When I bought you at an auction in January for 100 dollars, you were emaciated, wild, a stallion. You were only 3 years old, and had the whole world ahead of you at your feet. You had striking eyes, one blue, one brown. You honestly looked like a wild Indian horse, and for that reason I named you Iroquois. You had a beautiful pattern to you, with that silver lining so looked for. You loaded into the trailer easily, as if someone had you professionally trained. As soon as I brought you to my home I put you on beet pulp, and you did ever so wonderfully on it. You gained several hundred pounds of weight in three months.
I threw a western saddle on you and worked you in the round pen. You only responded to yipping, so in my head, I thought "What an odd horse!" I worked you weekly while you steadily gained muscles. I had to bring down an extra two horses to hold for my friend.
You and the horses did not get along. One would keep trying to kick you, while the other simply did not look at you; as a result, for some reason, you began to steadily lose weight, and no matter what I tried, I could not keep it on you. I had to stop working you, as you were too delicate. I was frightened for you, Iroquois.
One day a week before Thanksgiving, as I was setting out hay, I witnessed something I will never forget.
As you moved towards the water trough, one of the horses swung his butt and lashed out with a hoof. A startling crack and a depressing thud was all I could hear. I immediately took the other two horses out of pasture and went to your side.
You were on the ground. I immediately knew something was horribly, horribly wrong. You had a dull look in your eyes, you didn't focus on anything. I felt where and the kick was, at your hip, and felt several cracks.
Your pelvis was broken.
I called the vet, who rushed out there. We set you up in a supporting device, and gave you 40 C Cs of anesthesia. The vet felt along your hip, confirming my fears, and worsening my worry. Not only was your pelvis broken, but during the fall you broke your hind leg in two places.
The prognosis was grim. The kick-wound soon got infected and began oozing pus. You could hardly move your back end, even your tail. I had to give you 40 C Cs of penicillin a day, in hopes of keeping it back. You back leg was in a cast. You were still losing dozens of pounds.
Finally, today, I decided it wasn't worth it. I contacted the vet, and she agreed. You weren't in a good enough shape to pull through. She brought a needle full of euthanasia, and as I was feeding you carrots and apples, you finally fell asleep forever, bringing an end to your pain.
This is what I had to do today, for Thanksgiving. He had the whole world at his hoof-tips, and he had to suffer at only 3 years old and lose everything.I'm keeping you in my thoughts, Iroquois, even if you're gone...