Today begins with a euthanasia.
It isn’t my first, and it won’t be my last.
The flies are inconsiderate, merciless, rude. Death begets life. But they were no different ten minutes ago, when she was alive. I still shoo them for her, just as I did ten minutes ago. I find them more offensive now.
The shadows of the trees imitate the breath of life on her body.
It’s an illusion; there is no more rise and fall in her.
There’s a strong case to be made, in the moment the pain ends, and the face is washed in relief, for euthanasia when the horse is still happy and pain-free.
If I don’t watch them load her body onto the trailer, I can imagine she was lifted there with feather-light hands and not with a winch.
An hour later, we’re standing around a cellphone, watching her sons win ribbons at a far-away show.