I knew I would have to write about the loss of Tiberio Lafite aka Tigger at some point, but didn't really expect it to take me 2 months.
Our beloved partner since buying him age 5, through to his elderly statesman years at 26, Tigger brought much joy to our lives and gamely adapted himself to all our human demands.
Many horse owners know that sinking feeling, when you find your horse laying down unable to get up. The moment when the world literally stops for a second, and everything seems to be happening in slow motion, as your brain fights to figure out what to do next to do the right thing.
For us it was a sultry, humid day in July. Paul went out to the fields to do an a.m. check of the water troughs and see that the horses that had enjoyed the freedom of a night outside in the paddocks and were all AOK.
From the windows of our home and the security system we have in place, we had already seen the horses were all up and about doing just fine by all appearances earlier that morning. It was a shock when Paul came rushing in the back door,
" Tigger is down. Come quickly."
I quickly donned my barn boots and ran out to the field wearing just my cotton nightie. I was shocked by what I found.
The summer had been especially wet and there was a small corner of the field where water always collected that was muddy. In that space was Tigger, laying completely on his back with legs in the air.
He was covered in sweat, caked in mud including his entire face and eyes. When we arrived he gave out a sad whinny - the type I had heard just a few times before in my life with horses. Most recently from my Grand Prix horse Charrington when he collapsed with a seizure 18 months before. I swear my heart missed more than one beat.
Tigger tried to move. He responded to our voices and waved his head back and forth in the mud barely able to move his legs. Then he whinnied in pain again. That was when I think I knew. This was not going to be a good outcome.
Paul dived through the board fence and attempted to roll Tigger over so the horses's legs were on the downside of the slight hill, hoping this would make it possible for Tigger to get up. It was futile. Tigger just kept rolling back to the other side, groaning.
I ran to get a halter and rope and we managed to lift his head enough to put it in place. We encouraged Tigger with pushes on his rump and rocked him to his chest. His breathing was labored. Eventually he managed to stand up. He wobbled slightly and we propped him up between us, one of us at each side of his shoulders.
Shoulder to shoulder. Heart to heart.
With much encouragement but no whip or stick, we managed to get him to move forward a few steps. They were shaky steps and his abdomen was tucked up in spasm and pain. Tigger, as he had done all his life, trusted us to do the best for him and despite his obvious significant pain he walked with us. All the time wanting to stop and all the time on the edge of collapsing on the floor.
Once he was moving I ran to the barn and called the vet. I fetched some Banamine which we had great difficulty administering as if we let him stop, Tigger would just collapse in a heap.
The vet office said they'd call back. We waited and continued to walk Tigger. He fell down several times and with our persistent urging lifted himself back up again. No stick or encouragement other than our words was used. I could not bring myself to use anything else.
While I waited to hear from the vet I ran in to the house and put on some more suitable clothes. The phone rang and I grabbed it but it was our rep from Smartpak. I explained we were in the middle of an emergency and the call was quickly ended.
It seemed like ages of course but probably just another 15 minutes had passed when the vet office called back. It would be another 60-70 minutes before the vet could make it out to us.
Paul and I talked a moment about fetching a gun and shooting our horse. We knew how to do it and where to do it. But we didn't want to give up. While there was a chance we felt we had to try.
So for a total of 90 minutes in the sweltering 90 degree heat we walked Tigger in circles in the field. Taking turns to keep him walking. We considered taking him to the indoor where it would be cooler but the he couldn't manage the walk up the hill.
Tigger's breathing eased a tiny bit due to the Banamine, but it was still dodgy. I expected him to collapse and die at any minute. Paul was also breathing heavily and with some health problems of his own I urged him to take more time between turns in the chair that I had brought out from the barn with some bottles of water to keep us hydrated.
It was a grueling experience.
At some point during this awful angst Tigger stopped and dropped his head again. His legs wobbled and I urged him to stay standing. I used all my mental powers and learned communication skills to explain that if he could just stay standing we could just stop still. He seemed to understand. I took some of the weight of his head by taking a firm hold at the noseband of the halter and we just looked at each other.
I told Tigger mentally I knew it was the end. That it would soon all be better and he would be out of pain. His eyes flickered and I knew he understood. Paul was in denial and I knew it was still too painful an idea to lose his partner of so many years to acknowledge this was likely the end. There was no point in conversation even if either of us had the breath to make that happen.
Eventually the vet arrived. Her regular vet tech was with her and someone else that was never introduced but had a stethoscope in hand so I assume was an intern vet.
More Banamine was administered and Tigger stood in sincere discomfort as the vet completed a rectal exam. At one point I thought he would fall and possibly break the vet's arm, she was so far inside him. But between the 4 of us attending we propped him up. Her face wore no mask, it was clear from her expression that what she found was not good news.
