Hubby went to take care of burial duty this a.m.
In the time it took me to hobble towards the house, and Mark to get to Pete... Twister slipped the surly bonds of Earth, and kissed the Face of God.
It seems that I was holding her back, by being there. In less than an hour, she had broken free. FOREVER.
I still blame myself. The meat wagon was just a form of euthenasia. By saving her, I gave her a taste of hope/dreams/well-being/love/people don't hate 'me'. What GOOD was it??? I'm having a hard time reconciling my self to the idea that we snatched her from the jaws of certain death, just so that she would face certain death a couple of months later.
She was the 'least' of the horses. Ugly, skinny, pitiful, hoof horrors, stand-offish. But I so loved her. And I rejoiced in every little step she took towards 'normalacy'. She blessed my heart every time she whinnied and came running when the 'snack wagon' showed up...and I gave prayers of utmost thanksgiving to see that. I NEVER forgot to thank God for her progress. NEVER...
I guess I just need time to sort through things. And in THAT area, I'll also be OK.
If you ask me, it beats the heck out of a frightened crammed slaughterhouse being shoved along and kicked at with panic all around you.