I never expected the phone call I received late Sunday morning. 

        It left me driving through the first snow to a farm to deal with what was the last thing I wanted to see. A mare, who was about 170 days into her pregnancy was aborting her foal.  I was asked to come to the farm because the vet was unavailable and I was the one who knew the most about breeding, foaling, and all that jazz. Of course I couldn't refuse to help. I would want someone who was educated and knowledgeable in a disaster to come to my aid. 

        So there I find myself, on my knees, in the snow, up to my elbows in placenta and then a corpse in my arms.  Now the placenta itself, while it is not at all attractive or something you desire to touch, is really not all that bad.  I've checked many a placenta after a normal foaling.  I know what to look for and am used to touching and checking it.

        Of course a good set of shoulder length gloves are nice for the task, as a horse's placenta is roughly the size of a garbage bag. All I had was a little pair of latex gloves. Now this mare's placenta wasn't quite that large, since she was only about halfway through her pregnancy, but I still had to reach inside and pull it right-side out. (A placenta is followed by the amnioic sac, which pulls the placenta out inside first, following the foal.) So I had nice placenta fluid all over my arms.  Lovely.

        Fortunately, everything was intact as it should have been.  I easily found the non-pregnant horn, which was a relief that it hadn't torn and been retained inside the mare.  The pregnant horn however, while it was as it should have been (all there), it was not of normal appearance.  It was a deep red and the blood supply to it clearly visible in tightly constricted, purple vessels.  There was however, good evidence of interdigitation on the pregnant horn, so I'm not sure exactly what could have went wrong to cause the loss of this foal. I am however, far from a vet, so I shouldn't expect myself to know why. 

But the foal.  The foal. 

        A little colt, so perfectly formed in appearance.  What happened that caused him to leave the safe womb of his mother too early in life?  He would have had three white hooves and one black.  His little muzzle had begun to darken, showing a diamond shaped snip on his perfect little nose. At only 170 days, he was already a horse. Already.  He had everything.  Perfectly shaped little ears.  Ergots and chestnuts on his legs.  A little tounge and even teeth.  He was so beautiful, even though he had the awkward formation of a disproportionate unborn foal.  He reminded me a bit of a baby bird, before they get their feathers.  He was beautiful however.  And as I held him in my arms, before so unceramoniously placing him in a black trash bag, I couldn't believe what he felt like. It's surreal before you touch something like that. You know what it is, but you don't know what to expect when you hold it.  There was such a weight to him.  He was something.  Something that shouldn't be in my arms. Something that was supposed to be a miracle, not a heartbreak. 
        Such hopes were to be hung from his mane.  His breeding was stellar. The plans for him big.  Why was I holding him? I shouldn't be holding him.  He was too small.  He didn't belong in my arms.  I should never see a foal this small.  I should never hold a foal this small.  Nobody should.  He needed to go back inside his mother.  To grow to the colt he was supposed to be.  Not out in my hands, the snow melting on his poor body, his eyes unopened to the wonder of the world he would never see.  I wished I could breathe some life into him, and somehow place him back into the womb which he left too early.

Why. Not, why? Why.

         Was the burden of his unborn life already too much to bear? Did he know in his subconscious existance, in the safety of his mother's womb, that the world outside would be unfair to him? That maybe, what he had to offer would be a gift abused by those who would handle his life? The world can be a scary place for the soul of a horse.  Perhaps he chose to not enter this world.  Perhaps he knew it wasn't worth what he could give, because it wouldn't make a differance.  That even in his soulful innocence, he recognized the evil that could awaite in the outside world.  What made THIS foal not make it as far as so many before him? What made THIS foal not worthy of breathing in the spring air? Worthy of feeling the sun on his back? 

        Maybe it's not a case of being worthy enough to feel the pleasures of life.  Maybe having never been born alive was the gift worthy of him.  It spared him of any pain.  Spared him of any discomfort. Perhaps he was SO worthy, the world could not let him suffer in the least. Maybe he received the greatest blessing the world could offer him, to not have to endure it.

        Holding that little life lost, it made me think so much of my own.

        It's tough to think about it.  I knew that at some point, I would experience this.  With my own plans to be a breeder, this is a fact of life.  And it's not that I can't handle it, but as the first experience of it, it is traumatic.  I look at horses as my people.  They are my friends and my family, more so that the human beings around me.  I have always understod the horse better, and have gotten along with them better than any person. It's strange to say that I can communicate better with a horse than I can with most people. But it's true. So to hold that colt, it was like holding a child.  Imagine yourself holding an infant that was born too early in your arms.  So small, so perfect, so everything it should be, but lost before it was found.

        I know the mare very well. I worked with her and gave lessons to kids on her back. And while we didn't always agree on how things should be done, we always reached some common ground.  I watched the stallion who was the father being born.  I helped raise him, watched him grow, battle many setbacks and face many trials. I watched him become the amazing horse he is today.  This was to be one of his first foals.  It felt like I lost part of my family.  This would have been a foal whose life I would have followed.

        I have always said I want no children of my own.  I am not fond of children.  I have no desire to raise them or give birth to them.  NONE.

        The horses are my children.  To raise a foal, there is such satisfaction in that! To take a young horse that knows nothing, and teach it everything, that is the most satisfying thing in the world. Who would want to raise children when you can raise horses?  I need no children of my own kind.  I would rather raise the equine variety. To see this child lost is hard.  Especially seeing the owners of the mare and their devestation.  It's an emotional thing.  It's a hard loss to accept.  Especially when there was a foal to see, a foal that looked so beautiful, despite his obviously displaced location in the cold November air.

        This is one of those things that you never quite forget.  It will stick with me forever. I learned from it.  It was an experience both intellectually and emotionally.  I on a level still don't exactly know how to take it all in.  It's just incredibly unfortunate.

Poor little life lost, I hope it was so that you would be spared any injustice should you have lived.