R.I.P. Molly...
Back on March 28, 2010, I was delighted to welcome a new member to our little herd - my new miniature hinny, Molly.
It is with great sadness that today I have to announce that Molly has passed over The Rainbow Bridge. She died this morning at about 11:50am, after suffering a stroke or aneurysm yesterday.
When I got home last night, I found Molly with her head shoved hard against the wall in her stall, right above the water-buckets. It took a considerable amount of effort to get her to move, and she stumbled around bumping into things. I thought that perhaps she was in pain from her hooves being too long, so I trimmed back her forehooves to relieve the pressure that I thought might be on them. I had planned to give her a proper trimming on Sunday, but I thought I'd better do it right away if it was giving her this much trouble. It seemed to help a little, and she went back outside with Bonnie to munch on hay, though she was still stumbling around a bit. I stayed out in the barn until 1am, keeping an eye on her. I finally went to bed at 3am, having looked out the window and seeing her outside with Bonnie.
Around 8am this morning, I went into the kitchen to grab something to eat before heading out to check on her. I could see Bonnie in the paddock, but I couldn't see Molly. I assumed she was back inside again, which gave me a bit of worry, so instead of a decent breakfast I just grabbed a couple slices of toast and headed out to check on her. Although the end results made no difference, it's a good thing that I did get out quickly...
I could see Bonnie, but Molly was inside the barn. I could hear some banging, so I assumed (as I walked towards the barn) that she was stumbling around again. What I saw when I opened the barn door made my stomach sink, and my adrenalin surge! Molly had somehow jammed her head between the stall gate/door and the support post, and she was strangling! She was coughing and drooling, blood dripping from her mouth, sweat pouring off her, and struggling against her bounds. I raced over, trying to unlatch the chain and get the door open, but with all her weight leaning on it, I couldn't relieve the tension on the chain to lift it free! I couldn't close the door any further to get some slack, and she continued to struggle. I had a hammer hanging on a peg-board on the back shelf, so I grabbed it and used it to claw and smack the chain free. Molly came stumbling out as soon as the door flew open, but she managed to stay on her feet. I quickly got a halter on her (not that she was going far) and tried to get her moving to keep her from locking up. I always carry my cell-phone with me when I'm working outside, so I called Trixstir in the house right away and told her to get outside NOW - that it was an emergency, and get The Kidling out of bed and outside too!
Molly was nipping lightly at some grass as I tried to keep her moving, and she kept staggering around - just like she had been doing last night. I figured that with the amount of sweat that had been pouring off her, she was probably dehydrated so I told Trixstir to bring a bucket of water for her. She dove into it, and I realized that the water was much too cold - and that could send her into shock too! I stopped her from drinking any more of it until Trixstir ran back to get a bucket of hot water to mix with it and warm it up. She definitely was thirsty, and drank deeply from the bucket of luke-warm water. She wasn't bleeding anymore, showed no signs of distress or colic (other than the stumbling around) and was nibbling lightly at the grass and offered feed pellets. I figured that if she was eating and drinking and on her feet, she was probably going to be OK. I was wrong... Dead wrong...
I let her wander around as she pleased for the next couple hours (keeping her on the lead, of course!) figuring that letting her walk around was probably the best idea. She wandered over to the temporary paddock behind the house, and then towards the tree-line where there was still a snow-pack and a lot of melt-water. I didn't want her in that area in case things got worse (and they soon did) so with the Kidling's help I herded her back towards the barn. I kept her outside on the grass, offering her food and water. She was still stumbling around, and trying to butt her head up against things (including The Kidling.) We were right next to the paddock she shared with Bonnie when she stumbled again, and this time she went down.
