by Ann Patty
With the wind blowing at our backs, the heavens above threatened to cry also. Yesterday, Ab got his last day in his summer sun. John told me to get on the opposite side of Ab. Opposite his injection site. That was good. I don’t like needles. I can handle them, yes, but I’d rather not. And then John dropped the needle and had to retreat to his truck. And then I thought my floodgates would reopen again. I held my breath and saw Jake holding his.
John is good. His second time he got it right. Ab did not have a care, but did toss John a dirty pinned-back ear. In that moment I noticed his blanket was dirty. Ab must have lain down during the night. His hips were so weak it was a wonder he had been able to get back up. In less than ten seconds, John returned to my side where I held Ab's halter. I did not see his death fluid drain into him as I have seen in others. John quickly came over to my side and told me to let go of Ab’s halter. I did.
John took the leather cheek piece into his hand to protect me in case of a final kick out. I stepped back. Just seconds later, Ab took his final fall to the soft damp dirt. It was so fast. He was awake. Then he was asleep. To the earth he fell flat. Positioned as if he was lying out in the sun. All that time, all that energy I put around death thoughts. What a waste, I thought. I want to be an animal, who lives in the moment for the moment, and then when your time is done, there is no fanfare. It is just done. It becomes a procedure, an energy escape, a festival of sorts—and only what humans make of it. And humans make a lot about this simple, elegant transition.
John went to reach to remove Ab's halter. I told him no, that it was his and was going to go with him into the afterlife. That morning, I had removed his old leather halter from the hook where it hung, still with some life left, and placed it back on Ab. It had hung in its spot untouched now for a long while. I could have put it on JD—it fit—but it did not feel right and I hung it back up. I guess I was saving it for this day. The leather, under its weathered exterior, was, like Ab, still strong. But its top layer was dusty, cracked a bit, and stiff, like my boy. When I put it on him that morning, I only buckled it partly. I never did put the full leather inside the buckle—too much hassle to remove when he was in and out of it so often. So, out of habit, I did the same. This late morning, after he was gone, I looked at his undone halter. For the first of our last time, I buckled it closed.
Soul Gift
Death is a process and I had mine. The emotional aspect is far greater to reckon with than the physical component. After John left, I returned to my heart. I stroked his neck, pulled out my clippers and set about trimming off his tail. Crappy clippers take a long time. This razor was not meant for coarse hairs, only fine fetlock, ear, and chin cleanup jobs. I was careful not to cut into anything but his hair. No blood was to be drawn on my Abba. This was a simple gesture and I wanted to do it gently now, as I had in his life. Only thing was, he got a silly crew cut.
When I got to his mane, I resorted to good old-fashioned scissors. I sat ever so lightly upon Abba's shoulder for a long time, supporting my own body. What was I thinking, I thought. He was a dead horse, right? And with this realization, I rested the full weight of my butt on his shoulder and cradled his neck between my two legs. Abba would want me resting upon him once more. He would want to give me one last ride. So I let him carry me as he always had. His body was still warm, as his mane got clipped off. Each rubber-banded clump of his beautiful golden-tinted red mane was retired inside a long cardboard box. Every strand was laid down carefully, side by side. My beautiful Abba; his soft, long mane was all I would have left of him. Not upset—instead there was this job to do. I got up and went around to Abba's forehead. The final removal was his soft forelock, which I had run my fingers through so many times, and did again at this time. Finally my fingers touched, then stroked and swirled lightly around his white forehead star. Yes, he was my lucky star. He came from heaven. Abba was my Pegasus.
Again I returned to sit upon Abba's shoulder right above his heart. Emotionally exhausted and dog-tired, I rested there for a bit. His forelock, mane and tail were removed. In total silence I stroked his neck and got lost inside daydreams of nothingness. After a bit, I peered over, across my right shoulder. I felt beckoned to—to stand up and look at Abba from ten paces back. Why? I could not say. As near as my understanding would allow, there was someone—or something—summoning me. But my physical eyes did not see anyone. So I shrugged my shoulders and thought nothing more of it.
Shortly thereafter, an incredible sensation occurred. One that has never been duplicated in my lifetime to this date. Just seconds later, I felt a distinct bump, or a thump, press up under my buttocks while I still rested upon Abba's shoulder. The sensation went vibrating into my abdomen, through my gut, into my lower spine, and lit up my back. A knock at a door, I thought to myself. Like someone wanting out? My Abba, is he still alive? How could this be! I just saw him fall to the ground and die a physical death.
So then I began to learn. I was summoned once more. I raised myself up and stood back as told. Not terribly far back, but I gave enough clearance. And then came Abba's greatest gift ever to me. I saw his body double—I witnessed his spirit rise! Abba’s blanket breathed! It rose and fell just like when he was alive! Darn, was I mad in my exhausted head, I wondered? Then at that I blinked and still could not believe what transpired. Looking again, I confirmed more of his breaths under his blanket. The rise and fall of his belly continued. And then it stopped to give way to something far greater. Abba's body doubled. There were two distinct outlines as his spirit separated from his physical torso. Ab's ethereal self slipped upward, releasing his carcass. The lines between his astral and physical embodiments were becoming more blurred. His soul silhouette was encased in the shroud of his light body. Then it was over. It was then I absolutely knew Abba had truly, finally left this life for another.
