly changed for the better. She wouldn’t have came out of surgery with good odds.
I have never seemed to look at a horse for an animal. As many horsemen in-touch with their equine partners will explain, in one way or another, they hold a gift. They do touch lives, and some are ment to rely a message. What that message is, I’m not sure yet.
We live now, in this world, in this era. We are caught up in a superficial, take-for-granted, time. Sudden lessons and situations along the way of our lives make us stop, take a breath, observe, appreciate, and open us to a whole new dimension.
Errika doesn’t belong to me, or to anyone. She belongs to the world, to life. She will always leave a hoof print wherever she goes. And if you are open, and willing enough to live next to another being, and not for yourself, Errika will leave those hoof prints in your heart and soul.
