The burial of a beloved animal involves a lot of work, and introspection
By Annie Katz
I rent a little cottage on a horse farm in Southern Oregon. Before I moved here, I was afraid of horses, but now I respect and admire them.
Half a dozen horses board here, and on my daily walks I’ve befriended some of their owners and fallen in love with individual horses. I’ve watched the owners tend to their horses’ diets and ailments. And I’ve watched them shovel manure, mend fences, groom pastures and dress their horses in blankets, rain coats and mesh head masks to keep them comfortable in all seasons.
I’ve read books and watched documentary films about caring for horses, working with them and communicating with them. I’ve studied my horse neighbors and their humans carefully throughout these years, and I’ve learned a lot about interspecies love and devotion.
At the end of summer, one of the resident horses fell, broke his leg beyond repair and was put down with comfort drugs by the local vet. His owners and fellow horses were with him when he died.
I learned of his death early the next morning from the farmer who owns this property. She and a neighbor were in the pasture, so I went to help them build a tarp shade to protect the horse’s body from the sun while they arranged for someone to come dig a grave for him. When the tarp was in place, I knelt beside his body, stroked his face and neck and whispered my goodbyes while my heart overflowed with gratitude for his generosity, strength and kindness to me over the years.
It was my first time losing a horse friend, and I was surprised by how hard it hit me. I hugged his owner while we cried together. She was still in shock from his sudden passing. He was old, but his old horse friend had lots of health issues that they had been treating for more than a year. We all assumed the mare would pass before her mate did.
Later that day I went out to help with the burial. The farm owner and a neighbor with a backhoe tractor were there to dig the grave. At the end of the pasture where the horse had fallen, the neighbor dug a deep pit between two shady oak trees.
I wondered how they would get the thousand-pound corpse from one end of the pasture to the other. After some discussion, they tied heavy nylon straps on the horse’s legs and pulled his body to the pit with the tractor and then gently maneuvered the body down a sloped edge until it rested at the bottom. The farmer brought fresh flowers to adorn the body, and the horse’s owner climbed down into the pit to say her final goodbyes.
When she was safely above ground again, we shared memories and stories about the deceased while we watched the backhoe driver cover the body. He was careful not to let big rocks land on the horse, and we admired his skill and consideration.
I was so impressed with the naturalness of the horse’s funeral that I said I wanted to be buried right there in the same way. The backhoe driver said that another neighbor down the road had buried her father on their family farm a few weeks earlier. They had filled out the required paperwork with the county for a legal burial on private property.
Years earlier, when I had first moved into the cottage, the farmer told me about burying her first horse there, and I told her I wanted to be buried near her horse. She had laughed, thinking I was joking, but I wasn’t. When I announced my wishes again this time, she didn’t laugh. Instead, she said she’d been thinking she might want her own body to be buried on this beloved land where she had raised her children.
A natural, simple burial on a lovely farm seems like a happy ending for anyone’s life. I am grateful to my dear horse friend and to those who loved him for showing me a gentle, dignified way to rest in peace.
Annie Katz is a retired educator living in Ashland. She has studied philosophy and spiritual practices all her life and now writes novels for fun. Readers may contact her at katzannie33@gmail.com.
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