Sometimes Being An Adult Sucks

In the spring of 1984, I had a Palomino mare. She was half Quarter-Horse and half Thoroughbred. She was supposed to be awesome. She wasn't. That was one of the laziest useless horses we ever owned. On her behalf, she was very kind and loved people. She was built well and had good blood, so my dad bred her to a beautiful black and white Paint stud named Scoot; Short for Scoot-n-Bright. Turned out, that mare made absolutely beautiful babies!

In the spring of 1985, I was 13 and up early for a track meet. I knew the mare was due, with her first colt, any day and when I went to check on her, she was cleaning off a beautiful paint stud. When he was born, he was named Scoot's Golden Straw, in reference to his mom and dad's lines. It's a horse thing.

"Scoot" was born a dark grullo Tobiano Paint. Holy shit, he was beautiful, and I was the first person to ever see him and touch him. My dad immediately told me Scoot was mine. As Scoot grew, he became a very dark, almost black and white Paint with borders around all his color. He had a part in his mane, so the top 8 inches fell to the left and the rest to the right.

I lived and breathed that horse. I kinda had to; every time I turned around, we were taking him somewhere to show him off and people were offering ridiculous money for him. Scoot was stout, smart, fast as Hell, and gentle as any horse could be. People couldn't believe he was a stud because he was so well behaved.

With my dad's help, I broke Scoot and trained him. He was a Hellavua roping horse. He was fast out of the gate, knew how to chase, and wasn't so tall I couldn't bail off him. We had our days...He is the only animal I ever owned that put me in the hospital:

We were both young, I was training him and a couple miles from the barn, I decided to open him up to out do my best friend's horse. Basically, I was an idiot. Scoot spooked on a tire that was in the field for some reason, dodging right and then left. I came off Scoot's right side at almost a full run and fell into a cactus, which rolled me underneath him. Scoot tried to clear me and ended up hitting me on the right side with the fronts of his back feet. He broke 4 ribs and punctured my right lung. My #4 and 5 ribs are still tweaked inward. Thank God he stopped, because I had to get on him and ride him 2 miles to the barn while it started to rain. I un-saddled him, groomed him, put him away and walked to the house with my friend. When I almost passed out at the table, my dad rushed my dumb ass the hour long trip to the hospital; where I stayed for 2 days.

I fell off that boy a few more times, up to include a couple years ago. I posted that here. Stupid horse!!

We gathered tons of cattle, picked up tons of girls, won tons of prizes, and had a great time together. Scoot was like riding a Cadillac. He had a wide back, and was the smoothest horse I've ever been on. He never bucked, not once. Scoot was amazing, and I loved him very much. He loved me too, but probably mostly because I fed him.

Last year, that dumbass got his foot caught in his corral fencing and pulled some some ligaments in his right front foot. He limped for a while, but was getting better, and older.

About 3 weeks ago, Scoot did something, only him and God know what, but he really hurt himself that time. Since he lived an hour away with my mom, she did what she could to help him heal. When Scoot didn't seem to get better, she scheduled an appointment with the vet around my work schedule. That visit was two days ago, Friday, the 24th.

As soon as I saw him, I knew it was bad. His front foot wasnt working right, and he hurt. I got him into the trailer and he just stuck his head in my chest and sighed. The vet told us what I already knew. There was no fixing my boy. He had torn all the ligaments in his right lower leg and had lost all his suspension. Scoot was in a lot of pain, and surgery that cost as much as my house would only make him slightly better. I had to be the adult and choose between Scoot's pain or mine.

So after 30 years of friendship and dependence, I had to agree to end Scoot's life. I cried like a kid, and I hope Scoot understood how much I loved him. I wasnt gonna post this, but I cant stop being sad. It is STUPID to be this way over an animal, but I loved that horse more than most people.

What makes it so hard is my connection to my dad through Scoot. The only thing my dad loved more that him was our family. Dad was so proud to have Scoot. We could have never afforded to buy a horse like him. My dad would come outside for hours while we worked Scoot. My dad made sure Scoot was treated right and he loved that I could work, hunt, screw off, do whatever I wanted to do on the back of that horse. I guess losing Scoot reminds me even more that my dad and the things he loved are disappearing.

Scoot has some nationally ranked kids and grandkids running around the rodeo and roping circut. He made absolutely beautiful horses with great builds and good demeanors. I'm hoping he was able to breed my daughter's Arabian mare, but we'll see. I'd love to start over again with one of his babies, buy there's no replacing him, only attempting to fill this void.

Dammit...I hate this!!

"STUPID to be this way over an animal" you say? I don't think so. You would have to be a cold hearted SOB to keep any living thing for 30 years and not have some feeling for it. Something that is as wonderful and requires as much involvement as a horse that has been with you for 30 years... I don't know how to deal with that kind of loss.

My friend, I am sorry for your loss and I am sorry for your pain. I just don't know what else to say.

Sounds to me that Scoot was just as lucky as you. Your memory of him is precious, thanks for sharing that with us all.

