I lost Chili on May 12.

He was perpetually sick. His illness(es) finally got to the better of him – he stopped eating – and I decided to have him put to sleep.

My own schedule did not work out, so I didn’t get a chance to see him before he was gone.

I did see him after, and he was still warm. His eyes were still open because they never stay closed like they do in movies and they were cloudy. I thought about maybe putting coins on his eyelids, but he doesn’t need to pay the ferry – horses can swim.

I took a little bit of his mane. This morning, his body was taken away to be “rendered” – whatever that means. I wanted to get him cremated, but it was too costly, and in the end, I would only get a box of ashes. I told myself that ashes are not Chili.

I never imagined that it could be so painful.

I tell myself that he had a long life and that his final years were mostly happy…that he is “only” a horse. He doesn’t understand grief or loss, and that he was only concerned about the now and driven by instinct. I tell myself that he went peacefully and while he was relatively content.

But I feel like I failed. I feel guilt. I wish last Tuesday didn’t happen. I feel no relief. I just want him back.

I realize now that he was more like a child than a pet or companion because he required so much more work, investment, and understanding.

Now, I can only wish for the next few weeks to go by quickly. Because there is no other consolation or resolution. Just erosion.

The little mare he was pastured with was visibly upset, too. She kept calling for him, but he never came back.