November Hill farm journal, 195

 I’ve put off writing this because it joins the many things I’m calling “the firsts” - the first time I’ve gone to our barn since 2005 and not seen Keil Bay’s handsome face, the first time I’ve fed tubs and not heard his musical whinny, the first time I’ve made up supplement jars with his not in the line, the first time I’ve mucked without his manure droppings being there, on and on and on. And the first November Hill farm journal without him here in body.

This all sounds very sad, and it is, and some of these things bring tears, a few things bring little fits of sobbing, but one very happy thing is that I feel peace when I think of him. I have been to his grave daily and when I do the goodnight mantra (good night, you Kings of Chatham, you Princes of November Hill) I add (and goodnight Keil Bay, King of Everything, and Salina the Queen). I feel him around us, as I have always felt Salina, but I also have very clear visual images in my mind of Keil galloping with his buddies, the ones he lived with when I first met him, Brio, and Joker, and then later Maverick. I see the collection of his neck and its curve as he coils up to then uncoil in a big, playful forward burst of motion. And I feel okay then about him not being here in his elegant, athletic body.

One thing I haven’t shared here is that I am doing EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing) training this month and next month and will be moving on into the certification training in 2024. After years of referring out clients I felt needed EMDR, I decided it was time to add it to my own repertoire of modalities. So many people have trauma in my current practice, and with virtual therapy now the norm, it’s harder to know people to refer them to. 

Part of my training is to experience EMDR myself, and one of the core memories I worked with in two sessions was one in which my kitten was physically taken away from me (and kept) by an adult male neighbor and his teenaged son. I was 3-4 years old. I have discussed that memory in my own therapy previously, but when I reprocessed it using EMDR, I immediately felt the results in my experiences in the present day. I now see clearly how that early memory has impacted my experience of caring for and protecting my animal family.  I have dreaded for years Keil Bay’s passing because I knew it would be difficult beyond imagination. It has been hard, it has been sad, but thanks to EMDR it has not been devastating. 

My experience has been that I’m feeling the grief without the weight of that past memory pushing it into a much more intense level of emotion and powerlessness. 

At this point EMDR is being used to treat many issues, not just PTSD and trauma. I can now highly recommend it as a modality, and wanted to say that here. If you’re considering treatment, go to Emdria.org and look for certified clinicians for the best results. 

It’s fall on November Hill and it’s fitting that Keil Bay left us during this season, since this season is when we first came to our little farm. His grave is being slowly covered by falling oak and hickory leaves, and by acorns, and I’m sure he is happy about that. 

The herd continues to process this loss. Little Man and Rafer are actively seeking comfort from us. Cody seems a little distant and a little angry, but he allows comfort. Redford was the most distressed and it has taken him longer to process this. He is starting to get to his normal self but since he offered his constant companionship both two years ago when Keil went through his initial EPM bout and again recently, I think he is taking this hard. We’re offering Redford special attention and he is slowly moving through his own process. 

One other thing that has happened is I have opened up to the idea of riding again. Yesterday I got out my helmet and tried it on, and am actively thinking of working Cody and Little Man back into light riding time in case my grandson wants to ride. I haven’t ridden since Keil got EPM two years ago and retired, and I haven’t wanted to, I think because he has been my partner since he came to us and I just didn’t want to ride any other horse while he was here. We’ll see how this goes moving forward. 

The biggest thing I’m feeling right now is peace and relief that Keil Bay is no longer at risk of falling, that each day I wake up knowing he’s okay. That his life was long and it was good. That his passing was full of love and many peppermints. And that the bond we have will never be broken. His presence and his spirit are with me forever. That’s a lot, and what a gift from him to me. 

Grateful for our amazing vet practice, 3H Equine

 Yesterday I had a call from our local floral shop that they had attempted a delivery but due to our gated entrance, could not leave it, and we could either pick it up or they would redeliver today.

This morning I got a call saying it was on the way so I made sure to get out to the gate and got this:

We’ve been fortunate to have 3H as our vets for close to 20 years, and have always appreciated their excellent and compassionate care, both wellness and emergency. They helped when Rafer Johnson broke his leg, they helped with various and sundry horse emergencies over the years, helped when Salina was ready to pass, and most recently, helped us shepherd Keil Bay easily and with great care and compassion, to that special place beloved animal family members go. 

This display of kindness to us after that night means the world, and I have thanked them today twice. Once before I got the flowers and again after. We are so, so fortunate to have them on our team. 

