It was 5:30 in the morning, and as I stood by the kitchen bench and prepared my first cup of coffee for the day, I looked out of the window to see dark clouds on the eastern horizon, lit by the faint dawn light, and with regular bolts of lightning splitting the air and sending faint rumbling sounds over the landscape.
The storm was heading our way, and I was pretty sure it was going to be a bad one. As I hurriedly finished my coffee and headed out the back door, I knew that I would need to hurry to have my morning chores done before it hit us.
My first thought was for the horses in the small four hectare paddock behind the stables. I kept the older horses there through the winter so that I could keep an eye on them and stable them in case of bad weather like this storm that was heading straight for us.
There were only about six horses in the stable paddock at the moment, and these were all retired horses that had been rewarded for all their hard work over the years, with a quiet life of good feed and care, and were now able to relax in their old age.
There were five mares, and my old Quarter Horse gelding 'Doc' in the paddock at the moment, and at this time of the day they were usually waiting in the yard behind the stables for their morning feed. The gelding was the oldest of this small herd by about ten years, and all of the mares looked to him for guidance and comfort when they were stressed or frightened by something. They never left Doc's side as they grazed around the paddock, and they clearly thought he was the dominant member of this small 'herd'.
Doc was now 32, which is quite old for a Quarter Horse, and his age was starting to have an effect on his health and mobility. He had arthritis in his joints, which made moving at more than a walk difficult, and he was prone to odd bouts of colic. He was still 'bright of eye', and had lost none of his muscle mass, and the only real sign of his advancing years was the grey around the muzzle and eyes, and the odd grey spots on his shiny chestnut coat.
This particular morning when I arrived at the stables, I was surprised to see that the horses were not in the yards, and as I looked for them, I noticed them all gathered under the old Oak tree in the far north corner of the paddock. The mares were bunched together looking toward the stables, but I could not see Doc. I called to them, which usually worked to get them moving, and a couple of them called back with a high pitched whiney, but they seemed reluctant to move.
Something was holding them back, and I started to worry. I opened the paddock gate, and jumped on the quad bike, and set out to see what had spooked them. When I got to them, I stopped the bike, turned it off, and walked slowly over to them. The mares parted as I reached them, and they seemed nervous as I put my hand on them as I passed through the group.
What I found shocked me, and I made a sound that was close to a sob as I looked down at Doc, who was lying down and stretched out on his side. The ground around him had been scraped bare, and I knew he had been lying like this for a long time. His breathing was very hard and quick, and his nostrils flared like a bellows as he took in and expelled air from his lungs.
When he saw me he tried to get up, but he just could not get his legs under him, and he gave up and fell back to lie quietly. I knew then that he was dying; and I squatted down beside him and stroked his neck and talked to him quietly. His eyes sought me out, and he lifted his great head and tried to rise once more. Again he failed. His breathing was becoming quieter, and now he made a quiet groaning noise as he breathed out. The mares knew something was wrong, and stood very close making gentle noises every few seconds, and dropping their heads down to gently nudge him.
I sat down with my legs stretched out, and lifted his head onto my lap so that I could stop him if he tried to stand. I stroked his ears, which was something he had always enjoyed, and listened to his breathing slow down. It took a long time, but eventually he slowly closed his eyes as I stroked him, until at last he breathed no more, and he gently passed away. At last the tears I had held back so manfully, flowed freely down my cheeks. I knew this day would come, I just didn't know that it would be this day that had started out just like any other.
The mares, who were his companions for so many years, knew he was gone I am sure, and they took turns at sniffing his muzzle and eyes, and gently nudging him. We all stayed under that Oak tree for a long time as I continued to stroke Doc's ears and neck, until the sound of thunder, and an increasing wind, prompted me to move. I gently lay his head on the ground, and stood up. I knew now that I had a lot to do today. I always carry a couple of halters on the quad bike, so I put a halter on two of the mares, jumped on the bike, and slowly lead them back to the stables, with the others following along quietly. I fed them, and then headed for the house.
Doc had been my mate for the last 25 years, and as I walked towards the house, I reminisced about our years together. He was a real character, and among all the horses that I had owned, he was the one I had learned to love.
He is resting under that old Oak tree now, as he did for so many years, with his name on a timber plaque fixed to the tree trunk, and I visit him almost every day as I do my chores around the farm.
Now, every time there is a storm over the farm, I think of Doc and the day he died, and I remember his quiet nature and cheeky personality, and relive his last hours with me.
Doc was a horse worthy of memories.
