I'll admit, last week was the week from hell. I didn't like it and I, truth be told, I don't actually KNOW how to deal with "bad days," let alone a "bad week." It's due to me being one of those annoyingly, ridiculously happy people who always have a damn reason to smile and laugh. Always. Everyone has a funk, though, and it's okay.
Wednesday of last week started on an early morning call to my vet, mentor, hero, father-figure, you name it, Jack. My horse had been lame for 5 weeks with minimal work, so I knew something was wrong and it had to be checked out. A simple call, a simple trailer ride that my horse loves (trailer-ride whore).
I got to the barn, hooked my trailer, and started to get things ready. Problem? The computer wasn't working. Great! I was able to fix the connection enough to have lights and blinker/brake lights, but my brake connection wasn't working. No worries... It's a short drive and I can use my engine to brake. I load up The Spanky and off we go! About a couple of miles into the drive, I hear a bad sound. Of course my mind starts racing... Shit! Did the board break through? Is my horse okay? Did I just get a flat? I pulled over and noticed I had no flats, but that one of the tires had ripped off. Are you kidding me!? I had to drive somewhere; I can't leave the trailer with a horse on the side of Auburn-Folsom Rd. Jack's place wasn't much farther, so I decided to keep going... Slowly.
I get to his house fine. The Spanky is happy as can be in his trailer. Jack then says, "Before we look at your horse, I need you to drop everything and I need to talk to you now." Oh, crap. Either the absolute horror of his wife passing away happened or the not so bad news of me being in deep shit and he was going to rip me a new one. "I need to put two horses down, and I need your help."
One of the horses was a big chestnut gelding with extremely bad navicular with an attitude to match it. I'm sure that the pain he was in didn't help. We put the guy down. Yep, I shed a few tears. Putting a horse down is always bad for me, which is why I quit vet school. I'm a wuss, I know. As we were walking back to the barn, I got a phone call, which I completely blew off and still feel quite bad about. I tell people to call me if they ever need to talk but this time I couldn't do it. I was in the middle of having to put an old friend to sleep.
I started crying like a baby before I even got the halter on CrackerJack. Oh, good ol' CrackerJack. He's the horse that taught me how to play polo when I was a kid. He was probably the most patient and gentle polo horse I've ever ridden. Jack would give me a couple of polo balls and a stick and he'd send me off to practice on CrackerJack, and boy did I practice! And I made so many mistakes, from "posting" the canter incorrectly for the first few rides to hitting CrackerJack in the face when I did a poor swing, stopping him at bad moments, losing the ball and trotting around like a fool trying to find it in the field. We'd even play fetch with the dog; I'd be in a full gallop on CrackerJack, hit the ball, and JoeJoe (rip, buddy!) would chase it! Jack would get mad because Joe would take the ball to Jack, and Jack would have to throw it back in the field. Hey, I was a girl having fun with horses and a funny dog!
I put the halter on CrackerJack, hugged the guy, and cried. Cried, cried, cried. I haven't cried that hard in a long time. Even thinking about it now is making me cry. We walked him to where the other chestnut was, and I kept hugging his neck and petting him. Jack sedated him, I kissed CrackerJack's nose, and the shot was given. In minutes he went down and finally fell asleep. Jack gave CrackerJack the same amount he gave the chestnut and CrackerJack needed more... and he was nearly a hand smaller. He was a powerhouse.
CrackerJack was my teacher, my leap into the polo world, my mentor, and my buddy. At 15.3hh, gorgeous chestnut, beautiful build, and an amazing temperament. He lived to be 35-years old, and Jack owned him for 33 of those years. If I feel this sad, I can only imagine how sad Jack feels.
After that, after I was able to stop crying, we checked The Spanky out and he has a torn flexor and suspensory. This will be a fun recovery road... Or not.
The saddest thing is seeing that empty field. The one where, as a kid, I would gallop around and have a bunch of fun. The field where I learned how to play polo on, where I'd chase other horses while "practicing" polo and Jack telling me to stop harassing the other horses and to actually hit the ball, not the horse's face. I never did learn how to properly swing over my shoulder to the left side. (Polo players are only allowed to hold the mallet with the right hand. If we want to hit the ball on the left side, he have to swing OVER the horse's neck with the right arm on the left side. Easier said than done!).
I miss you, CrackerJack. Hopefully you had a peaceful walk over the rainbow bridge and you're once again galloping with Who Knew.
