This is a true story my mom wrote years ago about one her Appaloosa mares. My mom told me tonight that listening to my stories with Sandy a.k.a Pistol reminded her what she had gone through with a this particular mare & her twins! I pray the outcome is not the same for Sandy! Grab some Kleenex! It's a tear jerker!
On March 20, 1975, an event took place which I will probably never experience again, nor can I say, will I ever want to. It was an event which Larry, my husband, and I had been waiting for eleven months, but the outcome was totally unexpected.
The previous April, I had bred my registered Appaloosa mare, Centurion’s Shy Anne, to a beautiful Appaloosa stallion. I had raised Shy Anne from birth, as I still owned her mother, Centurion Freckles, affectionately known as Deabilene. My future dream was to breed this little filly and carry on the family line. So, when I had Shy Anne bred, my dream was becoming a reality.
After months of pampering my “pregnant little girl”, the time was drawing near. We had been watching her very closely; waiting for the slightest sign that the time was at hand for her to become a mommy.
On this particular night, we had noticed that Shy Anne seemed restless and her appetite was quite diminished. About 11:00 P.M., we went out to check on her once again, and sure enough, she was pacing her stall, getting up and down, searching for the right place. It was time!
I immediately rushed into the house to phone my dad, who I wanted with us in case an emergency arose. He had worked with horses practically all of his life, and he was just as interested in Shy Anne’s first baby as Larry and I.
Just as my dad arrived, Shy Anne had picked the place for her baby to be born and layed down to give birth. At 11:30, the foal appeared…it was a colt, a little boy! I had wanted a filly, a little girl, but my dad had wanted a colt. We had even placed bets on what it would be. Well, my dad was right. Shy Anne had a son: a little brown colt.
Immediately, Shy Anne got up to welcome her new son to the world. She nudged him, licked him softly, and gave a few soft nickers of love to him. Then, quite suddenly, she layed down again. It surprised me but I figured, she must just be exhausted from all her work. Larry shined the flashlight on her, to make sure she was alright. Then, to our complete amazement, another set of hooves was slowly making their way into the world. With all of us standing there with our mouths hanging open, we witnessed the birth of another baby! It was a filly! A little girl! Just what I had wanted.
Each of us spent about 30 minutes going from one foal to another, rubbing then down with towels to help dry them off. All this time, Shy Anne was walking from one foal to another, trying her best to give each one equal attention and care. She seemed to be as confused as we were in her attempts to care for two babies.
A normal, single-birth foal will usually not take more than one hour to stand up by itself, but an hour came and went, and both were still on the ground, gazing at their new surroundings. Almost two hours later, the colt discovered that he did have legs and awkwardly pushed himself up. There he stood, all four legs spread apart, wondering what to do next. Larry and I carefully guided him to his mother so he could begin drinking the nourishment he needed. Then, with my dad and Larry helping the colt, I decided to concentrate on helping the filly.
I went over and sat down on the ground next to her. As I sat there stroking her soft body, I could tell that she was weaker than her brother for she had not made any attempts to stand. I knew that she must get some nourishment soon, or else she would continue to become weaker. Quickly, I went to the house to get a baby bottle, then came back and started to “milk” Shy Anne. I fed the bottle to the filly which she drank quite eagerly.
It was now 4:00 a.m. and I knew we had done all we could for the time being. The colt was doing fine, and the filly, though still weak, had a full belly of milk which would hold her for a while. We decided we would let them be alone and get some rest; which seemed like a good idea for us, too.
At 9:00 a.m. the same morning, the vet arrived to check the threesome. He seemed surprised that both foals appeared healthy. Then he gave us instructions to feed the filly ever hour on the hour until she could gain enough strength to stand and feed herself.
So, we spent all of our time rotating the hours among us and bottle-feeding the filly. By Sunday, my dad, Larry, and I looked like walking zombies due to the lack of sleep. The filly had not tried to stand yet, but she continued to take in all of the milk we offered her.
Late Sunday afternoon, I noticed the filly seemed to be weakening. She no longer would raise her head from the ground. I laid her head in my lap and let the milk trickle down her throat. She seemed to be giving up, but I was not going to let her! I would just have to keep giving her the milk, and she would eventually perk up…she had to!
I decided to call the vet, as I could tell she was running a temperature and becoming more listless. An hour went by, and the vet finally arrived. He checked her completely and told us that all the milk we had given her was still in her stomach. This meant that she must not be fully developed internally because her body was not breaking down the proteins and sending the nourishment through her body. I fought back the tears, as I had watched the vet give her a direct I.V., which he seemed sure would help.
At 10:00 that night, Larry came in and told me that she had taken all her milk for that hour, and that I should try to get some sleep. My dad decided to spend the night and he would take the next hour’s feeding.
I was awake when my dad came in after his 11 o’clock feeding, so I got up to ask him how she was. He said she had gotten all the milk down her but her condition had not improved; she was still weak and listless.
At midnight, the alarm clock went off to remind me it was time for me to go feed her. I dressed quickly, prepared the bottle, and started to the barn. When I got to the door, I looked down at the small lifeless body lying on the warm straw. With tears streaming down my face, I bent over her and rubbed her soft neck.
“You just couldn’t do it, could you, girl?”, I said to her. “You sure gave it one hell of a try, though!” And she had… we all had.
I said my good-byes to her; she had tried so hard. I gave her a final stroke on the head. “No more suffering, little girl”. I got up from the straw and walked slowly back to the house, holding the bottle still full of warm milk.
Cherié A. (Gump) Lacher
March 1975
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