My Thoroughbred gelding died before ever seeing his 5th birthday, something that just seems so wickedly unfair to me. A loss before his life even really began. Even in those short years, my George dealt with an awful lot of adversity that allowed him to prove just how special he was. The type of brain he had could not be created or bought, it was just who he was. He dealt with everything life threw at him with complete and utter class and kindness, never complaining and always just happy to see his people. His first year off the track involved surgery for slab fracture and bone chip repair in Winter 2018, as if the surgery itself wasn’t enough, he had to get put under general anesthesia twice because one of the screws used to repair the slab fractures broke inside of him and the clinic did not have the equipment to remove it on site at the time, so he was put under and opened up again a couple of days later. From there, 2019 was 90% rehab. I took it exceptionally slow with him, the actual recovery for slab fractures and chips is quite good because bones heal fairly quickly compared to soft tissue injuries, he was supposed to be back to full capacity in about 4 months but as May rolled around, I was barely riding him past the trot, only a little bit of canter. The summer months involved further conditioning, adding jumps in here or there and lots of body and chiropractic work to get him feeling his best. We were training to go to the 2019 Thoroughbred Makeover and while I knew how behind we were, I never felt right trying to drill him on things or riding more often than 4 days a week.

As the competition neared closer, I cracked down even further on his body work and preventative treatments, all of August and half of September was reserved to long and low flatwork to get him stretching out and feeling good. We did 2 more jump schools prior to him going down to Kentucky, leaving it so that he’d done about 3 classes total over fences at shows and had fairly limited jump schooling at home and then it was time to go to Kentucky. George was far greener than I had intended him to be when we went to the Makeover. I’d lost a ton of time to train him better over fences and get him used to spookier jumps, so when we arrived and I saw that the 2’6” course had a skinny fence and not one, but two combinations, I was a little worried. But, true to his nature, George went in and jumped all of these new things without batting an eye and without even considering a stop. This 4 year old had just travelled across the continent and into an entirely new climate and he didn’t bat an eye. He didn’t care about the Rolex ring, the bustling warm ups. Nada. While we didn’t place more than middle of the pack in either show jumping or dressage, I was completely blown away by his attitude and how fun and easy he made the whole experience, settling right into his new routine of things without looking back. His going to the Makeover served the important purpose of helping to showcase how injured TBs can make a comeback and do great things after rehabbing their respective injuries. I used him as a means to help encourage people to consider horses who have injuries that are able to be rehabbed for their respective disciplines and in taking him to Kentucky, George brought me such happiness. He allowed me to meet new friends and meet up with people I’d met online but never had the chance to meet in person. He allowed me to gallop on Kentucky bluegrass, to step foot into the famed Rolex ring. He made it all so simple and enjoyable, we both had so much fun hacking around Kentucky Horse Park, it was one of the best times I’ve ever had. True happiness just hanging out with my George and my mom and getting to experience horse culture in a new area.

After returning from Kentucky, I decided to give George the winter off riding because of how hard he had worked and how phenomenal he had been at the Makeover. He was really blossoming over the fall and early winter, I started him into a light groundwork program end of November and he was looking fantastic. He’d adjusted to being barefoot quite well and was moving great, happy and full of life. He’d even started throwing these gigantic bucks during free lunging, heels kicking over his head, something I’d never really seen from him given how calm he typically is. The last time I worked him before everything started going down hill, we had a lovely light lunge. He was moving well, playing and all in all, just happy and excited. The horses in the fields next to the arena started to play and this set him off on a series of leaps and bucks, totally jovial. His large galumphing self actually managed to break the lunge line in his play time and he went for a trot down the driveway, tail flagging, moving like he felt like he was Valegro. My farrier was there trimming another horse and saw him go by: “Wow, he looks great!” followed by some laughing and the very easy task of catching my horse who was now flirting with the miniature horse in the paddock near the driveway.

Shortly after this, BC was hit with rain, which is normal, but this was enough rain to justify building Noah’s Ark. This postponed any plans to keep horses in light work, so they became field horses. As the New Year rolled around, I one day noticed that George was walking a little stiff, nothing overly concerning, but definitely stiff. He had some mud fever so we treated him for that, I moved him into a drier stall for a few days and then brought him out and he was happy again. A few days after that, though, I noticed that he was moving stiffly again, more so this time, so I hauled him to the vet clinic to have him assessed. This started the many weeks of testing and diagnostics, including but not limited to a full pelvic exam with images, stifle x-rays, hock x-rays, bloodwork and so on. I moved him to a client’s house where he could hang out with my young colt and he started a course of banamine and dex to help reduce any swelling that could be causing his discomfort. We touched base with the vet weekly while we waited for his bloodwork to come back from the clinic, testing for everything from EPM to any type of deficiency that may cause his discomfort. The stiffness moved to occasionally having his hind end slip and he quickly grew more wobbly in a matter of weeks. It was hitting a point where I felt backed into a corner and that I had to make a decision for his well being soon, while he didn’t appear to be in pain (still would play, lay down and hang with friends), how wobbly he was made me increasingly more concerned for his safety. The blood work took a while to get back, the clinic hadn’t run it when we’d thought they did so we ended up putting a rush on it and then started treating George with Marquis at the beginning of February in hopes of addressing a potential EPM issue. When the blood came back, it wasn’t overly helpful at confirming EPM definitively, due to the lack of spinal tap and his numbers sitting at around 50% for potential exposure. We kept him on the Marquis and continued treating him with Dex to manage at spinal swelling, he was wobbly but stable for now and we had hopes that the Marquis would at least return him to being pasture sound.

