Farm Farm


For the past few years this has been my favorite view; in the saddle, riding Jive on the endless trails in Wyoming.

On Friday night I got the devastating news that when I get to Wyoming I have to put Jive down. I don’t have a choice. I’m heartbroken.

I’ll tell you my understanding of what has happened, but I may have some of the facts wrong.

Jive sustained a terrible injury this winter. She must have reared up playing with Louie and got her front foot wedged in the metal fencing. She was like that all night. When she was discovered it took 3 of my friends to get her leg out it was wedged so tight in the fence. This is an injury that kills most horses, but Jive has been struggling to recover all spring. While she had spent the winter boarding with another friend, this spring she went back to board with my good friend Terry, who was not as pleased with her healing progress as she would have liked to be. Terry has been carefully monitoring her leg and was pleased with the progress of the healing.

I rode her just 3 weeks ago and was so pleased with her progress.

Kissing Jive at the end of my last ride on June 21st

About a week after I left in June Terry said she started going really lame and was in pain. She thought it was an abscess, which Jive is very prone to getting, and brought her to our vets, Dr. Theo. No absess could be found, and no normal pain treatment seemed to be alleviating her pain. When Theo x-rayed her, he discovered that her coffin bone had somehow become badly deformed. Our best guess is that because of the injury this winter she was putting too much weight on her other, most abscess prone, front leg. Somehow this has degraded the coffin bone and created scar tissue. There is nothing that we can do about it. Orthopedic surgeons have been consulted. Theo is just keeping her pain-free with blocks until I can get out there.

I’ve cried a river of tears since Friday, but kept the news to myself for over a day. I couldn’t talk about it yet. It was my father’s birthday yesterday and I didn’t want to put a damper on the event for my kids. Although it is my policy to speak openly and honestly with my children, my good friend Lisa Adams just happened to do a blog post on her site just the other day on this very subject. Taking strength from that article, this morning I couldn’t avoid it any longer so sat the girls down to tell them. It was hard. We all cried. It makes me very sad that my son won’t get to see her before I have to do this, as I don’t pick him up from camp until this coming Saturday.

Terry advised me not to be there. She said it’s awful to witness. But I feel like I have to be there for her. I feel like I’ve let her down.

I have had so much death this spring on my farm already. I’m tired. I’m weary. I can’t believe I have to do this.


  1. I am so very sorry. My thoughts are with you. There are no other words.

    Susan and Bentley

  2. Oh, Aimee… I am just reading this now. I can understand why you didn’t tell me before you went but I am sad I could not be a good friend and listen and hug you. I am thinking of you and Jive. She is so beautiful and I know you love her so much. I am sorry I won’t get to meet her.

  3. Dearest Aimee,
    I am just seeing this. I am so very sorry for your loss. I’ll have to do better at keeping up on things. Warmest hugs.

Speak Your Mind