Best regards

Steve

Surly said:

Sounds to me that Scoot was just as lucky as you. Your memory of him is precious, thanks for sharing that with us all.
Best regards

Steve

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I'm very sorry about your horse Scoot's passing AJ, those are wonderful memories you have and a person loving an animal is something precious! Thank You!

The only thing worse will be the passing of your father, himself, someday. Sorry for the loss brother AJ. There's no shame in loving and mourning your animals. All of us that have them do, as some would admit more than others.

He'll still visit you in your dreams. Enjoy them.

AJ,

There was a lot of your life tied up into that horse. Sorry this day came earlier than you wanted.

Condolences...

I think many of us can relate to your experience. And, you don't need to know an animal for thirty years to become emotionally attached.

When I was sixteen, my mother brought home a kitten. She was only a few weeks old, probably taken from her mother too early, a pure black ball of fluff. First thing she did when she was put down was to start sniffing round the room. Came to where I was standing, sniffed at me, took a long, slow look at me, feet, legs, body and up to my head. She sat, looking up at my face, and miaowed. I picked her up, held her to my chest, and she PURRED, loud and long.

House-training her became my responsibility, so I always had to keep my eye on her, particularly when she disappeared into a corner of the room. But she seemed very quick to learn. Female cats are always more intelligent than males.

She was always fascinated by water. Whenever I had a bath, she would come into the bathroom, and when I laid back in the water, she would jump onto my chest and play with the ripples of water around me. Then, when I emptied the bath, she would chase the water down the bath, pawing at it as it went down the plug-hole.

Every morning, I would be woken by a paw, gently trying to open one of my eyelids. If I was too slow to respond, she would clamber over my face, sit on the other side of the pillow, and have a go at the other one. Never, ever, was there a claw.

In the evenings I would be sitting down, either in my bedroom or in the sitting room. She would find me, jump onto my lap, then spend several minutes kneading me. This time, claws were in evidence, often drawing blood, before curling up. Now, most cats, if you try to move while they are on your lap, will simply jump off. Not this one, she would cling on for grim death, meanwhile giving me a dirty look.

My hobby at that time was playing with electronics, I would make radios, amplifiers, all using valves [tubes] which needed high voltages to work. I'd have this stuff, plugged into the mains, no isolation, rectified 240 volts hanging around, completely open on my little table. Occasionally I would get a shock off this stuff, and jump back. She would give me a quizzical look, as if to say "What the heck are you doing?", then curl up on the bed. Sometimes she would wander over my table with all this stuff on it. She never got a shock, but she did once try sniffing my soldering iron, but only the once!

One day, she climbed out of my bedroom window onto the outside ledge. I took no particular notice, but after a while I realised she wasn't out there. Now, my bedroom was upstairs, above a concrete path. I dashed downstairs, looked around, and this sorry thing crawled out from under a bush, her jaw smothered in blood. I was alone in the house, so decided to take her to a vets. I got a cardboard box, put a blanket in it, put the kitten in it, closed the lid, balanced the box on the tank of my Tiger Cub, and rode the few miles to the vets, holding the box in place with a combination of knees, hands, stomach and good fortune.

Got to the vets, into the waiting room. Took her out of the box, sat on a chair with her on my lap. The other side of the room was a girl with a German Shepherd. The dog was looking around, then decided to investigate my kitten. So, he got up, wandered over to where I was sitting, and sniffed. The reaction was immediate and extreme. A very loud hiss, and a rapidly moving clawed paw swiped across that poor dog's nose. It yelped, scrabbled back to its owner, and cowered under her chair. The whole room-full of people burst into laughter.

In the end, there was no broken jaw, so after a bit of a cleanup by the vet she was back into the cardboard box for the ride home, me feeling very proud of my charge.

Another occasion, there were some men working on the roof of the house next door. I heard a commotion from them, went out into the garden, they shouted to me that there was this kitten right out on the end of a branch at about the same height as they were - this was also a two-storey house, so quite high up. I'd learned a bit about cats jumping from heights, and realise that, although higher than my window-ledge, she was over grass, so most unlikely to come to any harm if she fell. Anyway, I shouted back to the workmen that she was fine, then called her. Well, instead of climbing back to the trunk of the tree and clambering down, she took the quick way, and jumped. The workmen yelled. I laughed. The kitten ran to me, and when I picked her up, she purred. I waved to the men, and took her, still purring, into the house for some food.

The time came when my mother decided she should be neutered. She took her to the vets (in a cage, by bus). Next day, she went to pick the kitten up, a little woozy, with a bandage round her middle. Within a few hours, she was being playful, and had managed to crawl out of the bandage, revealing some stitches. Within a week, she was running round the garden, chasing butterflies, jumping up into the air trying to catch them, obviously healing well.

Then, back to the vets to have the stitches out. This is where things started to go wrong. A week later, we realised that one stitch hadn't been taken out, and was beginning to look infected, so back to the vets again to have this last stitch out.

