Maximus: Shortly After He Left

It’s been just a short time since my gorgeous boy was here with us. Laying to rest an animal and friend that you adore is just so heavy.

At first, it felt like a weight to bear—the idea of deciding for him when it was too much. I knew he trusted me completely, and I also knew I did not want him to suffer pain. Max was a horse that was easy for me to worry about. He was prone to colic and had some bouts with choking. In my opinion, these were both related to the fact that he cribbed chronically if allowed. He was also just a big-boned, huge horse in general, and it always seems to be harder on the big ones. He motored around for a lot of years as well, so we knew the arthritis was part of the game as he aged.

Ringbone had taken away his life as a showhorse and so he became even more of my pet at the point that he truly retired in 2020. Now he didn’t have to work; all he had to do was keep his weight up and get loved on. It wasn’t an easy transition for him though because he loved being the apple of my eye. He wanted to be the one who I went and got out of the pasture. Sometimes when I got another horse instead, he would stand at the gate, banging away with, ‘Excuse me, I’m sure you meant to get ME….’

Eventually he mellowed and became the greeter instead. He would come to find me first in the pasture, get a cookie and some head rubs, and then mosey on back to what he was doing or follow me and the horse I had haltered back to the gate. He was the “everyone can ride” horse, the “steady one my toddler could groom” horse, the one that was my son’s first solo ride horse. This was after being my first dressage horse, the horse I rode in my first championships, the one I rode while pregnant, and the horse I rode first after coming back from having the baby. All of these were special roles that he had, that leave an indelible mark.

When he turned from pasture sound to not-so-sound, I began using the rational side of my thinking to set parameters for what I would think is suffering and what is maybe not. I talked many different times with my vet about how to make the choice and what the benchmarks were for knowing it’s time to make that hard choice to end pain. Max eventually changed and looked painful in the walk as he navigated his turnout, and our wonderful veterinarian Dr. Cameron Boggs and I decided it was time to X-ray the foot with the ringbone again to see what was going on. Sadly, the images showed severe changes since the last X-ray. It was obvious there was nothing therapeutic we could do to make him comfortable any longer, and this was a sad but real fact to take in.

What was daunting was that with my rational brain, I did take it in. I had already had the end-of-life conversations a few times with Cameron, and we’d discussed the situation in what ifs and conjectures. Of our herd of seven, we had three older horses, all with their own issues, so I’d been preparing mentally for a while that at some point one of them would be tipping in a negative direction— truly it’s just inevitable. The hard part occurred when I fully let it sink into my heart that my friend would be leaving. That I would be deciding a date on the calendar that would be his end on this earth. This was incredibly heavy leading to the end. Even justified from so many different angles, it was just a lot to carry. He didn’t know…and why would he? He was still doing his day-to-day. But I knew he had days left; hours left. Minutes. And his trust was so strong. He saw me sobbing around him so much during the last week. He must’ve known something wasn’t sitting well with me, but he just gave me some of his peace and begged for some more belly scratches. He was just sweet like that. It’s as if he gave me the ultimate acceptance and bore me no distrust or ill will. He just nuzzled his big, sweet face into my chest and asked for some more cookies.

Anyone who has had or cared for a senior horse knows that they have their own set of challenges. Sometimes the care is more laborious. They require more expensive food, more food generally, special hay, special shoes, different turnout. Honestly, it can all feel exhausting especially if you compare it to the younger ones and how simple they can be. But after you lose one like Max, you’re reminded that you’d happily slog through the pasture to find him to bring him in to eat or make him wear a blanket (much to his disdain) because not having that is the emptiest of feelings.

That last morning came as it inevitably would: it was surreal. Cameron had set us for early in the day, and we had the man arriving also with his heavy machinery to dig the hole. I was aware of all of this, but I was also keenly aware of the quiet of one more beautiful morning with Max. He ate his gigantic breakfast, worked on hay, and then found me when I came out to the pasture and serenely lowered his face to put his halter on. We slowly walked to the barn at his pace, and then I groomed him with his favorite rubber curry. He thoroughly enjoyed getting all his itchy spots groomed. Then we took a bag of carrots and treats, and he went and shared some with each one of his friends. He stayed with Dahlia and Vesper the longest and soaked up some time with his girls. It was so peaceful, and again I think it’s because he gave me some of his own peace like he always did. It’s one of the things I miss the most—my giant heaping of peace that I always got from just being around him.

When Cameron got there, Scott and I had our goodbyes with Max and said the rest of everything we wanted to say to him. And this is where I want to make sure that I note that our vets are the absolute most compassionate and most wonderful professionals that I have ever been honored to know in the veterinary field. Breezeway is simply a practice that you know without a doubt contains horse lovers who have made their lives about the study of these creatures and want the absolute best for each of them. And all the team makes the horses the top priority no matter what. Dr. Bri Gindlesperger and Cameron had both been taking care of Max with me for years and have always been focused on Max’s best interests. There were a lot of late, random nights spent taking care of him with emergency calls, and we could even joke (eventually, because you must find some humor) about how much Max loved seeing them on weekends and late at night. Max even coliced the night my son was born, and we always said he wanted to remind me even that day that he was still a big deal. Cameron had met my mom out at the farm that night and had texted to not worry, he would take care of everything. That’s a special gift to have people who care about your horses like that.

