Warm summer breezes and sweet bird song could not lift the mood of that July morning. Today was the short awaited day when our horse had to leave us.

Her name was Copper Kettle and she turned 33 years old that summer. Copper was a big paint mare with a big heart to match. She had been a part of our pasture for about 12 years. Over those years she had been a wonderful mother, a brave protector and an amazing friend. On rides she had always been spunky too, despite her age. Though she was hard to control at times, if she picked a direction there was little to no chance of changing it.

We first noticed the sores and lumps in April, but they didn’t seem to bother her so we put off a vet visit. We thought that she might have gotten them from stress because we had put down one of our other horses earlier in the year.

The vet came in early July and it only took him a few minutes to tell us what was wrong. Copper had skin cancer. Dr. Matt speculated that it was not only the lumps and sores but that her whole body was ridden with it. He said that at the most, she might have 2-3 months, but maybe even as little as a few weeks. We were told to clean her sores twice a day and get her special feed with extra vitamins and minerals. When we noticed her become in pain or if she lost her love of life, it was going to be time to put her down.

Over the next two weeks, the cancer quickly took over her back left leg and she slowly ate less and less. She spent about 85% of her time in the barn, and after a while seemed to stop noticing the world around her.

Then on the morning of July 25th, when I went to the barn to feed her and clean her sores, she was in pain. She was resting her back left leg and it seemed she could not, or would not put it back down. My mother and I gave her some pain medication and within the next hour, Copper had slowly limped her way out of the barn and into the back pasture. She stopped there and began to graze, almost as if there was nowhere else she would rather be. My two other horses saw her form the other pasture and were whinnying excitedly to her. She never neighed back. She barely even looked at them. That’s when we realized she had forgotten her buddies. That along with her pain was enough to finally say that it was time.

We decided my parents would put her down that afternoon after I had left for work. I spent hours that morning crying in her mane and saying my goodbyes. I told her over and over that I was sorry and that I loved her.

Leaving her that afternoon was very hard, but coming home after was even worse. Knowing she wouldn’t understand and that I hadn’t been there for her last moments. Knowing my parents, the people she barely knew, were that last people she saw, broke my heart. The only comfort I could find was that she wouldn’t be in pain anymore.

But that gave little comfort when I saw the freshly upturned dirt of her grave, where earlier that day she had stood for the last time. To this day I still can’t walk over that spot without thinking of her struggle, and wondering where her spirit is now, and if she is happy there.