I approached his body. Before, he had looked like a sunning horse. Now he looked like a dead horse. I had been sitting upon his heart. He knew I wanted one last ride. He wanted me to sit upon his shoulder back. And he waited for me to attend to him before he left!
That morning, as John had administered his shot, I thought Abba's soul might be standing close by. I did not know. Now I see it! Abba too was attending his own death—my death, our death. He had waited for me, just like he did all those years. We always waited for each other. Always. This was no different. Once I shaved off his forelock mane, his job here was complete. I had attended his death. And in return Abba let me see him go! I was so grateful that I had had enough sense about myself to be able to witness such a miracle. To see my Abba’s spirit escape. It was quite something. Everyone should see their loved one’s spirit leave, just to know their spirit lives on eternally. It is just energy transformed is all. Yes, my golden lucky star blessed me.
The Herd's Last Look
Just after John put my Abba to sleep, JD knew there was something up. From the far pasture he brought Lily back to the fence line, which is about 25' from where Abba rested. Instinctively, JD knew something was amiss. He smelled it: death. John also mentioned that the injected serum has an odor that does not agree with the equine olfactory glands.
JD charged the fence then retreated. Then circled back several times before he herded his Lily around in concerned alarm. Lily ran around, but not much. She did not like and did not understand Abba's disposition. It was apparently unfamiliar territory in this lifetime for Lily, so she kept her distance. Even after I opened the gate, they declined entry. That was fine. They needed time.
The day was moody. I didn't want rain upon my Abba's body. His nice warm blanket was not water-resistant. I wanted him buried before the rains came. Some may think me foolish, but I think one should do in death as you do in life. Why be any different?
I was drawn to return to Abba periodically to view his body. The death process of the physical body is quite something—interesting, actually. Even though there are technical signs that the body has passed, it still remains a living organism that takes time to decompos
e. Systems take time to discharge, as was evident as Abba's body slowly released his urine and his bowels. The gums and teeth turned colorless. His eye faded into murky. A big body like this takes time to turn cold. Rigor mortis takes a while.
I returned often to check on Abba's body-dying process. There was one point at which he looked like he was downright smiling a big horse laugh at the world. No kidding. In reflection, I do believe that grin was before his soul body left. Abba's smirk was a result of his body functions, but I had never seen anything like it. His lips pulled back exposed his upper and lower teeth into a big toothy smile. And I absolutely swear the ends of his mouth were curled up. He was laughing—that is what I saw: a laughing Abba horse mocking this world! And he made me smile right back.
As I was carrying out my rituals, Jake appeared anxious to get Abba buried. He started to undo the tractor gate and I asked him to wait. He did. While I was winding down and pondering placement, Jake came out to take a look. I told him flatly and emphatically that I would be burying my Abba. That was the one last thing I wanted to do for him. In his way of protest, Jake commented that it was a big tractor job. But I followed up with, “I have all day.” Meaning where else was I going to go? Alas, my need to bury our life in the earth was imminent.
Once I brought the tractor out, the two twins reappeared. Across the gate they looked. Yes, of course! Whenever you teach new material to students you introduce something familiar alongside something odd or foreign. JD and Lily knew the tractor well; they passed by it daily in its parking spot in their shed. The tractor was now resting alongside Abba, and that made them both brave.
The grave had not begun to be dug yet, so I reopened their gate. JD and Lily came in to look, first at the tractor, of course. And then it was curious JD who wanted to know the trespasser in his pasture. JD is territorial—very much so. He hunts down and runs off any animal he does not know. We have all seen JD perform this act routinely. He is a hoot to watch.
One fall a time ago, he found a young bear sitting atop one of his apple trees in the far pasture. From his home turf, he held his head up high and spotted the thief. He alarmed Ab who had not taken first notice. Then, as boys do, JD turned to Ab and said, “Let's go get 'em.” JD took up a battle challenge and charged out to the far field with Ab at his side, playing along. I mean, that JD horse CAN run when motivated. He was ticked that anyone should be in his space, let alone take apples from his prized trees—he waited each year for this harvest.
And so these three became a comic strip. As JD and Ab galloped to the tree, this young bear looked up out of his gluttonous stupor. That bear saw trouble in double coming his way. As a little kid would, he split out and tossed his apples away in helter-skelter fashion. The young bear got so caught that he tumbled out of the apple tree into a lump on the ground. Then he scurried to the woods right before the boys got to him. The neighbors were out, and we all had a good laugh. Who needs a watch dog when you have JD? So of course it was JD who circled the tractor. Then JD decided if the tractor wasn't scared, then maybe it was okay to check out Abba.
Nose to the ground, JD circled Ab, and never touched him with his muzzle. He finally settled into eating Ab's hay that was spread out across the ground about ten feet from his body. Lily was slow to warm up, but she was getting courageous and curious. She inched closer and closer and she began to test Abba. Poking with her nose at a foot, his now shaved stub tail, his muzzle, and then his ear. As she began to see with her smell, it was then I began to see what she was doing. Lily wanted Abba to get up. She did all the motherly things a mare would do to stand her baby up at birth. There was a frozen moment in time when she touched her muzzle to Ab's muzzle, and then went up his face, to the tip of his ear. Her evident tenderness somehow made sense out of this ritual called death.
