I've spent a lot of time in the last couple of weeks thinking. You see, Whiskey is pretty lame. Gut wrenchingly so. Her right front is turning in in a bizarre twist. My farrier and I talked navicular. We talked about x-rays. I began to wonder. When does this become a situation of throwing good money after bad? When does this become about me and not her? Mentally and emotionally I held it in my heart to do the right thing and put her down. I had about made up my mind and I called the vet.
As honey and I sat talking while we ate our evening meal, I spilled out all my fears and worries. Calmly, not even skipping a beat he told me not to be hasty. To wait a while and not jump into a decision. What he didn't do is point out the money I've been pouring into this horse.
The next day I sat with my parents as we ate. I told them I was worried about Whiskey. Mom puts a hand on my arm and tells me to give it time. Dad's brow furrows as we discus the coming winter. We plan what we can do to make her more comfortable. The tentative decision becomes one to give her the winter.
I won't lie. I'm very worried about her handling our tough winters. I'm the person who has a box with her old faithful dog's ashes. I can't commit to a place for her to rest. So she goes where I go. It would destroy my soul if I couldn't plan Whiskey's final resting place.
I won't lie. I'd love a baby from her. A future jumper prospect. I get it . It costs more to breed than to buy. Breeding is a crap shoot. No guarantee over what you'll end up. The horse business has no room for sentimental feelings. Sigh.
No firm decision yet on the breeding front.
Because I sit and I pray that I've made the right decision. That Whiskey will be okay.