Time

Today marks one week since Ernie was put down. It's been getting better, but it's a slow and painful process. I don't show what I'm feeling inside half the time: I can talk about him without breaking down now, even joke about his quirks, but behind the smile and the laughter is a lot of hurt.

I cleaned his stall a couple days ago, after looking at it every day with tears rolling down my face. It's part of the healing process, I think: accepting that he (spiritually) is with me, but he (physically) is not. His stall will be inhabited by another horse in less than two months: someone else will eat from his grain dish, drink from his water bucket, and graze in his paddock. I'll have to get used to it. But for now, it's still his to me.

Stella has been OK, for the most part. I can't tell if I never noticed how quiet and relaxed she really is because Ernie always seemed the opposite, but it's been so odd to notice how laid back this mare is. I was worried she was depressed or going through some sort of withdrawal, but I think this is just her. I was so preoccupied with Ernie I don't think I ever appreciated her relaxed nature.

What has been getting old already is the boarding mare across from Stella, who has taken up Ernie's place as the worried, poorly socialized herd buddy. She's started screaming and pacing her stall, walking the fenceline, and acting like a total idiot when I take Stella out, put her out to pasture, bring her to the arena, anytime she isn't in the barn. It's exactly like what Ernie used to do. This mare hasn't ever had any real contact with either horse other than seeing them across the aisle...why this has started I don't know. Maybe this is destined to be Ernie's legacy: I hope not, there are so many other things I'd rather remember, but it's been a very sad and sobering reminder to hear the calls when I leave the barn with her.