Prince and I shared a few happy years together before I got the dreaded call. The owner of the boarding facility called to tell me Prince was acting lethargic and she was concerned. My parents and I went straight out to see him and called the on-call emergency vet as it was a Sunday. When she arrived, she confirmed our worst fears: he had colic. This is akin to a death sentence for a horse – it happens when their gut gets twisted or blocked and they can no longer process or pass their food. The only choices we had were to put him down or rush him to UC Davis for intensive care and surgery, costing around $10,000. 

I couldn’t bring myself to ask my parents to spend that much money on a horse we’d bought for $1,200, but they knew how much he meant to me and they did not hesitate to opt for the surgery. The details of the next couple of hours were a blur, but somehow we were able to gather the right resources and people to help us out. My parents managed to secure a horse trailer and someone to haul it, as we had neither trailer nor experience with hauling at the time.

We arrived at UC Davis around 10pm that night. I remember unloading Prince in the dark, urging him out of the trailer as he barely wanted to move for all the pain he was in. We walked through a large bay door into a big open shop, and hooked him into this contraption that was intended to help support and keep him still. Prince kept his eyes glued on me in fear as the doctor and his trainees set about immediately hooking him up to fluids and testing his vitals. When the vet prepared the IV, blood spurted out of Prince’s neck.

The next thing I remember, my dad was supporting me outside in the fresh air and offering me water. I had been under such stress, my brain could not process it any longer. I hated that he had been suffering and in pain up to this point. But things were looking up now that we were here and had professional help.

Prince stayed at UC Davis for a couple weeks as they helped him to clear out the large enteroliths (large, calcified stones in the gut) and heal. He ended up not requiring surgery, which saved a few thousand dollars. The team at UC Davis gave him round-the-clock care. When he was finally able to return home, I had to perform daily care for him without riding for three months. I was at the stables faithfully, doing whatever Prince needed. I slowly started taking him on walks down the road, further and further, until eventually we could ride again.

I was blessed to have Prince in my life for about ten years, until he passed away in 2010. By this time, I had met and married my husband, and moved Prince out to my in-laws’ property. He lived alongside my father-in-law’s mare Raz, and the two were buddies until the end. Prince was laid to rest in the pasture, and Raz would often hang out near his cross.

Prince saved me many times. He saved me from my depression, he kept me from having time to get into trouble, and he helped me when I suffered the first death that I really grasped the permanence of. He was with me when I became an adult, got married, and moved out of my parents’ home. He was the horse that made me believe in equine therapy, and he was the reason I volunteered for a local hippotherapy program that gave some very special kids their own wings (hippotherapy is a form of physical therapy that involves the use of horses to assist people with mental or physical disabilities to learn to engage their sensory, neuromotor, and cognitive systems by grooming, riding, and interacting with the horses).

To be continued…