Common in older horses, Tigger had suffered a strangulated lipoma in his small intestine. Paul asked about options to recover the horse and the vet explained the only option was surgical intervention but that it was unlikely to be a positive outcome.
Paul and I had discussed what we would do if one of our older horses suffered a colic and we had both agreed we would not put a horse of Tigger's years through the surgery. So it was time. Paul was not speaking so I turned to him and said,
" We have to do it Paul. We have to say goodbye."
Then I asked the vet,
" Are you 100% sure this is the correct diagnosis."
Her answer was an unequivocal, "Yes."
The vet and her team left us a few minutes and walked back to their truck to give us time to discuss our options.
My face was bright red and streaked with tears, puffy eyed no doubt but I held it together. At times like this you do don't you? You just find it within yourself to push on.
I could see I needed to take the lead. Having lost my own horse due to neurological issues just 18 months before requiring he be euthanized I knew how hard this was to do, and how Paul had supported my decision.
" It is the last great kindness we can do. We have to do it Paul."
He nodded. " Yes. OK," he said quietly.
I left Paul alone with his horse and walked up the hill to the truck to tell the vet. She was already loading the syringes. I asked her practical questions such as where to position the horse to make it easiest for the renderer to load the horse, whether to try and move him in or out of the field. I don't know where I found the strength. But it came to me.
The vet administered the first of the tranquilizing medications, and Tigger dropped to the ground. Carefully aided in his fall to the right position by the team. Paul knelt by his head as the vet administered the 2nd syringe, stroking his hand gently across Tigger's eye and brushing the back of his cupped hand over Tigger's nostril. I knew he was checking his horse's breathing and waiting for that last breathe.
The vet was now kneeling too, with her stethoscope on the horse's heart. A few last minute tremors from the horse after his last breath and it was done.
The vet stayed kneeling with her head bent over the horse for a while. Clearly saying a prayer and experiencing her own anguish at what she had completed. She then recovered herself and turned to Paul.
" He did not suffer long," she said, " You found him early."
" How do you know that?" asked Paul softly, as if not wanting to wake his horse.
" He was not toxic. He was not in shock. His color was O.K. It could not have been hours and hours," she said.
I could see Paul take some comfort from that.
" Thank-you all," I said, looking the sad group but with especial focus on the vet.
" I know this is so hard for all of you and we are both so very grateful for you helping us and Tigger to say goodbye with such grace and kindness."
The vet gently moved Tigger's legs into a more normal position.
" I'll gather some hair from his tail for you," the vet mumbled. Paul and I don't take hair as remembrance from our horses when we say goodbye, but I could see she wanted to do something practical to help, so just murmured a thanks while she set about neatly cutting hair from Tigger's tail.
The vet tech and vet removed the halter for us. I also knew from experience this is best done right away, before rigor mortis sets in and you cannot lift the head.
" I must get a tarp and cover him up," Paul said, taking the halter and rope from the vet tech.
I put my arm around Paul's waist and we walked together back up the hill to the indoor.
We stopped by the vet's truck.
" We don't have to do that now," I said, worried for Paul as he was clearly in shock. Let's go in and sit down a minute. I took the halter and rope from his hands. We hugged a brief moment then he pulled away.
" No. I must do it now," he said in a strong voice. He went off into the back of the indoor to fetch a tarp. I thanked the vet team again as they gathered themselves and their equipment together to leave.
Together we covered Tigger with the tarp. We arranged cobblestones around the tarp to keep it in place. Ones that my late father had left at his house for us to collect for our garden, that we had brought home a few months before. They were heavy, and would keep the tarp in place. It seemed weirdly fitting.
We worried about coyotes, we worried to leave the horse outside overnight in the heat, we worried about when the renderer could come.
We made our way to the house and sat down and had a cup of tea. As any truly British people do in such situations. And yes, I added sugar to Paul's cup although usually he takes no sugar in his tea.
"I must call Jay," he said.
"It can wait a minute," I said. I offered to call.
" No. I'll do it," said Paul.
So for the second time in 18 months he placed a call to the renderer, reminding Jay of the big black horse he had picked up from us before. My Charrington aka Charlie.
Jay remembered and promised to send someone later that afternoon.
When the truck turned up it was a quick and easy affair. He backed into the field, secured a rope around Tigger's neck and winched him on to the truck. I told Paul we didn't need to stay and watch this part and the driver said no, of course we didn't need to stay, he would take care of it.
" No, I want to be here," said Paul, " But not you. You go in."
I did.
I watched out the window as the truck left. The driver was so respectful. He drove super slowly at a funeral pace down the driveway. That was unexpected and very much appreciated. Tears rolled down my cheeks as those tires rolled down the driveway. Tears that will always pop up unexpectedly for years to come.