I called the vet, who seemed a little grumpy about me calling him at 11am on a Saturday. He said he was "busy" (doing what?) but asked me for a list of symptoms (other than the obvious part of her being down.) When I described the part about her staggering around like she was drunk, he asked me if she had been pressing her head against things. I told him that yes, she had been doing that, and he gave me the bad news. He explained that all the things I had described were symptematic of a severe brain injury, and that lacking any physical trauma to the head, she had probably suffered a stroke or aneurysm. She way laying down now, not moving or responding to my touch - just breathing deeply. He assured me that given that description, she was comatose and wasn't in any pain, but that death was inevitable at this point. He said that she would likely pass on soon, but if I really needed to, he could come out and put her to sleep. I felt that if she was already comatose and not suffering, there was no point in hurrying her along. I told myself I'd give her an hour - if she didn't cross over by then, I'd ask the vet to come out and help her make the crossing.
Trixstir had planned to take the kids to see her Mom this weekend, and I told her she may as well go - there was nothing that could be done here. The Munchkin came over while Molly was laying there; At this point, Molly appeared very much to be sleeping, and snoring. That, in fact, is what I told her: "Molly's sleeping, and she sure snores loud, doesn't she?" This seemed to happily satisfy The Munckin's curiosity, and she headed back to where Trixstir was waiting to get her into the van. About fifteen minutes after they left, Molly breathed her last. She had taken a few deep breaths several times before, and each time I had thought it would be her last - but a deep breath is a lot different from the final death-rattles of even a comatose large(ish) animal.
I stayed with her until the very end, stroking her muzzle, cheeks, ears, and neck - telling her it was OK to cross over, that she didn't have to stay... As the end drew near, her body started shivering and convulsing slightly, her legs sticking straight out. At this point, I wasn't just telling her she could cross over, I was begging her to cross over... A moment or so (an eternity?) later, she didn't lift her head, but her neck stretched out as she gave two long, soft half-brays: "Haaaaawwwwwwwww.... (breathe in) Hawwwwwwwwwwwww....." And then she died...
I don't think I will forget that sound as long as I live. I sat there in the grass next to her, sobbing like crazy for several minutes before I could collect myself. Even now as I write this entry, my throat is painfully tight and I'm fighting back tears. I'm no stranger to seeing Death all around me, and I've been with several beloved pets as they've crossed over - But Molly was the first of my "horsey family" to die, and that it was such a sudden thing, and with her being young (about 8 years old) and perfectly healthy only a couple days ago, this is an awful shock to the system.
The only solace I have at the moment is the vet's assurance that she didn't suffer (other than when she got herself stuck in the gate) and that there was nothing I could have done to prevent this from happening. Getting caught in the gate was not the cause of her death - she was already dying when she got stuck. I just can't imagine how she did it - I've looked closely at it since - the gap is so small you would think there would be no way she could push her head through it, yet somehow she managed. I've looked over the stall since, and there's damage to the drywall sections where she actually pushed her head right through the wall, pressing against it so hard. That was a classic symptom of severe brain-injury, according to the vet, once again absolving me of any need to feel guilty about her death. I may not feel guilt, but I feel a deep and severe wound right to my very soul. There's no one to blame - Nothing anyone did, or didn't do - Not "God calling her home" or anything like that. These things just happen. It's horribly sad, but they happen. If there has to be a Silver Lining (and there does!) it's that I was able to be with her until the very end. Had she not gotten herself stuck like that, I might have very well gone off to work in the morning only to come home and find her dead - and never know what happened. That would be far worse, I think...
There are only three ways to dispose of the body out here: Burn it, Bury it, or leave it for the wildlife to take it apart. Burning isn't an option due to the tinder-dry grasslands here. Burying isn't really an option either, given that I don't have a back-hoe available. As morbid as it might sound at first, leaving her body to the wildlife is probably the best. This is what would happen in Nature, but in this case she died on her own, in the company of people who loved her, and not brought down and torn apart while still alive by a pack of coyotes like a wild deer... A dear friend, who has had far too much experience with such matters, suggested that I take her body out towards a wooded area - something like a clearing amoung the trees, and lay her there. It won't take long for Nature's scavengers to clear her remains away, and in this manner her death will provide something to keep other animals alive. She's not using her body anymore, she can't be hurt by anything in this world anymore... I think this is what she would have wanted me to do.
