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I’ve been told that people don’t want to be depressed hearing about the
passing of the Golden Carrot residents. I don’t know. Is it too much to ask that we take a moment
to remember someone whose whole life was service to the people who owned him - who tried his best
until his last hours to do what he was asked to do, despite his discomfort? Don’t we hope that
someone will remember us, at least momentarily, when we’re gone?
Remember Domino -
Domino died today. It wasn’t a complete surprise - when the vet came
for what seemed to be a sudden colic this morning, he held out no hope at all after his
examination. Although Domino had eaten almost everything in his last two meals, and pooped his
usual amount in his stall the evening before, sometime in the night he began to colic. Because of
what appeared to be extraordinary pain (increased respiration and heartbeat, pale gums etc), and an
complete lack of gut sounds, the vet believes it is possible he had twisted a loop of intestine. It
is possible it was an impaction colic, or even stones, but we will never know the facts, only that
Domino was in a great deal of pain. He was given 2 applications of water, electrolytes and oil;
pain medication; and massage. Pain medications helped, but although willing to walk for hours, even
insisting when his human helpers weakened and wanted to stop, Domino’s pain was such that when he
was let loose, he would almost immediately lay down, and twist himself legs up, in an attempt to
relieve discomfort. He was willing to drink some water on his own several hours after the vet left,
and seemed to be attempting to poop (although without result) and I felt a little hope with that.
But he began to sink again. I went out early to feed at 9:15PM and found him wandering in the
paddock away from the other horses (I had left his stall open in case he needed to walk around). He
was clammy to the touch and appeared disoriented. I walked him back to the stalls, where he went
willingly until I asked him to go into his stall. I insisted, and closed him in. I put a light
sheet on him against the night chill on his damp skin, and stood with him for a while, trying to
feel encouragement that he didn’t seem inclined to lay down. I checked him again at 1AM and he
seemed completely depressed - on his feet with his head down but still standing. At 4AM I went out
again, to find that he’d knocked down the lower chain on his gate, gone under the upper chain -
walked a few lengths away from his stall, laid down and died.
A relatively young horse at 18 or so years, Domino was healthy and fat
until the day he died. But Domino had a lot of arthritis for many years - some trauma induced and
some perhaps due to his emotional nature. Domino wanted to be someone’s special one all his life -
he was the kind of horse who would have been happy to be a one owner horse, petted and cosseted and
used by only one person. Instead, he passed through how many hands, including a lesson program
briefly, and felt lonely most of his life. When he came to The Golden Carrot, he first attached
himself to a little crippled mare (fused knee) named Teke. But Teke’s time was short. I never saw a
horse react with such distress to the death of another. Domino may not know she was dead - only
that she was gone and he couldn’t protect her any longer. He had watched over her in the herd, and
escorted her to her stall every night before he would got in his own. As slowly as she moved, his
patience and care of her never faltered. Her passing caused the beginning of his own physical
decline as well. I had heard that emotional or other stress can increase the symptoms of arthritis,
and Domino was my first clear case of that. He eventually attached himself to Shawnee, a perfectly
sound, very active TB mare. Despite the disparity in their abilities, his devotion to her never
wavered either over the next 6 years. He was a one-love kinda guy.
His training had been good, including dressage, and he was always easy
to handle on the ground or in the saddle. Although too disabled to use often in lessons, a year or
so ago he did give a young lady, 13 years old, her first ride in the "big arena" - I knew I could
trust him not to run away with her. Fallon rode her first few courses on Domino - no jumps, just a
chance to learn how to find her line and remember the sequence of the jumps. Domino shuffled his
way around patiently, again and again, letting this little girl have her first ‘independent’ ride.
He stood patiently while she untacked him, and hugged him and fed him carrots, with a kind look on
his face and, I think, a little pride as well. Of course, he had every reason to be proud.
Domino’s former owners supported him fully in the first year at TGC -
but thereafter, apparently never looked back. But in his home with TGC, he was loved and respected,
and I believe as happy as his nature would let him be. Until the day of his death, he looked great
- glossy and with a high head carriage which made him distinctive. And death came suddenly.
Although I know he suffered in his last 24 hours, we did do everything we could to relieve as much
of that pain as possible, and yet give him a chance to get through it and live on. It was our bad
luck that his efforts and ours were not enough to defeat the reaper. I feel sure that Domino’s
spirit appreciates the efforts of Dr. Zadick, and Pauline and Mary and myself who walked him, and
Sasha, Alex and Matt who feed the herd while we cared for him, to help him survive.
Good bye, Domino..
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