Horses Are Light And Air And Wind And Sky

 (For Keil Bay, 1989-2023)

Horses Are Light And Air And Wind And Sky

Are guardians who gallop alongside cars, always with you, always there. They are winged creatures, though their wings are invisible, carrying you away from things and also toward things. 

Horses hold space and energy, read minds, siphon insights that may otherwise be elusive. They move in rhythms that match pulses, heartbeats, breath, the alternating skip you do as a child, the way your brain processes neural impulses. 

A horse comes to you when you need him, carries you past a mirror which reflects your best self, lays his muzzle on your shoulder, lifts a 70-pound bale of hay in your path in his teeth and tosses it aside. A horse comes to you from dream time, from child time, from the time before you knew what time even was.

Horses sing and scream and snort, gaze without blinking into the deepest part of your eye, smell, and sometimes lick, your hands. A horse listens when you whisper, better than a therapist at detecting the things you do not say.

Horses find the girls who need them. Horses tell the truth and keep their promises. Horses surround you and lift you off the ground to keep you with them. Herd mind. Herd hooves drum-beating time.

Sometimes when you stand beside a horse’s shoulder, hand on wither, hand on barrel, he turns and curls you into the space between his head and heart, a small circle of protection, impenetrable circle of safety. 

When you dream about a horse you’re not dreaming, you are galloping through another galaxy, exploring deep space, tracing neural networks, resetting your vagus nerve. 

When a horse leaves, you send a piece of you with her, and she leaves a piece of her with you. The conversation you started never stops. The partnership you forged never flags. Sometimes you see her galloping the perimeter of the farm, keeping time intact, opening windows into other places, other ways of being, places not yet named.

When you ride a horse you carry that forever in the skin of your calves, feet hanging weightless, a lifted back bearing you across boundaries of time and space, faster than you think you can go, to a place you came from but don’t remember until he takes you there again.

-Billie Hinton

Autumn Into Winter 2023, Daily Readings 4 and 5 (a Keil Bay edition)

 Yesterday’s card, which I didn’t get around to posting:

Ladybug and Sweet Pea are happiness, good fortune, a journey. I felt the joy of this card yesterday morning when I pulled it randomly from its deck, and honestly I feel it this morning even after last night’s huge loss, because when a horse goes peacefully, I think all horse women feel the happiness of that journey. I can say this morning that without question, my journey with Keil Bay has been one of happiness and good fortune, from the day I met him until now. 

This morning’s card brought me to tears and then quiet sobs. If an illustration were Keil, this is it:

Modest fortitude, the benevolent king, that is who he was and is. And brilliance of mind, body, spirit. When I pulled this card and turned it over, I wasn’t surprised. This is the kind of presence he has in the lives of those who love him dearly. 

Goodbye, Our Beloved Keil Bay

 

Keil Bay had a flare-up of EPM this past week and was on treatment for it since Friday. His right hind fetlock was puffy and we think he may have had an abscess brewing. He had his favorite body work, chiropractic care, on Saturday that helped and then acupuncture and a Legend injection yesterday, and his day was good as was his day today. Although not moving normally, he foraged for grass, hay, and acorns with his herd. 

Tonight when we went out to feed dinner tubs he was lying flat out in the grassy barnyard, very still and peaceful. He got up about 15 minutes later and was calm but not really able to walk forward. When he tried to walk he was only able to go in a circle. 

He had most of his dinner tub, many peppermints, and his vet arrived 45 minutes after that. He was surrounded by me, my husband, and both my young adult children, who grew up knowing the Big Bay and loving him. 

Moments after he took his last breath, the barn lights went out for a few seconds and the big bang of a transformer blowing in the distance sounded. Later, after the vet left and we were still with him, as he lay with a peaceful eye and covered in flowers my husband picked from our beds and his blankets, an owl hooted from the big oak tree at F, five separate times. 

The stars were bright in the sky. 

I know it was the right time and I feel grateful nothing that could have gone terribly wrong did. I’m going to be crying for months I’m sure, off and on, as we all try to reconfigure. Cody, Little Man, Rafer Johnson, and Redford stood silently watching as all this happened, and after he was gone they whinnied and brayed. It’s hard to say goodbye to a horse who was so good and so present in our daily lives. 

We love you, Big Handsome Bay. You’ve been my dream. We’re grateful you lived 34 amazing years. I wish I’d been with you every one of them.