Smokey's 1990 Freestyle on YouTube
Smokey's Legacy Page on www.USLR.org (United States Lipizzan Registry)
September 18, 2007, 12:40 p.m.
Today, I lost my most true, dearest, and trusted friend - my 25-year soul mate
and life inspiration: Smokey (Maestoso II Sabrina) at 31-1/2 years old -- which is old, but not so incredibly old for a Lipizzaner..
It is so very painful to say goodbye. So many things we went through together over 25 years. We stood by each other, no matter what. Smokey never let me down or disappointed me. Such a noble being I may never know again in my earthly life.
Words cannot describe my feelings, and Don's, and, I'm sure, those who know Smokey, and it would take more than one million words to write about Smokey's life, his spirit, his kindness and intelligence, his love for little children, and what he has given to people, not to mention all of his incredible accomplishments.
Thank you, all of you, who have been so very supportive and caring during the past seven months.
In spite of 1000 to 1 odds against Smokey last March, when he was stricken down with EPM, and we were told by three
veterinarians to let them put Smokey down
because his chances for recovery were just about nil and extremely expensive to attempt,
Smokey DID recover and was able to come home from the hospital.
Smokey very much enjoyed 7 more months of life with dignity; no pain; his mares near
him and all around him; lots of attention every day and every night; my grandchildren feeding him pieces of green grass, brushing him, and loving him; lots of treats; pureed carrots; fresh pears and apricots; and anything he wanted.
It is important that people know Smokey was not in physical pain, except maybe some when he had to endure a few weeks of laminitis after leaving the hospital. Don and I would never let him be in unnecessary pain. If Smokey had any noteworthy pain after recovering from laminitis last March, it was that he was not able to get up on September 18, 2007, when I asked and begged him over and over and told him that he could do it -- because he always wanted to do anything and everything for me (and others) and never wanted to let me down.
Smokey was having great difficulty even walking a few steps for the past week. We gave him Adequan shots 3 days apart, extra J-flex, and even a little banamine. Last night he could not get up by himself. All night his 23 year old daughter, Angelica II, who is next to Smokey, talked to him all night long – just chatting, chatting. I think she knew.
This morning, as I was leaving for work, I found Smokey down again and unable to rise. As many times as he tried to get up (like last March), his hind legs were not of any use; they were cold and paralyzed. Don tried to get him up over and over, even to the point that he used his hands and all of his strength to help push Smokey the rest of the way up. Smokey collapsed and fell on Don, injuring Don’s whole leg. Probably the very deep shavings helped keep it from being completely fractured. Don had to hop on one leg into the house and take some Ibuprofen and put ice on his upper leg.
I was so sure that with my encouragement, Smokey would make it all the way up. He kept trying his very best every time I asked.
I realized then that his whole hind end and back legs were useless and it would be impossible for him.
Then I stopped begging him to stand up for me and stay with us. I did not want to make him feel like he was
disappointing me. We had the equipment on hand (hoist and sling) to help him stand, but not the facilities required
to hold him up -- and, for how long? My mind searched for any solution possible. There were non, except what we did
last March. But, I promised Smokey that I would not send him lying down in a horse ambulance back to the ICU ward of
the hospital to be held up in a sling until he died; that I would let him go here at his home in comfort and peace with his
mares and with dignity.
If there was anything more in the world we could have done for him, we would have, without hesitation.
Then my thoughts turned to how best to comfort him and how to make myself brave for his sake. I put my feathered pillow under his head and gave him little bites of Fuji apple, peppermints, short pieces of green grass, PayDay candy bars -- all of his favorite treats, and told him how good and how incredibly handsome he is.
Then, I got some of his USDF dressage ribbons out of a huge plastic bag in the garage, and starting hanging them up on his fence while I was talking to
him about all the shows he did with the big time competitors on horses 2 hands taller than him,
and that all the times he won -- even though he was just learning the level he was competing -- and how proud he made
me feel -- so validated and honored to have him in my care. All the while I was choking on tears, trying to prepare myself
for this intolerable, excruitiating time that I had previously feared from time to time when it would come to surface
from the most unaccepted and unspoken part of my mind.
