Farewell, Chanel...

She turned 30 in May. According to a chart I read, that is similar to a human being in their late 80's. Friday she began to limp. I gave her lots of pain medication and talked to my marvelous veterinarian. We made a plan.

Yesterday Rachel and Evans came to say goodbye. They brought a big bag of peppermints, and let her eat lots and lots of them. There was a lot of stroking and hugging, and inhaling her delicious, horsey, scent.

The vet came this morning. She explained to me what to expect. "Some horses do strange things, so be prepared. Some rear and kick." She gave Chanel a sedative, and I held her head, and kissed her a lot of times, and told her how beautiful she was, and that she was the best pony ever.  Her head became heavy in my arms. Then the doctor injected two huge vials of anesthetic and Chanel laid down, hard. I turned away as she dropped, but then stroked her face as her big heart stopped.  "Kind and careful to the end," the vet said.  It was a truthful eulogy.

The goats, lambs and donkey all came and examined her still form in the grass.  Abraham seemed to understand, and stood solemn guard for a time.

Chanel had been ours for 11 sweet years. I knew when I got her that we would be her final home, and planned to keep her until the day she died.  According to a friend of mine, many people send their old horses off to auction. I like to think Chanel had a nice retirement here with us.  She was an expensive pasture pet, tucking away hundreds of dollars of hay each winter, but I never begrudged her a bite.

We had some fine times.  She used to join us in the back yard when we'd have cocktail hour or cook supper out.

Sometimes she'd help herself to a sip of someones drink. Then she'd make such a FACE!

She was so good with all the other animals. Rachel's Pug would stand between her feet and bark at her for HOURS, and she acted like he wasn't there at all.  The adult goats would all run to her if something frightened them. The baby goats danced on her every chance they got. She seemed to like it.

We went trail riding at Acadia National Park,  and it was plain to see she enjoyed it. Her short little legs had to jog to keep up with the more elegant horses my friends rode, but she was as happy as could be.  Unusual obstacles like bridges or rivers didn't phase her, and people riding by on bicycles were calmly accepted. Babies in strollers were to be sniffed and examined, and then she would wait for the patting and admiration that was to follow.  She was unflappable. 

I think she loved me.  When she first came here, I'd try to kiss her velvet nose, and she'd jerk her head away and make a sound I learned meant, "Quit that!"  But after a while she not only tolerated my smooches but sometimes would walk right up to me and press her warm, sweet smelling nose up against my lips. She delighted in me scratching her chest, and would hook her neck around me, hugging me close while I rubbed her itchy places. She knew there were often treats in my pockets, and wasn't bashful about mugging me to try to find them.

We had some fun rides, the most memorable being the day we went to the beach. (Thank you, Liz!)

I don't think she'd ever been before, but she took the crashing waves in stride, and as we explored the shoreline she kept her head up, nostrils flared, taking in the sweet scents and strange new views.  When we were done I took her bridle and saddle off and led her back to the beach on a lead rope. She joyfully splashed in the water and rolled in the sand.

She was the fulfillment of many a youthful dream. A wonderful friend. A beautiful addition to our lives. I am so grateful to have had the privilege of loving her. Kind and careful till the end.