Next day, something was very wrong, she was lethargic, and deteriorated rapidly. We put her in a dark room, laid on a blanket in front of a fire, food and water within reach. A few hours later, she was dead. We assumed she'd picked up cat flue at the vets on this last visit.

I cried then, I'm crying now. A tough(?), 72-year-old FJR-riding motorcyclist, crying over a kitten he'd had for a few months, some 56 years ago.

You can cry for your horse.

Sorry that your animal had to go, and it is terrible that you don't know what he was doing when he got injured, but I'd like to assume that he was doing one of the things that he really enjoyed. 30 years is a good long life for a horse and it sounds like Scoot had an enviable life.

Went through a similar situation earlier this year. My dog, a Yellow Lab/ Great Pyrenees mix, who had literally been by my side for thirteen years, including the last several when I lost my dad unexpectedly, then lost my mom to cancer a year later, and in between lost my wife of 25 years to another man (as well as the nasty divorce that followed), became very ill.

I was in Michigan picking up a motorcycle when I got a phone call that she was "not doing well at all". Thankfully, my brother-in-law was able to lift her into his van and get her to the emergency vet. The next call I got was from the vet telling me that Sadie's organs were shutting down and she was bleeding internally. I asked if the vet could make her comfortable, just for a few hours until I could get home. She very calmly explained that she could not guarantee she could keep her alive that long and didn't know if she could ease her pain. So I had to make the call to put her down....after 13 years...and I could not be there.

One of the worse days of my life that still, six months later, makes me cry like a baby. I feel your pain, AJ, and I could not agree more: sometimes being an adult sucks. You AND Scoot were extremely lucky to have each other as long as you did.

Thanks for sharing this and I hope by doing so it brings you some healing. Definitely got me choked up when I knew what was coming near the end. Like a good friend of mine says, "none of us gets out alive". Actually Jim Morrison said that and probably someone before him...

I seem to catch myself saying often, where does the time go, and wishing I could get some of it back.

High of 50 here today. Maybe I can go for a ride and do my first oil change on my first FJR?

My dog, Chopper, and I are the same way. I'm blessed to be able to work from home so we spend lots of time together. I take him everywhere I can and we both get depressed when I have to go somewhere he can't. Pets, both big and small, become like family members to a lot of us and losing them evokes the same emotions.

This post was nice to read.... we just had our 16 yr old cat put down. Such an empty feeling but then you think about all the good moments and it was all worth it. Thanks for sharing.

I have a buddy who runs a small hay farm/ranch. For nearly 40 years he kept a few horses for hunting up in the Bob Marshal Wilderness near Glacier Park. He would pack in all he needed for a two week hunting trip every year, He said the fun of it was in living off of what he could bring in on his horses, camping alone and reading; and even doing a little hunting His knees went bad on him about ten years ago and he gave up riding but kept the horses. They were his old buddies and had shared in his adventures. The last horse died a year ago. That horse had outlived the other horses by about five years. My friend had kept one steer for those last years to be company for the old horse. The steer and horse were seldom far apart and seemed to find comfort in each others company.

I can understand your sorrow and hope that you heal soon and get to where your fond memories overwhelm your sense of loss.

AJ, there's nothing stupid about it, he was a friend and companion of yours for many years and you shared a bond.

I'm sorry for your loss.

I have a 19-20 year old cat, Psycho, that I love dearly. We've gone coast to coast and been through a lot together. I know I'll blubber like a baby when it's his time...

Your Scoot story is far better than my Poco story, but they are similar in some areas. Poco is a half arabian, half quarter horse mix. He would have been a buckskin "if" he'd been endowed with a black stripe, so he's just a tan. He's not that special other than the fact that he's been our family pet for over 30 years. He's purty much a pasture fixture these days and doesn't get much attention anymore, but he could work a full day when he was in his prime, and served as a dressage horse when my daughters were young. He's very long in the tooth and even though he's in reasonably good condition for his age he's not going to last forever. I gotta deal with the same decision as you soon.

In sympathy and condolences AJ

best,

khunajawdge

Sorry for your loss, animals can be just as much family members as humans and a lot of times easier to get along with.

I know how ya relate to your Dad & Scoot, duke was my Dad's dog.

Damn, sorry about the loss AJ. With horses there are always some infuriating moments, but given >20 years of close contact any decent person will deeply bond with the animal. Horse/human relationships are based on care, trust and cooperation that cuts both ways and builds a strong relationship.

Our last horse was a B I G Thoroughbred that was a track rescue for $1.00 as we had his Jockey Club papers endorsed "Not to be raced". He apparently got kicked in the field but didn't show signs of a break. More than a week later he got cast in his stall at 2:00 am and in his struggles broke his leg where it had been kicked. We would have needed to take down part of the barn to get him out, would have needed a sling to get him up and even if the vet could have fixed the leg, a 30 year old horse in agony for weeks with a low chance of recovery wasn't a good choice. Hard, hard choices.

Three phase eventing in Vermont: