"Sunrise Silhouette"
Tar (on left) and Frisbee (right) are Tenessee Walkers that belong to my neighbor across the road. Over the years, they have served as models for my work (many of you will recognize Frisbee from "Morning Mist") and when Kathy is out of town, I've looked after them for her.
In mid December, Kathy was in a car accident that left her with a shattered ankle and fractured sternum. I have been caring for her animals while she recouperates. Early Sunday morning, she and her daughter left for a week long trip to Jamaica that had been planned months before for the winter school break.
On Monday, Frisbee and Tar greeted me as usual for their morning feeding. Tar was filthy from lying down in the run-in, and was going to need a good grooming before going back out. As I closed the outside gate, instead of going to his stall as he usually does, Tar went into Frisbee's stall and refused to come out when I asked. I shut the barn door and went to the stall, noticing immediately that he was shivering. As I backed him out of the stall into the isleway, it was apparent that he was in distress. Sometime during the night, Tar had coliced. I had checked on them around eleven, but it was now nearly ten o'clock the next morning. How long had he been like this?
As I tried to quickly assess his condition, my first reaction was to start getting him warmed up. Finding no blankets in the barn, I ran home and grabbed what extras I had, bringing towels from the house to dry him with, explaining to Michaela - home for winter break as well - that I needed to take care of Tar and she was on her own for the time being.
Back at the barn I found him still standing in his stall, but I needed more room to work on him so I pulled him out into the isle. It was as if all the resolve he had had crumbled once I understood his need. He could barely stand as I threw the blankets on him, and he leaned heavily on me for support. Dialing the number for the vet, I fought back the panic that was rising in me. His condition was becoming increasingly critical, and I was alone. I knew his life was in my hands. I would need all of my knowledge to help him, and then some.
I breathlessly told the receptionist everything, repeating it again to the vet when she transferred me. Tar's condition was dire, and he disregarded it as such. His recommended course of action would have done nothing to help Tar. His flippant attitude left me disheartened. I was angry for having wasted precious time for Tar. I dialed my own vet, not caring if I was overstepping my bounds - knowing full well my decisions might be challenged later. I was willing to defend my actions if necessary and would deal with that when and if the time came. My only concern was doing whatever could be done for Tar.
With his heart rate elevated at 78 bpm, we started him on a 500lb dose of Banamine, and as I waited for Dr. Ayers to arrive, I continued to towel dry him. Calling in route to check his response to the Banamine, she gave the go ahead to give him another 500lb dosage. I tried to call Kathy as I worked on Tar, but kept getting her voicemail. I dreaded having to tell her what was unfolding here at home. I then called her son and son-in-law to fill them in and have them continue to try and reach Kathy as we further assessed and treated Tar.
My heart sank as we tried to lavage him with warm water, unable to obtain a clear reflux. Large amounts of sour smelling coarse hay particles and a few flakes of corn were all that came back through the tube. After approximately forty minutes, the tube clogged completely and finally had to be removed. Dr. Ayers suspected that we were dealing with more than just an impaction, and I agreed. I called Kathy's son again to tell him our next course of action would be an iv treatment. Things were not looking good, and we had no guarantee that further treatment would be successful, especially if our suspicions were correct. At this point, we had to consider the financial burden we would be placing on Kathy as well.
We went ahead with the iv fluids, administering 5 L bolus of fluids before letting him into his stall, where he urinated normally before lying down. His heart rate had dropped to 56 bpm, and he remained lying quietly in sternal recumbency as we administered another 5 L bolus of fluids. It was near 4:30 as we drew up our overnight plan.
The next few hours saw me checking frequently on Tar to change his sweaty blankets as I tried desperately to keep him warm. We left him to lie quietly in his stall as his breathing was becoming more labored, and even a brief walk was stressing him. He got up momentarily, and I cleaned his stall as he lay in the isle waiting for me, giving him extra shavings to keep him warm and comfortable. The other animals still needed feeding, towels and blankets needed to be washed, and phone calls made. I gave Michaela something to eat and let the dogs out. Michael came to help me administer another round of iv fluids at approximately 9:30. Tar showed signs of himself as we started the second bag - getting up and pawing impatiently, that familiar glint in his eye. I allowed myself a moment of hope that things might turn.
He immediately returned to lying down once the treatment was finished, the spark extinguished, my hope with it. I left him at 12:30 to get some rest, setting my alarm for 4am, only then aware of how cold I'd been when I crawled under my heated blanket. I fell into an uneasy sleep a little after two. My body was less than happy at my request to get back up at four, thanking me with gut wrenching heaves of bitter bile. Tar was quiet on my check, and I returned home for a few more hours of sleep, knowing it would be another long day ahead of us.
At 8am he was still lying quietly, but his respiration was worse and he grunted uncomfortably with each breath. I flushed his catheter again and called the vet. Dr. Dwyer was scheduled to come at 10am, but had another emergency and couldn't make it until noon. Dr. Sutton was available and I requested she come out as soon as possible. I tended quickly to the other animals as I waited for her to arrive.
Her exam confirmed my fears: despite our efforts Tar's condition was deteriorating. His heart rate was 90 bpm. He had discharge from refluxing and the rectal exam revealed intestinal distention. The treatment had not helped. It was agreed to forego surgery and the heartbreaking decision was made to put Tar down.
We took him out into the pasture and I held his head, speaking softly to him and kissing him gently as Dr. Sutton prepared the injection. When it was done, our attention turned to Frisbee, who was frantically calling for his friend from the barn. We gave him a light sedative and then turned him out to say goodbye. As he pawed and nipped at Tar to get to his feet, his sad whinnies piercing my heart - the realization that his friend was gone finally began to sink in as he stood protectively over Tar's still form. I stood wondering with a heavy heart how anyone could possibly believe animals don't understand loss. Frisbee's grief was palpable.
We buried Tar this afternoon in the paddock behind the barn.
My gratitude and thanks to Dr. Ayers, Dr. Sutton, Dr. Boatwright and the rest of the staff at GVEC for everything they did for Tar, and for me. My thanks to Butch for coming to help us put Tar to rest. My gratitude also to Will and James for helping me through this. My heartfelt sorrow to Kathy on the loss of her boy.