Goodbye Molly... I will always miss you....
It is with great sadness that today I have to announce that Molly has passed over The Rainbow Bridge. She died this morning at about 11:50am, after suffering a stroke or aneurysm yesterday.
When I got home last night, I found Molly with her head shoved hard against the wall in her stall, right above the water-buckets. It took a considerable amount of effort to get her to move, and she stumbled around bumping into things. I thought that perhaps she was in pain from her hooves being too long, so I trimmed back her forehooves to relieve the pressure that I thought might be on them. I had planned to give her a proper trimming on Sunday, but I thought I'd better do it right away if it was giving her this much trouble. It seemed to help a little, and she went back outside with Bonnie to munch on hay, though she was still stumbling around a bit. I stayed out in the barn until 1am, keeping an eye on her. I finally went to bed at 3am, having looked out the window and seeing her outside with Bonnie.
Around 8am this morning, I went into the kitchen to grab something to eat before heading out to check on her. I could see Bonnie in the paddock, but I couldn't see Molly. I assumed she was back inside again, which gave me a bit of worry, so instead of a decent breakfast I just grabbed a couple slices of toast and headed out to check on her. Although the end results made no difference, it's a good thing that I did get out quickly...
I could see Bonnie, but Molly was inside the barn. I could hear some banging, so I assumed (as I walked towards the barn) that she was stumbling around again. What I saw when I opened the barn door made my stomach sink, and my adrenalin surge! Molly had somehow jammed her head between the stall gate/door and the support post, and she was strangling! She was coughing and drooling, blood dripping from her mouth, sweat pouring off her, and struggling against her bounds. I raced over, trying to unlatch the chain and get the door open, but with all her weight leaning on it, I couldn't relieve the tension on the chain to lift it free! I couldn't close the door any further to get some slack, and she continued to struggle. I had a hammer hanging on a peg-board on the back shelf, so I grabbed it and used it to claw and smack the chain free. Molly came stumbling out as soon as the door flew open, but she managed to stay on her feet. I quickly got a halter on her (not that she was going far) and tried to get her moving to keep her from locking up. I always carry my cell-phone with me when I'm working outside, so I called Trixstir in the house right away and told her to get outside NOW - that it was an emergency, and get The Kidling out of bed and outside too!
Molly was nipping lightly at some grass as I tried to keep her moving, and she kept staggering around - just like she had been doing last night. I figured that with the amount of sweat that had been pouring off her, she was probably dehydrated so I told Trixstir to bring a bucket of water for her. She dove into it, and I realized that the water was much too cold - and that could send her into shock too! I stopped her from drinking any more of it until Trixstir ran back to get a bucket of hot water to mix with it and warm it up. She definitely was thirsty, and drank deeply from the bucket of luke-warm water. She wasn't bleeding anymore, showed no signs of distress or colic (other than the stumbling around) and was nibbling lightly at the grass and offered feed pellets. I figured that if she was eating and drinking and on her feet, she was probably going to be OK. I was wrong... Dead wrong...
I let her wander around as she pleased for the next couple hours (keeping her on the lead, of course!) figuring that letting her walk around was probably the best idea. She wandered over to the temporary paddock behind the house, and then towards the tree-line where there was still a snow-pack and a lot of melt-water. I didn't want her in that area in case things got worse (and they soon did) so with the Kidling's help I herded her back towards the barn. I kept her outside on the grass, offering her food and water. She was still stumbling around, and trying to butt her head up against things (including The Kidling.) We were right next to the paddock she shared with Bonnie when she stumbled again, and this time she went down.
