Too Much Perfection?

This year, I've buried four dogs. Yes. Four. It wasn't easy. Any of them.

But today has got to be the worst.

As I type this, my in-laws are out in the pasture with my wonderful mare, Sera. There is a massive hole dug and she's been led to it. I know this because I should not have looked out my window. There just seems to be something so wrong about leading an animal, still alive, to its final resting place. I understand why it is done, but it will never feel like the right thing in my eyes. But I digress.

The vet will soon put Sera to sleep. As much as it hurt me to say goodbye to her this afternoon, I know she will no longer be in pain. You see, she has crippling arthritis and even walking has become too painful for her. It just wasn't fair to keep her alive for the sake of my feelings anymore.

So earlier today, I went down to the barn and fed her a bag full of carrots and a large scoop of grain. I spent time brushing her and combing out her mane and tail. Once I finished, I picked the wutz up and let him say goodbye, too. He said, "Bye bye, Sera!" then gave her a loving pat on the nose while I boo-hoo'd.

Finally, I forced myself to leave. I just couldn't be there to watch the hole dug or the vet to do the final deed. I am very capable of being there when a beloved dog or cat needs to be sent over the Rainbow Bridge, but there is something about the death of a horse. It is such a massive loss, literally and figuratively. It is just so final, that I cannot bear to be there for it. So here I sit, forcing myself not to go out to the window to see if it is done, because I don't think I can bear to witness either scene that I might find.

I only pray that her passing is swift and peaceful.

Rest well, sweet Sera.