These wonderful horses, like all animals, teach. Just like my Abba of yesteryear who ran home to be with me when he could have had better summer pasture. It is never the perfect place we crave, but the place where our soul mate resides. The desire to reunite, to belong, to another drives all mammals to find like kind. I've always said if an animal returns after you give it away, or it’s been lost, do make every effort to keep your furry friend for life. Something far greater is happening that compels two entities to be together. I know now I could live anywhere my true soul mate lives. It is not a climate or location that creates our content; rather, it is the climate and the environment of love that we truly seek.
I gave Lily her Abba time. Her behaviors towards Abba were intriguing. She was crossing between curiosity and attendance, then total disregard. Yet, she kept a close eye. That night when I went to feed, JD trailed in first and Lily second. As Lily walked in, she paused and looked back at the pasture, just like she did many a night for Ab. Yes, he—his spirit—was still out there. I felt him too.
Too many times I looked to the field and knew Abba was still grazing alongside his herd. Habitually, that first night I went to the corral gate and waited for him to come walking in. I wondered if he knew that he had an ethereal body. That with his freedom he could once again run like the wind—or better yet be the wind. So I told him.
One night under the new moon his essence graced me. Closing my eyes, I could actually smell him again, almost feel his soft muzzle nudge my cheek. Many times he visited me with his presence. Abba's spirit seemed to be able to reach across the veil better than I could.
So for those first few evenings, out of respect I waited for my horses to file into the corral. I paused in reflection and waited as usual for Abba to pass through the gate before the gate was closed. Thirty years of nights like this were now gone. Our final chapter closed the book on this routine for all of us.
The Grave
Wow. Isn't it amazing how much you learn in death! Death is really about rebirth! And death truly does not exist. After JD and Lily had had their moment paying their respects, it was time. I ushered them back across the gate with bribes of Abba's last supper. It did not take much convincing. Both were watching as I closed the gate and started up the tractor with the backhoe digger. I've operated the tractor a lot, but the backhoe only a little. Each time, I have to relearn the up-down-left-right-scoop-release levers. I had never really gotten to where the process flowed. And yet, without thinking, I began digging like an expert! The feel of the machine was in my hands. Digging productively, I placed every blade and scooped up every shovel in perfect unison. The grave construction took all afternoon.
This indeed was a big job. That was fine. The whole time, I had conversations with Abba of course. I got lost in thought of memories past, and time flew. Every so often I would assess my handiwork to see my next steps. I dug close to Ab's hooves. I decided to undercut underneath his legs and get up to as close to his body as possible. It was my idea to have him go gently down into his grave without a plop. Feet first and easy down.
There were three times Jake reappeared from his shop. First as the hole was about half done and I began the undercut. He said nothing, but I could see in his face amazement at my skill. To tell you the truth, I amazed myself. I thought I should hire my tractor skills out! And truthfully it is fun to play with a big toy and master it.
Anyway, Jake watched a bit then saw what my intentions were, grabbed a shovel then helped the undercut from the topside for a few minutes. I had undercut from the base up, leaving a shelf in place under Ab's legs. The shelf was the last to go. I dug the hole deep and as far as the backhoe arm could reach. I dug for three hours straight. This hole was a cavern. No one and nothing was ever going to dig my Abba up. Not the coyotes, not the dogs, not even the high seas.
One family member believes that in end times, when heaven and earth collide, our bodies will be resurrected. I laughed to myself and thought, Sorry, but my Abba’s body is never, ever going to rise to this occasion. When the west coast drops into the ocean, when our house is reduced to floating toothpicks, and the sea charges in to suck up life, my Abba's body will not ever surface to see daylight. Not
even for one minute. When this day was done, Abba would lay deep in a tomb of clay. He will be well preserved. Our property was once river bottom. This whole valley was. We have about two feet of rich topsoil, great for gardens, and then it turns to pure clay. Try digging a post hole in that type of earth—I can tell you firsthand, it is slow going.
Excavating this cavernous grave, I pondered how Abba always knew how to lead the way home. Then at times I would take notice of changes in Abba’s body. I noticed his urine release. And as I dug deeper that afternoon, more of his urine drained. His fluid crawled directly into his grave. The urine went several feet in a straight line and then dropped into where his new home was being constructed. Abba always knew his way in life and in death.
Before we bury Abba, I must tell you this other story of his. Abba always was a great lead trail horse. And he never feared the unknown. He just honored that my directions could be trusted. You could point him to dark spots and he would always find light. One time, I was with friends over on the John Wayne trail in Eastern Washington. We came upon an old train tunnel. There are many that remain in the underbellies of hills. Typically these tunnels are the only way to the other side. Our group came to such tunnel. It was pitch black. We were on a ranch ride, so I knew it went through. Everyone doubted this because the horses wanted nothing to do with the darkness. They were just displaying their survival skills.
