Tuesday, February 18, 2014

fear and hope (PTSD)

We have a smallholding, and for a decade we had Duke, a Belgian, who helped us work it. He was blind in one eye, and had some ring bone so he was never 100% sound, but we didn't ask much of him -- just to plow the garden in the spring (for which he got some bute) and pull the occasional log. He had a good life and enjoyed himself with our goats (he was a goat midwife, I swear) and our donkey. Then, after a decade, he got to where he wouldn't eat enough and died.

So then another Belgian, Bill, was looking for a home so he plowed our garden one spring, then came to live with us in the fall. But in December he fell and broke his leg just above his hock and we had to kill him.

So we went one year and just worked our corn field by hand but at the fall auction I found Rose. She was just an old, gentle BelgianX mare. Because we didn't know her history, she went to the facility where I do some work so we could drive her in an arena for safety and confidence (for me) for the first time. She had checked out as a wonderful animal and we were ready to bring her home when she colicked, her stomach ruptured, and the vet put her down.

So everyone has been looking for a suitable animal for us and our farrier found one, Clyde. I just got a call today that Clyde's coggins came so he is ready to come to us. And it scares me to death. Oh, there is no way I won't do it but it hurts everything there is in me. It is like the older I get, the more the hurt just builds up or something.  The kindness makes me cry and the fear makes me cry and maybe I'm just pre-menstral.

May we have years and years with Clyde the Belgian.