It is more than a year since Shorty died, and I am only now able to write about it.  He spent five weeks on stall rest, but never recovered from a strange neurologic occurrence that left him lopsided and unable to bear weight on a rear leg.  Molly, his dear friend, would come in to spend time with him in his stall.  

To know when it is time to put down a beloved pet is an awesome responsibility.  Eventually Shorty gave me the signs that he had had enough.  I was unable to cure him, but fortunately I could make the decision to stop his suffering.  He was 19.

I had thought Molly, seven years his senior, would be the first to go.  In the end, she lived through the winter and enjoyed one more spring.  She spent her last months at Judy Beaton's small barn, enjoying the freedom to go in and out at her pleasure.  One day she stopped being able to poop, and after several vet visits, tubes of fluid, and manual waste removal, it became clear that she too had come to the point where Goodbye would be the kindest words.  We "called Shorty" to come for her, and as the vet administered her lethal injection, she picked up her head and pricked her ears forward, as horses do when they spot something of interest.

  I comfort myself with the thought that Shorty and Molly are grazing side by side in that great pasture that all good work horses deserve.