George playing in the snow, winter 2019.

George was on the Marquis for 9 days and was actually stable and starting to look like he was improving when I got the call that no horse owner wants to get. He was down and having trouble getting up, I’d just seen him that afternoon and he was looking fine. He’d nickered at me, I’d scratched him, gave him his Marquis and left. This was the one day I’d forgotten to give him some of his treats and still to this day, I can’t think about that without crying. The one day I forget to give him cookies and really remind him how much he was loved was his last and that’s not something I can ever change. I left a dinner date with my boyfriend and we hauled ass over to the barn. My mom was already there and I’d given her the okay to euthanize him whenever the vet arrived because I didn’t want him to suffer while he waited for me to get there. Luckily, I made it just as the vet was pulling in.

The night of his death was horrible. We had to separate the horses for safety purposes and Banksy, my colt, was screaming for him. Prior to them being separated, Banksy had stood with him and kept him company until we were able to get the vet there. He knew something was wrong. Despite clearly not feeling himself, George would also call back. He’d always had this odd, breathy sounding whinny that would sound like he was trying to scream and was never loud. It was so specific to him that I could pick it out from miles away and now, I know I’ll never hear it again.

I let the vet get everything ready while I said a very quick goodbye, I didn’t want to prolong the situation for my benefit. It wasn’t fair for me to keep him around longer than what was needed, just so I could selfishly say a longer goodbye. I sat with him as he took his last breaths, all very peaceful, and then he was gone. Having to cut off your 4 year old’s tail knowing it’ll never grow back and that the tail is all you have left of them, that is the true feeling of emptiness. It was all just so brutally unfair. He’d deteriorated so fast and despite my best efforts, we hadn’t been able to save him. I insisted on a necropsy for closure and also in an effort to try and find out what the heck had gone on with him. I couldn’t be at the barn when his body was being picked up but I was there hours after to check on my colt. The emptiness and silence that was in the air could be cut with a knife. In all appearances, nothing at the farm had changed but there was a stark difference in the air. A heaviness and an emptiness, a hole that couldn’t be filled,

Having to go back to work and normal care of my horses was weird. Life just went on and the demands of work and my personal commitments to my other horses never really gave me a proper chance to grieve my loss. I got caught back up in the bustle of things and left my emotions on the sidelines, never really appropriately facing what had happened and definitely not wanting to. It was a feeling of numbness, a definite denial, just looking the other way instead of actually facing what happened. This was easier, for me, to move on, I guess. But, it meant that while in all appearances I looked and felt fine, even shortly after his death, I wasn’t. All it took was an aptly timed memory of him, a photo, or a comment to bring back all of the unresolved grief.

Being so active on social media did not help the scenario. People who’d never even met George were desperate for someone to blame and that someone was me. I’ve been told that I was selfish for trying to treat him for EPM and that I should’ve euthanized right away instead of only treating him for my own benefit. While, in hindsight, maybe this is true, with my vet’s recommendations and the fact that his issues could very well be treatable, I wasn’t strong enough to let go then due to the fact that it was very well possible his necropsy could come back with an issue I could’ve attempted to treat but didn’t. The blame game soon introduced a new thing to blame me for: people telling me I murdered my horse. It has been over two months since his death and even as recently as last week, I’ve had people make fake accounts with the sole purpose of informing me that I killed my horse and if it weren’t for me, he’d be alive. I’ve been told that if we’d never gone to Kentucky, he’d still be alive. This could very well be true and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’d already considered this myself long before anyone brought it up. EPM is more common in the midwest, but it does still exist in my area, to a lesser extent. I’ve looked back on our Kentucky trip and wondered if it actually was a factor in his death, obviously with what I know now, I wouldn’t have gone, if it would make a difference. But, hindsight is 2020 and I’ll never know. I blame myself for his death in the same way I’d blame myself if my horses had a trailering accident or something. At the end of the day, yes, I would be the one who loaded them in the trailer, a variable that would guarantee their death if the situation went awry in a manner to cause that. So, yes, whatever George did end up getting exposed to, at the end of the day, my choice in show venues or where he was turned out could’ve influenced that and that’s something I have to live with and already would have been living with without people trying to make the situation worse. But, at the end of the day, we are technically all taking “risks” with our horses. It’s a risk to load a horse into a trailer to go anywhere, even trail riding. Hell, we even risk our own lives getting in the car. If I could’ve foreseen this situation, I would’ve definitely changed what I did, but I never would’ve expected my 4 year old to go from healthy and well to having a debilitating illness in a matter of weeks.

