Last month, our ancient 33 year old Henry's creatinine values crept into unsavory territory. He began forsaking pasture strolls for standing in his stall and staring at the wall. Bouts of inappetence grew more frequent. Most compassionate gesture was to say goodbye before the bad days outnumbered the good. Plans were made a week in advance. Nothing leaves you feeling like a treacherous wench when you know what's in store for someone you love.
Two someones for that matter. Didn't know if we'd need two graves: one for Henry and one for Roscoe.
Henry is Roscoe's world.
Wherever Henry is, Roscoe is at his side. I've already tried pairing him with other horses, he's not interested. Henry is his everything.
Sharing a jar of applesauce.
One last hour long massage.
He left this world surrounded by those who loved him.
Until we meet again, my friend, until we meet again.
