Six Weeks of Six Years
Six years ago, I came upon someone who would forever change my life. She was graceful, patient, wise, and wonderful. We were so much alike, liked the same people, food, places, events, learned from each other, everything you get from a best friend. My best friend whom I have been describing for the past few sentences was ripped away from me two weeks ago, by liver failure. Yes, you would think that you would have heard about someone’s little girl dying of liver failure by now, given our little community, but you didn’t. My best friend, who is remembered so fondly by so many, wasn’t so important to the general public. Her name Shiloh; her species; horse.
Too many people horses aren’t that important. But to a girl dealing with other teens who abandon her, and parents that annoy her, her horse is the only one who ever seems to listen, understand or care. For some girls it’s not a horse. For some it’s a dog, cat, fish, writing, music, anything, but for me it was this horse.
When I got her for Christmas of 2001, the end of the year we were both nine, I was so happy I thought that it wasn’t real. But never would I have expected for this to be her fate, not so soon. On Easter morning she was hit by a pick up. We rushed her to the vet where she was stitched up and we believed she would be fine. Luckily, he had only clipped her. My human best friend, Jackie and her mom, Samantha show up to be with me and help me with all of the things I had to remember. Leaving the vets office relieved, thanking him, and with a list of things to do for her, I went home expecting the worst to be over. I was wrong. Throughout the next few weeks we returned three or four times for checkups on her wound. All was well. My 4-H leader and friends often showed up to help
with her shots and appointments.
Three weeks later she wasn’t eating or drinking, acting strange, and we rushed her to the vet yet again. He was unsure of what was wrong with her and kept her overnight so that he could test her blood the following day. He called my mother not saying much more than that she was a very sick horse. As soon as I could make it I was there, next to her, hoping I wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Through fluids, medication, an amazing vet, and a miracle, two days later we were able to bring her home. With all the same feelings, and words of thanks as before, we left happily, only now with a little more medication. Things were going great; she was eating and drinking, just acting like herself. Suddenly after five days of bliss, she was acting weird again. I moved her closer to my other horses and she started eating and drinking again. We decided that it must have been that she was lonely and were considering not making an appointment. The next morning, she hadn’t eaten any of her grain. Calling the vet was my first thought. He couldn’t get us in for two days, which I was very concerned about. Trying to be optimistic, and thinking that it wasn’t so bad,
I accepted this.
A friend of ours was at our house doing some work on our basement. He knew of her situation and was keeping an eye on her for us. He saw a cut on her leg and called my mom to let her know. She came to school, picked me up early to go see if it needed stitches, then planned to drop me back off once I made a decision. When I got there, I couldn’t go back to school. My dearest friend wasn’t breathing properly. She sounded like someone who was choking while having an asthma attack. Again, we rush her to the vet. I remain calm the entire way there, fighting back tears and the urge to just hit something. When I get there, I am sent into a state of panic. The vet isn’t there. The door to the clinic is locked. I call the number that I was given, clearly freaked out. One of his assistants comes, checks her vitals, and calls him. The first words out of her mouth are “You have to get here now, it’s serious.” I remain calm. Jackie’s mom, Samantha, again shows up and waits with me. Shortly he arrives and goes to work in an attempt to save her. With him there I let go of all of the emotions I had been holding back. I begin to sway, my eyes begin to roll into the back of my head, Samantha acknowledges what is happening and runs me to a chair. The next thing I remember is the vet telling me to leave so as to not be underfoot. For what seemed like hours I sat outside, cried, and waited. Samantha walks out, they performed a tracheotomy, Samantha is proud of herself for helping. My beautiful black horse has a tube in her throat so that she can breathe. It wasn’t supposed to be so serious. She was supposed to be fine.
The vet has to leave to take care of another horse that is under anesthesia, assuring us he will return. While he is gone I begin to calm down, absorbing what just happened. I go in and see her. She isn’t the same. This barely seems like my friend. She walks into the walls, leans her head up against them in weird positions, and is constantly threatening to collapse. I remain calm, remembering that the vet will return.
He kept his word, he is back to help her. Relief, the Calvary is here. This time, I decide to help.
They shoved a probe down her throat to see if she is choking, all five us doing something. There is no blockage. After much fighting with her, it is decided what they will do. They began to move her in order to administer a catheter and five liters of fluids with something in it to help reduce the swelling in her brain. It’s her brain, something is wrong with my horse’s brain. Due to the swelling of her brain she has been holding her head really low to the ground; the rest of her body follows her. She does a summersault into a fence. She collapsed, showed weakness for the first time in six years. They give her the treatment and do more blood tests. It doesn’t look good. They will call in the morning. I stay with my 4-H leader, at my second home. My mom calls the next morning, they have to put her down. We pick up Jackie from school, with her parents permission, and drive to Lebanon to see her, for the last time.
We sit around with her, trying to make jokes about things in our lives. My parents work it out with my uncle to come pick up her body. Her body, the most appalling thing I could possibly ever hear. We have a few more hours with her before my uncle can get off the farm. He shows up, the vet gets back from lunch break, the paperwork is done. They load her into the trailer and I walk to the other side to sit in the car. I can still see my uncles truck and trailer, but I can’t see her. I will never see her again. The injection is given, she falls to the floor. I hear her collapse, and see the truck and trailer rock from her sudden shift of weight. Its twelve forty-five, its done. We have decided to buy roses for her; I want them to be green. Green was the color that I always bought her bucket, bridles and blankets; it was the color of life. Proving the skeptics wrong, there are a dozen green roses, just for her.
One week later, I see it all through new eyes. She is not dead. As long as I remember her and love her, she lives on through me. No one is dead unless they are forgotten. All you have to do to keep your loved ones alive is remember them. Remember their lives, accomplishments, character traits, and your relationship with them. Most of all remember that you loved, and love them and that they felt the same about you. If you can do that, you can keep them alive.
So why wouldn’t you?
"Keep your ears up Fatty!""
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| Shiloh |
| 24, Apr 2008 |
| Jessica Gifford |