RIP Misty

My equine friend was having a hard time.

During the winter weeks, when I was up at Sanctuary alone most of the time as the Big House was being deconstructed, Bobsie invited me up regularly for dinner. With the days being short and cold, I’d bundle up and carry a flashlight for the walk up our long driveway to theirs, and then on up to the house. Misty would be standing near the steps to the front door waiting to greet me, and I’d stop to stroke her cheeks and say ‘hey.’

It would be warm and cozy in their house, with a good fire going in the woodstove. Bobsie would fill me up with her wonderful food and cajole me into sipping a little wine with it. I’d always warn her that I can’t hold my liquor, that there would be danger of me falling asleep with even a half glass. But she would laugh like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, and say they could always string a rope between our houses to aid me on the walk back home later. About the time I would leave, she would also go out to tuck Misty in the stable for the night, slipping her a few pieces of apple or carrot for a bedtime snack.

But Misty was feeling her age. They kept finding her down somewhere in the yard and kept helping her back up. More and more sections were being roped off. Places where the ground sloped. Places where the sand was soft. No more rolling in the dirt for Misty.

One night when Ron and I were both over for dinner Bobsie fretted what if she can’t get back up in the stable at night while I’m sleeping? She had been making extra nightly visits to check on Misty and was not sleeping well.

So my National Asset came up with a plan. He got one of his webcams and brought it up to install in Misty’s bedroom. Then he showed Bobsie how she could observe Misty on her new iPad without ever having to leave the comfort of the house. She (Bobsie, that is. Misty was oblivious to being on candid camera) was absolutely thrilled. You would have thought National Asset had figured out the cure for cancer or something.

Since then, when we are both invited for dinner, he gets his plate loaded up for seconds the exact minute his firsts have been eaten. Miles, Bobsie’s husband complains a little about the obvious favoritism when this happens. But she just says it’s because she loves a man who appreciates her cooking. Which he certainly does. 

So Misty was spending most of her days in the stable or very near it. Bobsie, observing her on the iPad, discovered that she never laid down to sleep anymore. Misty was on her feet all night long.

Then, during one of our periods in San Diego, Bobsie called. The day had come. The vet and Bobsie concurred that it was time to let Misty go. So after goodbyes were said, the vet took care of Misty for the last time. A neighbor on our road came over with his backhoe and dug a nine foot grave between two evergreen trees on their property. They were able to lower Misty down with dignity and cover her resting place.

I can see that grave from our side of the fence. It is not far from the spot where Misty must have stood when I first met her on that pitch black night. I know what it is like to lose beloved pets. But none of ours have been the kind of companion Misty was for Bobsie. She feels sure she will see Misty again one day. I hope she is right.

Rest in peace, Misty.