So the era of Tigger had ended. He arrived as a charcoal gray horse at 5 years old and had attained all the moves to Grand Prix level dressage. He has been Paul's horse, for a brief while my main horse, then returned to Paul.
Our children had ridden him under supervision in the indoor for brief lessons. He had taught a few students the feel of the advanced dressage moves to give them the experience of what they were aiming to accomplish with their own horses.
I fondly (now!) recall how terrible Tigger was as a companion trail horse. There was an occasion when I decided to ride one of our horses Westminster WVH, aka West, a 17.1h Hanoverian gelding, out on the trail without his usual double bridle for the purpose (he was too strong for me on the trail in his regular schooling snaffle). Yes, I know, bits are for riders!
Anyway - Paul came along on Tigger and before long Tigs was bouncing about and Paul was taking him farther and farther way from West so as not to upset West with the antics. Rearing, passage and general excitement were the hallmarks of Tigger's trail talents.
West however, did become undone by the antics and tried to bolt for home. I did my best to hold the great beast but it was hopeless. When he started to buck I did something I've never done before in my life during a bolt and decided to voluntarily let go and do a flying dismount. I landed in a pile of manure. Fractured two ribs, had a mild concussion and suffered bursitis of my hip joint. Won't do that again!
My gallant husband also did a voluntary dismount off his horse. A bit more organized than mine. While Tigger then bolted off across several fields, West headed straight to the barn and galloped down the center aisle and ran right into his stable.
I think I knew West would do that which is why I decided to dismount versus risk the decapitation option.
Paul ran to my side and was relieved I was just bruised and sore.
Another time I was riding Tigger in the indoor and was not paying attention, talking to people in the chairs at the end of the arena. I think Tigger took umbrage at my lack of attention and with his sense of humor he idly walked a little too close to a pillar by the big door on the side of the building. As I realized my knee was about to hit the door jamb I lifted my outside leg a bit too far and promptly plopped onto the floor in a slow motion fall to the inside which caused Tigger to startle and jump in place. He just stood there looking at me as if to say,
" What ARE you doing?"
The folks in the chairs had a good laugh as did I, as I dusted myself off and mounted up again. Lesson learned!
Tigger was the herd leader. He and Charlie were a demo pas de deux, the salt and pepper duo at many of the clinics we gave over many years.
Both were trained by both of us, and our long time FEI Swiss coach Greta Kemmer regularly helped us with this process. Both horses were very straightforward to train and took readily to their lessons. Perhaps the Percheron blood in both served their workmanlike attitudes well, the Dutch in both added a little jazz and the Andalusian in one an ability to collect easily. Whatever it was - we are both very lucky to own such stellar critters for so long and with so few health problems in their lives.
Tigger's last job in his retirement was as a turnout buddy for our young homebred Lusitano/DWB Extravaganza WVH. By the time our colt turned three years old, it was a bit much for Tigger to handle the constant nagging of the younger horse who always wanted to play fight so they were separated. They remained stabled next to each other and pastured close together.
For Paul and I it has been a very difficult past 20 months. The loss of my father, Covid19 and not being able to return home to spend time with my mother and family, the loss of Charlie and Tigger. Plus medical issues, and then no travel also meaning cancellation or postponement of an entire year's worth of dressage clinic giving.
BUT. As you close a book there are always more books to be opened and pages to be turned. You never forget all the gifts you were given and joys you experienced.
Whether human or horse, you carry the love and lessons from those you have loved so deeply always wrapped tightly in your heart. With the certain knowledge that one day you will all be together again in a different place.
Meantime it is important to enjoy life on this temporal plane, and to channel your energies into meaningful and fulfilling directions while there is still time.
Paul and I have been so blessed in our lives on so many levels. In the case of these two wonderful heart horses, we know they can never be replaced. That however, will not stop us seeking new and wonderful connections with new equine partners.
Talking of which it is time to go fetch Extravaganza, aka Titch, out of the field and give him some much needed company. Or as is more likely the case, time to go get Titch out of the field to give me some much needed equine company!
On a final note: For those of you that are feeling the loss of a beloved pet, horse or person I do hope you find your way forward and learn how to live alongside the loss and live 'with it' as you put one foot in front of the other. For me, writing helps me process feelings, emotions, things that I have learned and things that I yearn to learn. I hope that by sharing my experiences it helps you to handle losses that are a necessary part of the cycle of life by providing the certain knowledge that others have experienced loss too and have come out the other side not the same of course, but enriched and the better for having known such love.
May all our loved ones rest in peace, and may we all be together with those precious to us again one day.
Thanks for reading xx
With thanks to Dr. Betsy Colarusso, vet tech Karli, and the intern vet whose name we never discovered, from Equine Clinic at Oakencroft, Ravena, NY, for all their love, support, professionalism, help and kindness.
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