Saturday, Apr. 26, 2008

Doggone It! Sometimes things just turn out

About four months ago, my mare, Irish, was stricken with a horrible disease.

The 11-year-old mare, who is the last daughter of one of our original broodmares, was about seven months pregnant, and was doing well, until she foundered.

Founder is a painful disease that mostly affects a horse's feet, although it is really a systemic disease.

But in Irish's case, the focus was on her feet. She could barely walk, she was in extreme pain, and she laid down a lot.

Knowing that she was pregnant just made it worse for me.

When the veterinarian came to the ranch, he treated her for her founder, but he also was pretty pessimistic about her chances of holding on to her foal.

He checked to make sure the baby was still alive, which it was, but he told me that because of the pain and the medications that the mare had to be on, there was a good chance that she would abort.

Wow. That was depressing.

This would be the mare's third baby, and she was a great mom.

Last year, she had a gorgeous filly, but not enough white to be a Paint.

This year, I had been crossing my fingers for some color.

But I learned a few years ago, when Mary's baby died unexpectly at birth, that wanting anything other than a healthy foal often ends up as a big slap in the face.

After seeing that perfect little colt without any life, I realized that if Irish could just hang on, and have a healthy baby, I wouldn't care what she had.

It was a long, tough few months. We kept the mare up in a pen, and watched what she ate.

She was miserable -- spending a lot of time lying down and barely able to walk.

She had to take medicine to relieve her pain, and medicine to help her hang on to her foal. I felt so sorry for her, and so did everyone else.

When Irish walked, people would wince in sympathy.

But while we were watching her and I was worrying (seems to be my constant state of mind lately), Irish slowly advanced in her pregnancy.

She got bigger and bigger, and her due date got closer.

It was obvious that she was still pregnant, but I wasn't sure if the baby was going to be all right, after all that medication and the pain and stress that Irish went through.

The brown mare was due to foal on April 23, a Wednesday, and on the weekend before we decided to put her out in pasture with the rest of the broodmares.

Irish was happy as a lark, she hadn't had any grass for months. She actually walked better out there, probably because she was walking around more.

On Tuesday, the day before she was due, she looked ready. My friend checked her at 8 p.m., and I checked her at 8:30 p.m.

She was standing, hip cocked, with the rest of the broodmares, just hanging out.

So I went to bed. About 10 p.m., I was lying in bed and thinking about Irish. I thought about how I had bought her mother, so many years ago, against the recommendations of everyone who knew horses.

But that mare turned out to be one of our best broodmares, and I had promised her that if she had a filly when she foaled Irish, I would retire her. And I did.

That mare lived to be 29 years old, and Irish has followed in her mother's footsteps -- she's a great mom and an easy foaler.

The longer I laid there, the more I thought I should get up and check her.

So I finally got up, got dressed and went out to the field. Irish was standing in the same place, and the other mares were dozing, with babies sound asleep at their feet.

I turned around to leave, but then I saw something move. Yep, Irish had foaled. I got a quick look at it, found out that it was a Paint, and then took off for the house to get my phone.

Within minutes, all three of us were out in the barn, looking at this perfect little filly.

She is a bay, like her mom, and has tons of white. She ate and pooped and slept, just like a normal filly.

Every time a mare foals, I get a rush. It's probably like a drug high, but it's safer and I think it's more fun.

But this mare and this baby, on this cold, drizzy night, was even more of a miracle.

I had worried and fretted for so long, and here was this perfect little foal that couldn't be any better.

Her name is going to be either Faith or Hope. After all, we had the faith that Irish would make it, and we certainly hoped that she would. I

know that good medicine, a good veterinarian and good nursing helped get her through.

But I also know that there is something bigger, something we can't see, that made this baby a reality.

I realize that fact every time one of our mares foal, but this time, it really hit home.

Thanks, God, for a perfect baby, a healthy mare, and the knowledge that sometimes things turn out just right.

Reporter Carol Reiter can be reached at (209) 385-2486 or creiter@mercedsun-star.com.