He did the same thing the day we let Max go. He gave us the time we needed in the last moments and then he took care of Max through the transition to the end. It was so careful, quiet, and peaceful. Having experienced other euthanasia moments with horses before that were not so peaceful, I truly appreciated the healing that this experience brought for me personally in that area. Then the three of us sat with Max and with tears in our eyes talked about how special he was, told our stories with him, and thanked him for being the absolute best boy. The fact that our vet sat with us with no underlying feeling of rush at the start of his day said a lot to me about his compassion. It seems to me that many people don’t realize how much our veterinarians carry: there’s the load of the animals’ best interests and that’s huge on its own, and they’re doing this while also navigating human emotions and questions on a daily basis. But that’s only one part of the weariness that their professional can bring. Suffice to say, I’m completely grateful for them. And I’m grateful that Max was the reason we got to know them so well. It’s funny in a way to look back at a situation and realize that all that stress over him and his gassy stomach cemented some wonderful relationships in my life that I value so much. I also learned so much in the process that I will always keep with me.

The horse community is an empathetic group and many people reached out to me when they heard I lost him. The social media responses were so kind, the texts I received meant the world to me, and I’m glad no one called because I could not have made it through a conversation at all. The grief was/is resounding.

I’m at the month mark now and I’m honestly a bit surprised at how resounding it feels still. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it would be hard, but I thought knowing that we had saved him from suffering would be at the forefront and my rational brain could hold onto that and make it through the hardest chunks. But again, the hardest chunks have nothing to do with rational thought. I miss his presence, his soft eyes, and his gigantic head insisting that I scratch it. I miss the night checks and belly scratches, and the slow way he did everything. It checked me sometimes as to why was I in such a rush anyway? The herd dynamic had to change as well when they lost their leader. Cole had to step up and become the one in charge, and it was just different to see how that went. Adjusting to only one gray horse has been a thing for me. Hobbes, the other gray, has made my subconscious mind think I’m seeing Max about a thousand times since he left. The mind tries to see what the heart wants—it’s truly incredible to witness that in myself. The mention of him by someone when I’m not expecting to talk about him can still make my eyes prick tears almost immediately. I feel exposed, and rightly so when you’re talking about a huge connection to my heart. His former owner, Lorrie, sent me a picture of him acting spicy in the pasture as an 11-year-old a week after he passed, and I will cherish it always because a daily reminder of him being happy and exuberant does my heart good. But seeing him all over my house in pictures right now makes the ache a little stronger. I’m not taking them down because of it, but I guess what I’m getting at is that there is a visceral response happening on a few levels still.

Part of it is that Max ushered in so much joy and learning in that space in me that is completely reserved for horse passion. There have been two times in my life that I have closed that space for a while and tried to maybe not do the horse life, but for me, that area can’t even go dormant, because after a while the desire to just be around horses makes me feel empty. I met Max when I had left horses for a couple of years and was just coming back to them. I had given Cole and Hobbes away to a friend, rented out my farm, and lived in a neighborhood. After two years I decided I would take dressage lessons at a farm close to where I lived to see if I liked it. Somewhere in the next 8 months, Max moved there, and I began leasing him. Within another year we were moving back to the farm, Cole and Hobbes were coming home, and then I was offered the opportunity to buy Max and bring him too. I had so many beautiful rides in the pasture with my dressage cones set up and walks around the pond to cool down. He reignited that space fully for me and by introducing me to dressage, I was given the gift of a new sport, a new challenge, a place of learning, and a new method of personal development. He was supposed to be here longer because the changes he brought were so profound for me that I felt like 6 years with him just wasn’t enough. And the truth is it isn’t, and nothing ever would be. I could never get enough time with beauty like that. A teacher, friend, heart-nudger, and passion-ignitor. He lived 25 wonderful years, and I was honored to have him for the time that I got to have with him.

He will always be part of the fabric here at this farm and of my life in general. His stall will always have his name on it—it’s a thing Scott and I saw at the Kentucky Horse Park and instantly decided to do at our place. His pictures will be up, and his stories told. The space in my heart and the nudges that speak of him will always be a sweet reminder of a deep love and connection. Most importantly nothing can change that he and I had a story together. We had our own within the larger story of my life, and this lives on and will always be a touchpoint for me. When he left, I gave him a few names of people to go find who have gone on before us, because I knew that they would also appreciate his beautiful soul. I take comfort in knowing that his journey continues now with them, minus pain and minus any inhibition. As for me, I will be forever changed by a horse named Maximus, and for that, I love him even more.