Rest in Peace my beautiful Algiers. May 12, 1985 - February 9, 2012
I want to thank all of you for your prayers, light and well wishes. As always, the prayers of ASAH worked and everything went as peacefully and gently as could be hoped for on such a day. The anticipation was far worse than the actual events. I’m sorry not to write sooner; I have been exhausted and sleeping 20 hours or so daily, except on the weekend when I had to work. I got up only to take care of my furfamily’s and my own needs. Today is the first day that I can write about it. I got a beautiful condolence card in the mail this morning from the vet. I finally remembered that he’s not really gone but just around the corner. Everything happened the way it needed to. And I began to feel my way into life again. I am left with profound gratitude to all of you for helping me get through this with the courage I needed to be strong for Algiers and Dahli, and gratitude to Algiers, of course for sharing his life with me.
Thank you Mikita for this very fitting poem:
Somewhere…Somewhere in time's Own Space
There must be some sweet pastured place
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
Some paradise where horses go,
For by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again.
-- Stanley Harrison
I will be sharing more about Algiers at my blog; his history and pictures from his start as a show foal to his ending as a pasture pet. His brilliance, his wicked sense of humor, and his kind, kind heart. For example, his good friend Curly was blind; for a year he was Curly’s companion and eyes, keeping him safe on a rocky, hillside pasture.
Thursday was a beautiful, warm and sunny day. Algiers had resisted going into his stall for several nights running, so on his last night I left him out, to enjoy as best he could just being a free horse. He laid down that night, which I could see from the damp stains on his coat, I believe with Dahli standing guard at the barn door. Early in the morning he moved to the honeysuckle bush, rummaging through the leaves for something. That had been one of his first symptoms I described to the other vet five or six weeks ago: nibbling at dead honeysuckle twigs instead of hay.
Once the sun was fully up, they moved to the back pasture again, and again he stood on his burial site. I can’t stress enough how this was not normal; to stay so close to the woods and far from the barn was the last place he would choose to nap or hang out. I worried that standing in the warm sun would trigger another small airway attack (COPD). Maybe he again read my mind; in the late morning they returned to the barn for a drink and chose to stay in the cooler barn shade. Algiers stood in a corner and for the second time, Dahli stood in front guarding him. She was growing up. I groomed him gently with his favorite brushes, removed the hay and shavings from his tail and brushed to straightness the damp and curly patches in his fur.
The vet and tech could not have been more sensitive or kind. Just as they arrived, a man arrived across the street to work on that house. He immediately turned on a radio with Rush Limbaugh blaring hatred. The vet mumbled something about “wonderful neighbor” and I said I was going to have a word with him. I walked across the street, explained to the stranger what was happening, and begged him to please turn the radio down. He crumpled his face in pain, and immediately turned the radio down and then off. Thankfully, there would be no hate spewed in the background. We took care of business first, to get it out of the way.
I explained to the vet that even if he could be saved, I couldn’t provide the environment he needed to recover. With crazy neighbors running coyotes through the pasture causing panic and further injury, with each small airway attack setting him further back, if I kept him stalled for safety and shade he would be miserable. The small airway attacks left him barely able to breathe and there would be more to come this spring and summer, especially given the ups and downs we’ve had this year. She took one look at him and saw that I was right; two days of complete anorexia had left him terribly gaunt and wasted. His gut was empty and inactive. For him to come back from this and regain health would take more than an ordinary miracle. He lowered his head and rested it against my stomach while I stroked his neck and comforted him. I told him I was sorry that this time I couldn’t fix him. I choked on the rest of the words I wanted to say. And then, as always, he pushed me back a step and lifted his head proudly.
I led Algiers and the tech took Dahli up to the site. I told the vet I’d promised him a home for life and I did it. “You did it!” I told her I built that barn for him. “It’s a beautiful barn!” I told her I gave Dahli a dose of Ace (tranquilizer) about an hour earlier. “Perfect.”
I had hoped to hold him and have the tech hold Dahli, but that was against the vet hospital’s policy. She explained the procedure. She suggested that I let Dahli see him afterwards so she would understand that he had left. That was my plan as well. She said Dahli would be fine.
I lowered his head and he again held it against my stomach. I skritched his neck and hugged him. I tried to explain to him what and why and how much I love him, but choked on the words. I realized he knew already, he has always been a few steps ahead of me, has always anticipated and understood everything, has always waited for me to catch up to him. So I just told him he’d go to sleep and when he woke up to look for Curly, and look for Pia and look for his pinto pony. And then he drew himself up, pushing me back a step, and stood at attention. I handed his lead to the vet. I could barely look at her; she too was obviously struggling to maintain her composure.
I took Dahli’s lead and we headed slowly back toward the barn. I didn’t want her to associate veterinarians and shots with death; she will need shots every spring and throughout her life. She does not need that fear. We took a few dozen steps and I felt compelled to stop and turn. Algiers was standing proud, ears pricked, watching us leave. I could not see his gaunt, wasted frame. I saw only how he glowed with peace, forgiveness, love.
“I love you pony.” I turned back and we continued into the barn. Dahli remained calm in the barn at first, and suddenly jumped forward and called to him. I looked out the door; he was lying down with the vet kneeling over him.
We walked slowly back. The vet told me, “He went down easy.” I knelt beside him and stroked his face as he groaned his last groan and breathed two final, slow, shallow breaths. “It’s ok to let go. Look for Curly. Look for Pia. Look for your pinto pony.” And he was gone. I rose and hugged Dahli. I told the vet it was ok for them to leave and thanked them.
After they left, I let Dahli loose to eat some nearby hay and got the dogs. They ran up to Algiers’s body, tails wagging. Jake understood, and he first slowed and then stopped the tail wagging. Luna didn’t understand. He kept trying to play with Algiers, as he always does when they lay down. He would “sneak” up, poke him under the jaw and dart away, waiting for a reaction. And then his tail wagging slowed and he wandered away. Dahli tried to wake Algiers by licking his face. I called her name and she moved away. I put the dogs back in the house and stayed with Dahli while waiting for the excavator.
The actual burial went very quickly and again, could not have been easier. I feared moving his body into the grave, but Duane had a harness that enabled him to gently lift and then slide him. He didn’t get dumped into a hole, but instead slid gently down a ramp-like side. Dahli called for him as he slipped away.
Dahli first pawed at the grave and then ran to the roadside and called to the excavator as it drove up the road. I had left a check for Duane taped to the front door so he could just leave, but he chose to park his excavator and wait by the gate to make sure Dahli and I were ok.
For her own safety, I put Dahli in the barn with dinner earlier than normal. She is not alone there; Polly kitty stays in the barn with her. Dahli called and called as I walked up to the house. Friday morning, as soon as she heard me at the gate she started calling for him, and again Friday evening. I had to work on Saturday and Sunday, so I kept her in the barn for safety. Again, she called for him in the morning and evening.
By Monday, she stopped calling for him. She accepted he is gone. Tuesday morning, for the first time, I found her wide-eyed, calm and with a gentle happiness.
Tuesday afternoon, through my own exhaustion, I started playing with Dahli. In hindsight, I realize that last summer Algiers started helping me to teach her being away from him. Always, she has been torn between his herd leadership and mine. Now, she is turning to me. It is her time.
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