And yes, in Colorado it is perfectly legal.

Warning: I’m writing about death because I hope to make peace. If you have had an exhausting week, please stop reading. I would hate to make people cry. But sometimes I need to talk it out to let it go.

Some backstory: We live on a dirt road in a section of small farms on the Colorado prairie. Neighbors don’t get into each other’s business, but we help each other when asked. Two horses lived on the property across the road. One had a horribly blown knee and limped badly for a decade before it died, almost two years ago now. Afterward, the lone horse stood by the road, calling to my horses. He was a small chestnut horse who ran the fence-line until he lost hope of company. His health had been in serious decline for the last year, at least. Rail thin, but even in the heat of summer, his coat was thick and long, a sign of Cushing’s, a malady that plagues many senior horses. We could all see him struggling as we drove by.

It is a survival instinct for a horse to hide their pain, so by the time they show us, it’s serious. He used to swing his head to look at me when I opened my gate, but now he was too weak and dull to even lift his head. He stood in one place all day. I took photos of the pitiful horse in case law enforcement would need them. I won’t share them here. We know his suffering. Instead, I chose a photo of horses grazing in a green pasture with a glorious sunset behind. I want to imagine the little chestnut healed and knee-deep in grass, somewhere beyond human cruelty.

Earlier that day, I’d called another neighbor on the road. I had a plan. I would give her money to buy the chestnut horse. If it worked, she would take him home, and I’d get a vet out for euthanizing. We knew it was the only way to help the horse.

If I had asked, the horse-owner wouldn’t have agreed. We had history. I’d gotten a restraining order because of the threats made against me after I offered to help build a dog yard. I spoke up when their dog was killing goats and fighting with other dogs. We all had vet bills, and the sheriff recommended shooting the dog when it came on my property. I couldn’t imagine that would help matters. And their dog chased their own horses, even through fences.

But my neighbor told me someone already tried to talk to the horse-owner, but it went badly. It had come to a breaking point and four neighbors had called the sheriff about the horse in the last two days. Deputies would be out soon. She thought it was too late for my buy-out plan. I was proud of my neighbors. You can grow numb to passive, but sustained, cruelty, and no one wanted to draw the ire of his owner.

Later that day, my boarder was grooming her horse, preparing to ride. I was catching up with her eight-year-old daughter when a truck and flatbed trailer pulled up to the horse-owner’s driveway and into the pen. I noticed, but it wasn’t unusual. They led the old horse toward the flatbed, but the horse moved so slowly that even then, I didn’t guess. We heard three shots and saw the horse instantly drop. Part of me wanted to cheer that the horse was finally free. Instead, I explained euthanizing to a horse-crazy girl who had some very serious questions.

It felt like the horse-owner had shot the horse in such a visible location to get back at us for calling. If so, we would do it again. The killing method horrified some neighbors. Done correctly, it shouldn’t take three shots, but maybe this is the best we could hope for. They hauled the body away before the deputies got there.

I’ve watched several horses come and go from that property over the years. The dogs seem to almost change with the seasons, but there is still no fence. Some got hit by cars, others disappeared. It’s understandable that sometimes people with good intentions fall into hard times and can’t care for their animals as they’d like. I am curious why someone like this would keep getting animals. This was more like intentional neglect. His physical decline was steady and had to be as obvious to his owner as it was to the neighbors who didn’t have horses. He was lost in plain sight.

It’s been four months now and no new horses have arrived. Maybe the little chestnut is haunting the pasture. You wouldn’t think I would miss him so much, but I still look for him. Still glad he is out of pain and spared the winter.

Some folks want their animals to have a “natural” death, but that doesn’t guarantee it would be quick or painless for the animal. Maybe we secretly hope they will die on their own, so we don’t have to screw up the courage to make the call. Maybe if we wait, we won’t have the vet bill.

Some animals in pain become aggressive, but most often they seem to become especially sweet. It’s what we love about elders, but it also distracts us from their suffering. Our love blinds us to their quality of life. But I can’t look away. I’m much more concerned about suffering than death.

Death is a hiccup. A turn in the road. It’s a moment that cannot blot out a lifetime of moments. Death has bullied us into thinking it’s the monster waiting in the dark. It wants us to think it’s a god deserving of our fear. Death is a false idol, as unavoidable as gravity. But we have a choice about everything else. We can choose mercy.

As I write this, I’m grateful to have a little dog under my desk, more loyal than most friends. We have had long years together. He’s become ancient with a complicated list of infirmities. We both know his best days are not ahead. The chronic condition of old dogs is that they get underfoot, so I’m happy to walk slower and watch where I step. He moves as if he’s in a fog, but is also undeniably sweeter than ever. I ask myself, “How long must he suffer?”

…

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