He chose Joy

Luke, August 2013

Today was Luke's crossing. The vet was scheduled for 9:30. I got to the barn early and when I drove up he was looking at me, alert, head high, ears up. He seemed ready. I stuck an apple in my pocket, kleenex, and the three essential oil blends I had chosen for today: Trauma Life, Peace and Calming, and Joy.

On Saturday I took out Trauma Life and Peace and Calming. I opened them both and let Luke take a whiff. He chose Peace and Calming by nearly eating the cap out of my hand. I rubbed a few drops into my hands, held them out to him and he took several long, deep breaths. His eyes softened, his head drooped. I did some Reiki with him. Interestingly he had no interest in his body being worked on, just his head. I held his head and cried. In typical Luke fashion he held his nose to my nose and we breathed each other in for a few breaths. He loved to have me hold my hands still in front of his forehead and use them as a scratching post for the long plane of his face. He would quickly raise and lower his head, angling his head this way and that so all his favorite places would be reached. Saturday was no different, I was his "tree in the pasture" for a horse that had never lived in a field. When he was finished he held his nose to my cheek.

This morning when I looked at the oils before I left, I chose the same Trauma Life and Peace and Calming and stuck them in my purse but just before I turned to go Joy called out to me. "Really? This is not a joyous occasion." but the feeling was insistent so I slipped it into my purse with the others.

I retrieved Luke's halter and went into his pen. I took out the Trauma Life and Peace and Calming and opened them for Luke to smell. He preferred the Peace and Calming. I put Trauma Life away and opened Joy and let him smell the two oils.

Luke chose Joy.

Oh so fitting. He wasn't traumatized by his imminent transition. In the seven months I've known him, Luke has always chosen Joy. In the face of his past, he chose Joy. He had been a racehorse, a pony horse on the track, a cow horse, and a jumper. He had been used, as horses most often are, for what his body could do for a human. He was a big horse, 17.1 hands. I was told by his owner and vet that he grew too big too fast. He suffered from "big horse, small feet" issues. He had fractured a bone in the navicular area and "over healed", which caused arthritis to slowly saw away at his tendons causing him pain. Six months ago I would take him out for a hand walk and there was barely a sign of injury. He was full of piss and vinegar, startling and hopping around at the tiniest blowing leaf. After a couple of months he was allowed to be in a small grassy turnout pasture. He hated to be left alone so I stayed with him. Often he would let off steam, galloping around the pasture, his snorts and clumps of grass filling the air. I would laugh out loud and he would flag his tail. He was big and beautiful and full of life. Full of joy.

His owner came by this morning to tell me that the vet would do "it" outside of his pen and to gently remind me that this was for the best, so he wouldn't continue to suffer. She said I might as well take him into the barn where I was out of the cold and snow. Luke sniffed noses with all his old barn buddies. The barn was quiet and warmer. Oscar had left to hay the horses in pens and we were left alone inside. I pulled off my gloves and Luke went right to my hands again, soaking in the Joy. I put a few more drops in my hands and suddenly felt compelled to waft the oils over him. Luke stood perfectly still while I held my cupped hands in front of me and gently blew the aroma of Joy all over him. Across his crown chakra, down his back, over his root chakra, down his legs, around the other side to do the same, ending back at his head where I placed my hands on his crown chakra and third eye. He dropped his head and breathed.

Knowing how much he loved the outdoors I decided to brave the cold and snow so his last moments with me could be in the open. I found his favorite patch of grass under the snow and brushed it off. We could never go on a walk without stopping there first. Why some of the grass is still green in January is a mystery to me. He ate and I just stood with him, mentally telling him I loved him, telling him the steps that the vet would take and then he would be free. I said I wished he would lie down after sedation because, selfishly, it would be easier for me. He continued to eat and emanate peace. Earlier in the week I had cried through the process of using the stem sentences, "I regret..., I will always remember..." etc. I felt complete. There wasn't anything left to say or do. The vet arrived.

The process had been explained to me many times over the last week. I knew what to expect. I knew what I hoped. Luke was sedated and within a minute his head and eyes were drooping. I couldn't speak out loud to him without screaming sobs so I spoke to him in the way that was best anyway, in my head. I stroked him while the vet gave him the last shot. She took the lead rope out of my hands and braced herself. But Luke didn't go over like a tree and paddle his feet like I had been warned. No. He slowly sank to his haunches like he was sitting and then rolled gently over to his side. Gracefully. Peacefully. I sat next to his head and dripped tears into his coat. He blinked a few times and just breathed and then he was gone from his body.

I had a good cry by myself in the barn and then headed out to see Rayn and the herd. The horses were eating and doing the typical herd thing-jockeying for position around the hay piles. I went to Rayn and said hi, she reached her nose toward my hand and then jerked back and walked away to another pile. Not normal behavior for her. I wondered what she was thinking. I sat with the horses for awhile and eventually Rayn came back to me. It was too cold to spend much time out there so I headed back across the fields to the barn. As I left the last horse behind in the pasture I felt something. To my right I saw Luke. He was much younger, a two or three year old maybe. Bold and beautiful, he trotted next to me, head high, ears pricked, bright eyed, laughing, and still full of joy.