When George’s necropsy did come back, it did little to provide me with closure. He had spinal lesions that were consistent with EPM but tested negative for having it when they tested his spinal fluids and tissues. Their best guess was EPM or an EPM-like parasite that they could not test for, so I didn’t really get the answers I wanted other than adding fuel to my anxiety in wondering how many other organisms could wreak havoc like EPM all while not being able to be tested for.

Despite being a part of the horse world for so long, the death of one of my personal horses was something that I’d been lucky enough to avoid for quite some time. Sure, in the past, I lost client horses or friends’ horses that I really loved and while that was painful, it was definitely different from losing one of my own. I recognize how fortunate I am to have evaded such a sad reality of horse ownership for so long, but for me, the lack of loss didn’t change the level of anxiety I experienced everyday in trying to make sure my horses were healthy and well. You see, long before George’s death, I would already have nightmares or intrusive thoughts about my horses doing terrible things, to the point where I’d often leave the outdoor lights on at night just so I can watch them and check for every sound, try to prevent any accident from happening. Growing up in the horse world for so long had already made me hyper aware of how accident prone and fragile horses can be. I’d already heard of so many freak accidents with devastating consequences, all without losing any of my own horses. These accidents just contributed to making me more and more paranoid, to the point now that I can look at virtually any pasture turnout or stall and point out a whole plethora of potentially dangerous things horses can get into, even in the safest of paddocks. So, as you can imagine, having my horse die at just a 4 years of age has made this worse. Much worse.

Now, in the months following George’s death, I’ve had several nightmares about my other horses dying by a whole laundry list of other freak accidents. I run to the windows and watch them for hours if I hear any noise, worried about someone getting hurt, sick or needing the vet out for any serious problem. I think about it constantly and I can’t seem to stop thinking about all of the possible ways my horses could die suddenly, despite them all being young and healthy. It’s something that haunts me and probably always will. I’m completely and utterly paranoid and no matter how safe I try to make their lives, it isn’t enough because these animals are just so accident prone and I just don’t know if I could survive the loss of another. I’m hoping it’ll get better in the future but considering I already had so much anxiety and paranoia about these exact things, my anxiety coming true in George’s death has only made it worse and I can’t see that changing.

I’m trying to heal and trying to let go of the negative thoughts so I can stop worrying about the inevitable and other things I cannot predict or change. It’s incredibly hard to do as someone who already struggles so much with pessimism and anxiety, but I’m trying. I’m also trying to ignore the negativity from others and trying to honour George’s memory by doing things to continually support OTTBs coming off the track with injuries that require rehab. In his death, I can only hope that he will still serve as an ambassador for the Thoroughbred breed and help push more people to consider them, whether they’re injured or uninjured because they’re such amazing horses. I can only hope that he brought positive change in his time on this earth while I try to navigate this world without him here.

Months later, I’m finally ready to write this. Last night, I came across some photos of George playing in the snow last winter and it was like someone drove a knife through my heart. He was so happy, playful and full of life and now that life is gone. It’s hard to come to terms with the reality that I’ll never see him again but everyday it gets more real. I take solace in the fact that I’m fortunate enough to have his half sibling who has many of George’s traits, but, at the end of the day I’m still trying to figure out the appropriate way to deal with unresolved grief and how unfair the entire situation feels. If anything, George in his life and in his death has allowed me to see the very best and worst of the horse industry. It has connected me to people who’ve dealt with similar problems in their young TBs and been left without a horse and with many unanswered questions. It’s also allowed me to be flooded with amazingly kind and thoughtful comments, artworks of George and other things people have taken the time out of their day to make for me and it has been incredible to see. I’m so appreciative to everyone who has reached out and been kind, even if it has been hard for me emotionally to respond to these types of comments regarding George’s death.

What I’ve learned from his death is that life is fleeting. We get comfortable in our everyday schedule and assume it will never change and then a wrench is thrown into our plans and the world is flipped upside down. Appreciate the good moments you share with your horses and try to remind yourself even in moments of frustration that your horse won’t be around forever and a few minor set backs or frustrating rides is still time spent with the horse you love. Appreciate it all and hug your horses. Also, be kind and considerate to others who are navigating their own loss because no matter the situation, all of us tend to beat ourselves up and try to place blame on ourselves without you helping by doing it for us. There is always guilt and that guilt rests with me constantly when I think about the fact that on his last day, I was in too much of a rush to get to work to give him a treat. A treat that would have been his last treat. The last thing he got from me was medication and now I have to live with that.

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