Kritique Kritics

I never thought I’d be looking for another horse.  When you’ve had the best, how do you think about something less than the best.  The truth is I don’t want another horse–I want Finn.  I can’t have Finn, anymore.  Our majestic horse, Finn McCool, was euthanized a week ago.

Finn was a chestnut colored, fourteen hundred, fifty pound, seventeen hand, Irish warm blood. He was seventeen years old and extremely well trained in jumping and dressage. He was once a lesson horse and my husband, Roland, took him trail riding.  He was a dream horse for two people, in their fifties, learning to ride.

His previous owner, Carrie McPherson Kimmel, sold him to us after we leased him for a year.  Finn wasn’t quite good enough in dressage to take Carrie to the Olympics, so he became ours three years ago.

He loved the beach and didn’t want to go back to the trailer when you tried to turn him around on the sand. He was purrfect, except he couldn’t purr.  I gave him scraps from the juicer; it was a funny site seeing a huge horse lick my hands.  We both loved it, though. 

 

Finn had many friends, some with two legs and some with four legs.  He was an unusual horse, both in stature and demeanor.  He was admired by all.  HEAVEN CAN WAIT, a rescue organization dedicated their newsletter to Finn McCool and I’ve included the dedication below:  (Thank you Ramey Zamora.)

HEAVEN CAN WAIT NEWSLETTER – July 2010

This edition of the HCW Newsletter is dedicated to the memory of Finn McCool, a big hearted big horse owned by a good friend and supporter of Heaven Can Wait.  Finn suffered a torn diaphragm diagnosed through surgery on June 25^th — the damage was too much to save this great 18 year old.  Our hearts are with his owner, and that’s where Finn’s heart is, too.  Thanks for years of beloved companionship.

Finn McCool, by Roland Hinkle

Your kindness continues to inspire us.

You can visit their site at:  http://www.heaven-can-wait.net/site/

 

Roland wrote a explaination of how Finn died for the people at our barn and I’ve included it below:

Sadly, we lost Finn Friday night June 25.  After looking distressed that morning, Dr. Osborne saw him at the barn.  When he hadn’t improved in the afternoon, we took him to Alamo Pintado.  Additional tests at Alamo indicated exploratory surgery.

Dr. Judy discovered a tear in Finn’s diaphragm that let his liver and intestines migrate into the chest cavity (a diaphragmatic hernia).   All of his colon and much of his intestine had died from the  compromised blood supply.

The damage was too great to save him and he was euthanized on the operating table. 

Dr. Judy commented that the tear was the largest he had seen and most horses wouldn’t have been standing with the damage he saw.  Finn had walked into the clinic and later to the surgery prep room on his own.

He was Finn to the end!  

 

 

 

Here’s a photo of Roland and Finn jumping.  Finn had jumped many times before and much higher, but it was Roland’s first jump.

 

The two most special memories I have of him are when he trusted me enough to roll and when I trusted him enough to lean forward and let him take a jump with me on his back.  Although, I’m leaving Finn’s trust behind I’m taking my trust and the love of a great horse with me.   

Tags: Animals, Feeling, Grief by debradavishinkle
2 Comments »

Buff Boy was cream colored with pale orange strips.  He looked just like his mother, Buff Momma, except he was fourteen pounds and she was only nine pounds.

I found him in June 2006 when he was three months old.  I had him neutered and given all the usual shots.  He was also treated for worms and I gave him flea and tick medication monthly.  I did everything I could medically for him.

I loved him–taming him slowly–with food.  Later, playing with him with one of the fifty cat toys on our deck.  My husband, Roland, built a cat shelter and placed it next to our bedroom door.  I would go out several times a night to check on Buff Boy and the others.  During the day, I would use a peacock feather to play with him on the grass.

BUT, it wasn’t enough!

You were taken from me a year ago tonight.

Buff Boy had the most beautiful yellow/copper colored eyes.

Buff Boy’s father (Big Boy) and mother (Buff Momma).

A POEM FOR BUFF BOY

Why can’t I let go?
Would I not move through the grief,
If I stopped the denial?

You are dead!
You are dead!
You are dead!

I am heartbroken.
Hope would not let me cry, before.

Tears finally found me-
True grief begins as denial ends

Debra Davis Hinkle
February – March 2009
Last four stanzas only; full poem in “The Broken Chain”, due out in 2011.

Tags: Animals, Feeling, Grief by debradavishinkle
1 Comment »

I’ve been working on our children’s site:

http://www.kritiquekritics.com/children/

I want the site to be “purrfect” for the new school semester; I’ve been looking at videos to add to the story sections.  I came across this video and it just moved me.

The Fox and the Hound – Say Goodbye

Tags: Animals, Artwork, Grief by debradavishinkle
No Comments »

I think grief and recovering from a fire are very similar.  A human being isn’t the same after experiencing a loss.  I think you rebuild from a cellular level and it can take a very long time, if ever completely finished.

Our Hillside on November 14, 2008:

If you could have seen inside me June 28, 2002, I think I would have looked a little like the photo above.  I know I felt numb, angry, lost and void of something essential to my life–my mother.  I’d like to say that just a few months later; I was recovered as much as our hillside is below.

Our Hillside now:

The animals are gone and so are the wildflowers.  From a distance, only the center, trees and bushes, show the fire damage.  Up close, you can see damage everywhere.  With time and the right ingredients the hill will almost completely repair itself.  However, it will never look or be exactly the same.

I wasn’t so rapid in my repair.  It took me a year before I couldn’t understand what I was reading, to do simple math calculations and a little longer before I was a safe driver.  I didn’t care that I couldn’t read or do math—there was always television. But I hated giving up driving.  I spent almost every day, all day long, with my husband–exercising or just being together.  Also, I spent every Tuesday evening at a Hospice of San Luis Obispo–a support group.

After another year, my body began to repair itself like the roots of the grass now taking hold on the hillside.  I started writing and I joined a writer’s critique group.  I was still spending most of my time with my husband and was still attending the support group meetings.

In the third year, I started taking horse back riding lessons and ending up buying a horse.  I was writing quite a bit and I was published, too. My hospice friends and I started our own support group.

In the remaining years, I have added friends and hobbies to my life.  I’ve been published a few more times. I’m the leader of a writer’s critique group and co-founder of a blog and website.  My life is full now and I try not to dwell on the loss of my mother; I try to remember the good things she gave me.  She taught me to garden, bake and gave me a love of animals, especial cats.

No matter how long I live, I believe I will always grief for my mother. However, I love my life now, too.

Tags: Grief by debradavishinkle
No Comments »