I called the vet, who seemed a little grumpy about me calling him at 11am on a Saturday. He said he was "busy" (doing what?) but asked me for a list of symptoms (other than the obvious part of her being down.) When I described the part about her staggering around like she was drunk, he asked me if she had been pressing her head against things. I told him that yes, she had been doing that, and he gave me the bad news. He explained that all the things I had described were symptematic of a severe brain injury, and that lacking any physical trauma to the head, she had probably suffered a stroke or aneurysm. She way laying down now, not moving or responding to my touch - just breathing deeply. He assured me that given that description, she was comatose and wasn't in any pain, but that death was inevitable at this point. He said that she would likely pass on soon, but if I really needed to, he could come out and put her to sleep. I felt that if she was already comatose and not suffering, there was no point in hurrying her along. I told myself I'd give her an hour - if she didn't cross over by then, I'd ask the vet to come out and help her make the crossing.
Trixstir had planned to take the kids to see her Mom this weekend, and I told her she may as well go - there was nothing that could be done here. The Munchkin came over while Molly was laying there; At this point, Molly appeared very much to be sleeping, and snoring. That, in fact, is what I told her: "Molly's sleeping, and she sure snores loud, doesn't she?" This seemed to happily satisfy The Munckin's curiosity, and she headed back to where Trixstir was waiting to get her into the van. About fifteen minutes after they left, Molly breathed her last. She had taken a few deep breaths several times before, and each time I had thought it would be her last - but a deep breath is a lot different from the final death-rattles of even a comatose large(ish) animal.
I stayed with her until the very end, stroking her muzzle, cheeks, ears, and neck - telling her it was OK to cross over, that she didn't have to stay... As the end drew near, her body started shivering and convulsing slightly, her legs sticking straight out. At this point, I wasn't just telling her she could cross over, I was begging her to cross over... A moment or so (an eternity?) later, she didn't lift her head, but her neck stretched out as she gave two long, soft half-brays: "Haaaaawwwwwwwww.... (breathe in) Hawwwwwwwwwwwww....." And then she died...
I don't think I will forget that sound as long as I live. I sat there in the grass next to her, sobbing like crazy for several minutes before I could collect myself. Even now as I write this entry, my throat is painfully tight and I'm fighting back tears. I'm no stranger to seeing Death all around me, and I've been with several beloved pets as they've crossed over - But Molly was the first of my "horsey family" to die, and that it was such a sudden thing, and with her being young (about 8 years old) and perfectly healthy only a couple days ago, this is an awful shock to the system.
The only solace I have at the moment is the vet's assurance that she didn't suffer (other than when she got herself stuck in the gate) and that there was nothing I could have done to prevent this from happening. Getting caught in the gate was not the cause of her death - she was already dying when she got stuck. I just can't imagine how she did it - I've looked closely at it since - the gap is so small you would think there would be no way she could push her head through it, yet somehow she managed. I've looked over the stall since, and there's damage to the drywall sections where she actually pushed her head right through the wall, pressing against it so hard. That was a classic symptom of severe brain-injury, according to the vet, once again absolving me of any need to feel guilty about her death. I may not feel guilt, but I feel a deep and severe wound right to my very soul. There's no one to blame - Nothing anyone did, or didn't do - Not "God calling her home" or anything like that. These things just happen. It's horribly sad, but they happen. If there has to be a Silver Lining (and there does!) it's that I was able to be with her until the very end. Had she not gotten herself stuck like that, I might have very well gone off to work in the morning only to come home and find her dead - and never know what happened. That would be far worse, I think...
There are only three ways to dispose of the body out here: Burn it, Bury it, or leave it for the wildlife to take it apart. Burning isn't an option due to the tinder-dry grasslands here. Burying isn't really an option either, given that I don't have a back-hoe available. As morbid as it might sound at first, leaving her body to the wildlife is probably the best. This is what would happen in Nature, but in this case she died on her own, in the company of people who loved her, and not brought down and torn apart while still alive by a pack of coyotes like a wild deer... A dear friend, who has had far too much experience with such matters, suggested that I take her body out towards a wooded area - something like a clearing amoung the trees, and lay her there. It won't take long for Nature's scavengers to clear her remains away, and in this manner her death will provide something to keep other animals alive. She's not using her body anymore, she can't be hurt by anything in this world anymore... I think this is what she would have wanted me to do.
Goodbye Molly... I will always miss you....