The gun

I am preparing myself tonight, because tomorrow morning, during my yard shift, we are going to lose another one of our lovelies.

Dear ol' retired mare, a proper party girl in her time, has been on retirement livery with us for a couple of years now. Tomorrow morning, between nine and half nine, the Hunt man will come for her.

She'll be brought in from her field first to the barn for a bit of hay. That's going to be hard enough. Then she will be led off to the back of the school for the deed to be done.

It is time, I don't doubt that for a second. I was up at her field this afternoon feeding her polos while she chattered away to me, all eager, sunken eyes and shaky legs.

She didn't used to hang out by the gate - she was bloomin' hard to catch! -and she's been losing weight, despite the fresh sprouts of grass in her field from the rain. She also just seems a bit depressed, tired, done. Her owner noticed it when she was over two weeks ago for the vet check "She's just not right" she said sadly. Her owner is very attentive and visits regularly.

It's time. She's in her 30s now, and has had a good life blessed with caring humans. Best not to dither and let her linger on in hope that she might hang on a bit longer. Why make her arthritic joints suffer through the turn in the weather that is upon us now?

But it's the gun that I can't abide, nor what follows.

I understand the gun. There are so many horsewomen that I respect that think the gun is the best way, not just based on economy (though that is a factor for some), but on the basis that it's so quick and the horse knows nothing about it. They aren't afraid of guns, as we are, and a good huntsman, gentle and relaxed with them in their last moments, is much better than the injection. That is argument. Plus it's all so quick, job done, body taken away, no hanging around waiting for arrangements to be made, no emotional trauma for those on the yard working round an outline in a field, or a cold body in a box.

Yeah, I hear that, I understand it, but I could never... It just seems such a violent end for a gentle creature. I do not for a second condemn those who choose that route, but I have a hard time with it myself.

Tomorrow morning, my hope is that I can spend a bit of time with the dear old mare while she enjoys her hay, and I will slip her a piece of liquorice because she loves it so. I will muck out a couple of boxes, and then, if all goes well, I will rouse Max from his sleepy time, saddle up and get the hell off the yard, because even though she will be taken out of sight, if I'm on the yard, I will hear it.

But we have the vet tomorrow for flu jabs, and we have the farrier for feets, and chances are I won't be able to slip away because I'll have to direct traffic and hold horses and listen to that shot.

But before that, there will be liquorice and a cuddle, and then a lovely old coloured mare will leave this world and will be missed by those of us who knew her; me in her retirement years, and her heartbroken owners who also remember her glory days.

She is good horse. I am sad for her passing, but smile in celebration of her life.