THE BABYSITTER

It was a March day pretty much like this one. The air was filled with the aroma of blooming trees wafting in and out of the sun-warmed breezes. The song birds were singing their best songs, trying to attract mates. The budding leaves on the trees promised new life, just like Spring always does.

My eyes fell onto Arnie, my 26 year-old Thoroughbred-Quarter horse cross gelding. His once dark coat was dazzling white now. I had had him since he was 10. It seems like so long ago I happened upon this funny fellow. He belonged to the daughter of an acquaintance. She had to "get rid" of him because he had been diagnosed with Navicular disease, a chronic condition of the feet. A bone inside the hoof rotates and causes permanent lameness. There are some treatments, but no cure. No vet can make the bone rotate back into place.

In the way I always do, I just got a "gut feel" about this guy. So, I hitched up the trailer and drove to the barn where the woman said he was. When I pushed open the heavy door of the stable, a horse in the first stall nickered softly to me. It was him. He was ready to go home. He got right on the trailer after I paid the young, relieved woman $400 cash for him. He almost pulled the lead shank out of my hand rushing onto the trailer. Maybe he didn't want me to change my mind.

When I got him home, I placed him in the stall that always accomodates the new horses. It opens into a small grass paddock. There is no wall keeping the horse from roaming around the paddock. It always makes the horses feel more relaxed if they can look around a bit without having to fight for a "place" in the herd. Arnie settled in nicely.

The next morning I was shocked to see Arnie trying to open the back French doors with his lips. He had escaped somehow from the barn and he was bent on getting me back out there. He knew where I was. It turns out that he was on the thin side and wanted to be on the "husky" side. Pretty much everything he did was food-motivated. If you fed him some bribery carrots before your ride, you could be assured of the best ride he was capable of giving.

His favorite job began in earnest after he finally did get permanently lame (which took another decade). It was giving rides to all of the little children we could find. He knew that even more than the ride, the kids enjoyed feeding him carrots. We went through hundreds of pounds of carrots in a summer, much to Arnie's delight. A few pounds of carrots, a little ride, a few more pounds of carrots. Worked for him. All of those tiny fingers so dangerously close to his big teeth never once got even a little nip. I like to think it was because he was well aware of the deal: if he was careful not to hurt anyone, they would be sure to give him all of the carrots he could eat. Not every horse "gets" the deal, but Arnie did.

All of those warm memories flooded back to me like the sunshine on my face. When I focused on him, though, I knew it was time. He wasn't able to walk in a straight line. His tendons and ligaments had given out and when he walked, with much difficulty, he looked drunk. They had held his big body up for over a quarter century. It was time to let him rest.

I called the vet out and it all went quickly. I fed him a carrot (what else?) and before it was completely chewed, he was in a peaceful mound on the grass. No pain, no fear. Just 16 years of people who loved him and children who took their first ride on his back. We took care of each other, didn't we?