Planned Equine Euthanasia

Why I wanted Leo to leave the party early.

TRIGGER WARNING: Those who are considering having their horse euthanised, or who have had their horse euthanised in the past may find this article upsetting. I write the article with the hope of normalising planned euthanasia for horses, and for removing the shame surrounding it.

It was the end of May by the time I mustered the strength to make the decision, there between a winter and a summer, I knew that I didn’t want my twenty-seven year old horse Leo to endure the harshness of either ever again. I booked the dreaded date with the Vet and the fallen stock service, Monday 26^th June at midday, a quiet time at the yard. I could barely believe I had just arranged and paid for my beloved horse to be euthanised, taken away, and cremated - I felt like a traitor.

The date loomed over me. One night, he was so much on my mind that I couldn’t sleep.  I went downstairs and poured over the photos of us together. A picture of me beaming from ear to ear underneath my riding hat, the judge presenting us with a huge silver cup. The many dressage tests we did, Leo ever willing, never putting a foot wrong. Show-jumping, hunter trials, pictures with his head over the stable door - had I ever realised what I’d had? Had I been grateful enough? Twenty-two years with my loyal friend had gone in a flash, the sands of his timer had cruelly flowed so much quicker than mine. I sobbed for the impending loss of him into the early hours, I wanted my time with him all over again.

I was determined to befriend the heartbreak of my anticipatory grief, for Leo to have a good and well-prepared death.  My attention on Leo sharpened in those final days. I lingered with him at the gate when I turned him out. I buried my nose into his neck just to smell him, praying I would never forget. I bathed him, washed his tail, oiled his hooves. I took photos and videos. I gave him endless treats. I kissed him, and I loved him as hard as I possibly could. I talked to him every moment we were alone, to thank him, to tell him how lucky I knew I was, to tell him that he would always be a part of me. He listened ears pricked, looking directly at me, as ever making eye contact when I spoke to him.

The week leading up to the euthanasia was dedicated to Leo. I took each of my children up separately, to take Leo for a walk, more photos, more strokes and cuddles, more time just standing with him, letting him graze – absorbing his beautiful presence and calming energy. Four days before his euthanasia, my sister and I spent one long summer’s evening with him. She took the most stunning photos of us in the long golden grass, as the light of the setting sun softened our hair and features into a golden hue. Leo loved being with the two of us, following us around like a labrador, he was happier in the company of humans now than he was with horses. If there was one moment with him I could have extended for ever more, this was it.

A message went out on the yard WhatsApp two days before his last day. I left a tin of extra strong mints outside his stable door, and asked the other liveries to please give him a mint when they walked by. They all obliged, mints, cuddles, their own goodbyes for the pony who had been there for such a short time, but who had already won so many friends.

The night before Leo’s euthanasia, my 13 year old son asked if he could attend. I gently explained the process, and that no matter how sad he was on the day, he couldn’t stop it, because this was the right decision for Leo, one that I had made because I loved him so much. He said he understood, but that as Leo was a part of our family he still wanted to be there even if it was a hard thing.

The day came, and it was a perfect one, dry and warm with a refreshing breeze. My friend Bec came to support me, and she groomed him that morning as though he were going to a show. He was as shiny as a conker, and had plumped up from the abundant spring grass. Leo looked too well to be dying today, but this was exactly as I wanted it to be, for Leo to leave the party while it was still going, able to say goodbye to his friends and walk himself to his waiting taxi.

Just after midday, my son led Leo around to the front of the yard proprietor’s house, walking solemnly at Leo’s pace, we all followed in silent procession. As my son saw the vet and the disposal trailer, his eyes filled with tears. He handed the rope to the Vet, shook his head, and walked away saying that he just wasn’t able to watch. My husband went with him, hesitating as he had come to support me, but I encouraged him to comfort our son during his first real experience of death.

I was struck at the smart attire of the Vet and the man from the fallen stock service, both in shirt and ties, a lovely mark of respect, and it meant a lot. My Vet explained that he would sedate Leo, and then inject him with the euthanasia drug, then he could fall in any direction but that he would be there to support him. He may kick out, twitch, take a deep breath at the end – all these things were normal. The words felt surreal, was this really it?

I fed Leo carrots as the sedation was injected, very quickly the pieces of carrot started to fall from his mouth. I apologised for making a mess of the lawn. As Leo’s consciousness diminished, mine awoke, wanting so desperately to be present for every last moment. I kissed his nose and thanked him for everything he had done for me.

“Thank you Leo, you really were the best…”

I stepped away, and left Bec to stand with the rope as the euthanasia drug was injected, then as she succumbed to tears, another took the rope until the vet took it. Those who had loved him, and who had cared for him in his final months were there. The man from the fallen stock service stood respectfully in the background. My son and husband waited out of sight.

The rest happened quickly. Leo dropped down gently to his knees.

“Good boy Leo, well done” we praised in unison.

This beautiful and kind animal had been a willing tenant wherever I had asked him to live, he never questioned his new homes and friends. Now I had placed him here on this spot, at the gateway to the rainbow bridge, and he did not object or resist, subservient in death as he was in life. I walked over to him and knelt by his head, stroking it as he gently slipped away. And yet rather than feeling the connection between us being severed, I felt a beautiful connection. Leo left a little of himself behind in that moment, and took a part of me, the part of me that only he knew. He was no longer my property, but now of himself, free of all his earthly ties.

We took turns to stroke his still body, and say our goodbyes. I was in awe of this peaceful scene, of the dignity and love surrounding him. It mattered that it was a good death, without fear or distress, and if I had to do it again then I would not change a thing. It was my final act of kindness to him.

Goodbye dear friend, until we meet again.