Ranch Life and Death
in Lockhart, Texas
The January cold sipped at our souls as we trudged down the slope of the grassy pasture. The heat I keep safe inside my mouth leeched out my cheeks, breezing past my brow, disappearing into the grey world behind us. It was half past noon, but the air of twilight swept through the story.
Ahead, a gray stallion lay motionless in the frost-drenched grass.
Joan Marie and Eryn lead the way to the final effort we’d all give together in getting Maverick, the 30+ year old stallion, the name-sake of the ranch, up on his feet again.
We discovered him down after coming in for my first day of work to help feed the animals at dawn. He wouldn’t get up. This was the 5th time he’d been in such a state over the past few months, and spirits were resolved to cope. No matter what, ranch life goes on. He was a good ol’ boy, and this time he wasn’t contributing his own efforts to the work of the tractor and the people and the straps to get himself back on his feet.
Ultimately, we couldn’t complete the mission. Maverick was resolved to stay down. All 1600 lbs of him were ready to rest and rest for good. This newly normalized Texas frost stalled not only the cities and roads but the hearts, too, of the animals who lived it.
As the new office recruit, I was sent back up to the office while last moments were had.
Debbie came by, a heroic, mature woman who looked like Zena the Warrior Princess plus an extra lifetime. She’d take on the pain of the final duty. “If anyone’s looking for me, I’m going to be having some nicotine before I have to do this.” I nodded. My heart nodded. My pupils nodded.
My respect for the process of methodical grief only grows.
Debbie went off for a time, and I did all I could to help. I logged receipts and answered emails. The women of my new workplace needed to focus fully on this very hands-on ranch duty, so my administrative tasks became that much more important for me to take care of for them. My fiancé’s sister once told me that to help her with the kids meant to help her with the other things so she could help her kids.
I dove back into the pile of paperwork.
When Debbie returned, she had a part of a gun in her hand. “Cover your ears for this.” She left, solemn and full of heart.
With abundant love,
I’m very sorry for your loss.