It seemed like Smokey seemed to remember the shows and the times I was talking about, or at least he understood that
I was talking to him about all the things he did, trying so hard, to be the best and make me proud. I know for sure that
he recognized show ribbons and remembered wearing every one of
those ribbons on his bridle and how much he loved applause -- and how much he loved it when, after every time he exited
the show arena anywhere in California (and even Nevada), at least 15 or 20 of his devoted fans living within an 80 mile radius
were there to give him hugs, praise, carrots, and love.
Then, Smokey relaxed, stopped trying to force himself up with only two front legs working. He layed back and acknowledged
that he was tired and was enjoying being hugged and kissed. His big bright eyes got sleepy and relaxed.
I could not stop holding
Smokey, stroking him, laying my head on his, my teardrops quietly falling onto his face and into his eyes, as I tried to hide my sorrow from him; kissing his eyelashes,
his nostrils and feeling his breath – his breath of life – and the incredible sorrow of knowing that very soon I would never again look into his kind and soulful eyes
or inhale his sweet, gentle breath.
I have never known such a trustworthy and gentle being, whether animal or human; one whom you could stake your very life on, or the lives and hearts of little
innocent children whom you love, without the slightest concern that Smokey would do something dangerous or harmful. He was always so concerned about
others -- humans and his mares and babies.
When the vet arrived, I think Smokey
remembered her because he showed no anxiety about her presence -- Nora
Greninger, the very kind doctor who cared for him when he was in ICU at Steinbeck Equine Hospital last March.
Dr. Greninger spoke to Smokey so kindly and
with deep regard for this magnificent stallion that she had come to know last March. She quietly and compassionately told me to take all
the time that I needed.
Even when she put the deep sleep tranquilizer needle into his vein, Smokey showed no anxiety at all. I think he was sure that,
as always, he was receiving something to help him -- to help him stand and run again -- in this life or another.
Then Smokey went slowly and so peacefully into a deep sleep while I stroked him and talked softly into his ear
about how valiant and noble he is and how blessed I have been to have him in my life for 25 years. I thanked him from
the bottom of my heart for all that he had brought into my life and into the lives of so many others. I thanked him for
never letting me down, no matter what the situation or challenge he was called upon to step up to -- and always in
the fullest capacity that any being could give, and with visible good will.
Don and I had to leave his paddock, with Smokey in a deep, peaceful sleep, before the vet gave him the fatal injection. Don
and I were both crying our eyes out. Don has known Smokey almost 8 years, since we got married, and is completely devoted to
Smokey. He has spent the past seven months medicating and checking on Smokey day and night, even in the middle of the
night --
every night for the past seven months.
Don spoke about how proud Smokey made him feel when he rode him for his last public
appearance in November 2003 at the annual USLR Lipizzan convention in the California-Nevada foothills; also how he felt so
honored to be on Smokey when all the children at the event crowded around them to give Smokey pets and treats.
Later, when I came back out to give his body a last hug before Don buries him (next to his favorite wives who departed
during the past few years), I could not believe that, even though his incredible spirit was gone, his face and body still looked so noble and beautiful and as if he was in a "still frame" in a movie of life.
Such an incredible life he had and such an incredible loss to me, my family, and those who know him, especially the many, many people who have ridden him. With the exception of the birth of my own two children and three grandchildren, Smokey has been the greatest blessing in my life.
August 16, 2007 UPDATE - HOPE, FAITH
JUNE UPDATE - SMOKEY'S RELAPSE
March 13-May 2007: Smokey fighting for his life - battling EPM and resulting laminitis
Quicktime movie: Smokey going to hospital
Video: Short movie of Smokey 3 mos after EPM attack, paralysis, and subsequent Laminitis- recovering -- looking good for an old man
Quicktime movie: Smokey's
1989 Intermediare Freestyle
Email:
lipizzan@hollinet.com