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Saturday, Nov. 14, 2009

Carol Reiter: The miracle of little Itsy

This is Mary's baby."

That's all it took to get everyone's attention in the veterinarian's barn.

When I said those words, three people turned and looked at me and at the weanling that was standing, head drooping, in the stocks that were much too big for her little body.

Mary's little weanling, the miracle baby, the baby that was never supposed to be, was colicking and pain medication was the only thing that had gotten her up off the cold morning ground, into a horse trailer, and to the vet's.

That little weanling, named Itsy because she is so small compared to Willy's other babies, is my friend's pride and joy. She has told me, over and over, that she doesn't care if Itsy just stands in a field the rest of her life, that baby is a miracle and she has a home for life.

But early that morning, when the sun was just starting to peek over the mountains, that little baby was down, unwilling or unable to get up, and she deteriorated quickly.

My friend was out of town, enjoying her first vacation in a year, and I had to make a phone call that made both of us cry.

Itsy was dying.

I have seen other horses die, it's never nice. So many long years ago, I watched a very pretty mare die from acute liver disease, a strange and unusual reason for a horse to die. I have watched horses die from colic, and from massive injuries.

And they all had the same look. The look that Itsy had. The look of the dying.

But the vet had gotten to our place that cold Monday morning, and pumped Itsy full of pain medication and we got her to the vet's office. And now Itsy was in the stocks, ready to fight the fight of her short, six-month-long life.

The fact that it was Mary's baby got everyone's attention. My friend had spent literally thousands of dollars at that vet's barn, trying to get Mary bred, and finally gave up. As a last gasp, she bred Mary to Willy, and then we just let Mary be a horse, a 21-year-old mare who just wasn't going to have another baby.

But Mary did get bred to Willy. We didn't know until just weeks before she foaled, and our attitude was that no matter what Mary had -- a colt, a filly, a baby with a lot of color, a plain brown baby -- it would be a miracle.

And it was. Every life is a miracle, but that little tiny dark bay baby, born on Mother's Day, was truly a miracle, a foal born with her head up and her impossibly long legs ready to greet life.

Itsy had spent laid-back months with her doting mother, and she was weaned along with four male weanlings. Those four burly, rambunctious colts were with her that morning, when her belly pain laid her flat out.

When our veterinarian came out of his office to treat Itsy, he asked how old she was. I told him she was six months old, and then I said "This is Mary's baby."

Those four words told our vet everything he needed to know. He had fought the good fight along with my friend, trying to get Mary bred during those frustrating years. He had been surprised, along with us, when we found out that Mary was bred.

And he knew how special Itsy is to my friend, and that's all he needed to know.

Itsy ended up with intravenous lines taped to her small neck, and then she ended up in surgery. We all held our breaths, and I know I wasn't the only one saying a prayer for that little horse.

And now it's a few days later, and Itsy still occupies the recovery stall near the surgery table. She is doing well, her little body encircled by a big bandage, and her eyes bright again. We are all keeping our fingers crossed, our prayers steady, and hoping that the little brown filly, our little miracle foal, will pull another miracle out of her bag of tricks.

On the way home from work at the end of that long, horrid Monday, I heard a song on the radio. An old song, a song about an angel coming down from heaven, and I had sudden peace.

Mary's little filly is like a miracle from heaven for us, and when I heard that song, I had the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Itsy was going to be OK. She was in surgery at the exact time I heard the song, and I had cried so many times that day that my eyes were swollen almost shut.

But when I heard from my friend late that night, heard that Itsy was out of surgery and doing pretty darn well, I thought to myself that Itsy truly is a miracle.

Mary's little baby, that petite filly that sticks out like a sore thumb among colts that stand almost a foot taller than she does, looks like she's going to make it.

She had a lot of people pulling for her, and a lot of people saying a prayer for her. And it looks like it worked.

There's another old song that says "I believe in miracles," and I can totally relate to that song. I believe in miracles, because I've seen one, and her name is Itsy.

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