It started with a knock on the door in the early hours of February 4, 2021.
Two taps, gentle yet urgent. A sound I have never forgotten, and one which still wakes me from my sleep to this day.
Our rescue dog, Oscar, awoke milliseconds before us. My partner Paul went downstairs and opened the door to a female and male police officer, who delivered the news to Paul that his dad, David, was in hospital and was not going to survive.
We gathered what we needed, made arrangements with my family to look after Oscar and I drove us from our home in Derry to Craigavon Area Hospital. On our arrival to the hospital, staff very gently guided us into hazmat suits and took us to David’s room to say our goodbyes. We’re extremely grateful to the staff of the hospital for allowing us that precious time.
David’s love for animals, particularly horses, was innate and he shared that love with everyone in his life. In all my years visiting his home in Tyrone, he would often take me out to the stables to help with his horses. While I have always been a person who loves animals, unashamedly so, I didn’t really know much about horses. That would change. When he died, David had one remaining horse. His name was Rambo.
In the years since, Paul and I spent weekends in his dad’s house, allowing him to sort through copious amounts of paperwork while keeping his home house ‘lived in’ and caring for Rambo.
A gentle-natured Stallion, Rambo was what was known as a ‘box walker’ and became stressed and anxious in stables, so he was always an outside horse. This was fine in the summertime, but I started to worry about him as the colder, windier weather and snow eventually arrived. I found myself downloading weather apps and setting my alarm clock for 4.45am a few mornings during the week to drive to Tyrone to check on him and then on to work, even though there was no need as Paul’s cousin Tanya and her partner Sebastian tended to him during the week. At first, I would find a sleeping Rambo, and then he became wise to my antics and he used to wait for me at the gate of the field. If I couldn’t see him, I’d go into the field and call his name. I would then hear the thundering of his hooves in the field coming towards me. He would gently stop at my feet and we’d walk over to the gate. I’d have his meal and corn already in a bucket mixed with linseed oil because Rambo wasn’t known for patience when it came to his food. He’d by munching away, while I would be chatting to him or combing his mane. I’d take plenty of photos and videos, and then set off on my way to work, content in the knowledge that he was happy and well.
Rambo in one of his many blankets.
We had a collection of winter to spring blankets for Rambo. While he loved to feel the heat from a blanket, there was nothing he liked more than the arrival of sunny, warm weather so that he could be free of his coat after a long winter.
The years rolled around like that, and suddenly Rambo was 31 years of age. And, as anyone who has ever cared for an animal or pet knows, that inevitable day arrives, be it expected or otherwise. For us, it came as a bolt out of the blue on Christmas Eve.
The sun was low when we arrived at 12.35pm. We couldn’t see Rambo initially and I’d gone into the field to call him. When he didn’t come, we began filling his food and water buckets and then looked for him again. I looked directly across the field and saw him at the far end. Looking back, I think he was trying to camouflage himself against the low sun.
We began calling him but he didn’t come. It looked like he was eating the grass, but as I walked towards him I saw that he was sniffing the grass. Paul got his head collar and attempted to bring him down the field. He was very reluctant at first. When we led him to his food and water he wasn’t interested. He was breathing heavily, and in my heart I knew that it was that dreaded day.
The vet, Conor, arrived and carried out some checks and was immediately able to tell us that Rambo’s heart rate was high and his blood pressure was very low. “He’s very unwell,” he told us, as he gave him some pain relief and advised that we take him into the stables to allow him to carry out further checks. A scan of Rambo’s abdominal cavity revealed his small intestine had stopped working. Due to his age, surgery was not an option. Rambo was bleeding internally which was leading to sepsis. It all came as a huge shock as Rambo had been fine the day before. We knew the kindest thing to do was to let him go. While we were still in the stables the vet gave him a sedative to make him comfortable. He gave us as much time as we wanted with Rambo. We were hugging and kissing him, and told him that David was waiting for him. We walked him back out to the field where Conor administered two further syringes before he and Paul pressed on Rambo’s back end, making him go gently to the ground. As he did this, Paul removed Rambo’s head collar, so that he was completely free. Rambo turned on his left hand side, crossed his hooves and went to sleep at 2.30pm in our arms as I was rubbing his face. He would have turned 32 on New Year’s Day. He was a remarkable horse, full of emotional intelligence with a calming presence. It was a privilege to play our part in caring for him. He helped us more than he knew.
My alarm clock is still set for 4.45am.
