The Death of a Champion
In case you haven't heard, Barbaro, the winner of the 2006 Kentucky Derby was put down this morning after a nearly nine month struggle for survival.
Barbaro broke has right rear ankle just yards from the gate of the Preakness Stakes last May and an injury that would have ended most horses lives that day put him on a great journey of struggle and survival.
That journey ended this morning when after complications with his ankle it was determined that it was best to end Barbaro's suffering.
I can only image the loss the owners, trainers and vets who have loved and cared for Barbaro over this past 9 months feel. I have pets and have had to make the difficult decision to end their lives here, to put an end to their suffering and pain, in a hope that they will rest easy.
Growing up in New York, my family had two cats, Tiger and Whiskers. They were both outside cats and often got themselves in trouble. When Whiskers was about 5 years old, one cold winter morning, she was hiding under a recently driven car. The engine was warm and it was away from the wind.
My dad had returned home because he forget something and was quickly back into the car and started it when he heard the thud. Backing the car up he saw the cat lying in the middle of the driveway, not dead, but seriously injured. She had been sitting on a ledge by the radiator of the car and when the engine started she jumped down hitting the engine fan on her way down.
My dad immediately grabbed her wrapped her in a blanket and was off the the vet. She had to have her right ear removed and part of her tail had been cut off by the fan. And so we had a one eared cat with half a tail. A few years later, Whiskers came to the back door with a month full of blood. We don't now exactly what happened to her, but our best guess is she was hit by a motorcycle. Off to the vet again. This time she had to have her jaw wired shut. We had to hand feed her for a month. But she survived.
She would often come home cut, scraped, and who knows what else, but it seemed she always found a way to survive. Her brother, Tiger, and yes they were litter mates, was just as rough. He seemed to enjoy picking fights with the raccoons and other neighborhood cats, he usually won.
It seemed the only thing he couldn't beat was a car, or so we thought. One morning my neighbor ran our doorbell (by this time I was at college). He had found Tiger lying the the middle of our front lawn. He was not moving his back legs and looked to be in pretty bad shape. So again my dad grab a blanket and rushed off the the vet. By a strange set of circumstances I was planning on being home from college that weekend, and when I received the call from my mom that Tiger (who had always been my cat) was severely injured and might not live through the night, I immediately left for the 7 hour drive home. I met my dad at the vet's office and their was Tiger, bright eyed and purring like there was no tomorrow (which might have been truer then he ever knew). The vet explained to me and my dad his chances and what was wrong with him. The car (or whatever hit him) shattered his right knee and dislocated and broke his left hip. At the time of the accident Tiger was 12 years old. We were faced with the decision to put him down or try to literally rebuild him. The vet suggested we wait until morning.
The next morning we called the vet. We decided that in his best interest,we would put him down, but to our surprise the vet was quite optimistic about Tiger. He told us that during the night Tiger had managed to role himself over, something he should not have been able to do given his condition. His appetite was also good, as was his spirit. He purred loudly whenever anyone would enter the room. With this new knowledge we decided to go ahead and have the surgery to rebuild his hind quarters.
After a long surgery and months of rehab, Tiger lived a fairly normal life. He was able to jump, run (although at 13 years old and an indoor cat now running was way to much exertion!) and harass his sister Whiskers! The outdoors became a safe haven for Whiskers and she spent much of her time their. Tiger enjoyed his life of luxury inside.
Then one raining day in January, I had finished college and was living at home for a year, I saw Whiskers lying on the back porch in the rain. It seemed odd, because she really didn't like to get wet. I went outside with a towel and realized that she had passed on. After all the crazy things that this cat had been through, she just died quietly on the back porch. We buried her in the backyard.
Tiger on the other hand, wasn't done yet. He went on to live with my brother in North Carolina for another 6 years. He became the patriarch of their multi-cat family. Then one day he to quietly passed on.
By this time I had moved to Wisconsin. There I was adopted by a cat named Jig. Jig was an unusual cat and had a strange story. She was "cat-napped" on a mission trip in the Upper peninsula of Michigan and was living with a friend of mine in Wisconsin. When I first moved to Wisconsin I stayed at my friends house until I got an apartment. Jig immediately took a liking to me. She always slept in the guest bed with me. During the night she would steal my glasses and hide them. It was really pretty funny watching this cat run around the house with my glasses in her mouth. When I would come home from work, Jig would be waiting for me at the door. When I finally got my own apartment my friend offer me Jig. How could I refuse!
Jig was not what I would call a social creature. In fact even though she never left the house and was strictly an indoor cat, there would be days when I would not see her. The only evidence that she did not get locked out of the house would be her emptied food bowl. She would hide under the bed when I had guests over, but at night when I would watch TV or be reading, she would sit in my lap, just purring away.
Jig enjoyed playing with golf tees and playing cards. She would caring them around the house, toss them in the air, and chase after them. One time after Patsy and I had moved to Minneapolis, a bird had gotten into our house (probably down the chimney). The bird would fly from one room to the next with two cats a two dogs close behind. It was Jig who finally figured out that if she sat in the middle of the living room the bird would fly by and she could grab it. And sure enough, she jumped nearly five feet stright up from a dead stop and plucked that bird right out of the air. Oddly enough she didn't kill it. Instead she carried it to the basement until Patsy came and took it from her.
My wife still jokes me that I loved that cat more then I love her. I try a assure her that is absurd. Two years ago I had to put Jig down. She had a tumor in her chest. It went undetected because of were it was. In fact we only discovered it when the cancer started to effect other parts of here body. So on all Saints Day, I drove her to our vet and put her out of her suffering. I held her in my arms as life left her body. It was an odd feeling. She was nervous to be at the vet's office (it was never a good experience for her), she sat in my lap like she always did and as I watch her last breath I cried.
It's strange the way we can bond with animals and how they can bond with us.
Jig the Cat and I spent 11 wonderful years together. I love my other pets as well and know that when time comes for us to part it will be just as difficult for me.
I know it must have been difficult for the owners of a Champion like Barbaro.
Good bye Barbaro. May you always find green pastures and run like the wind!
posted by Matt @ 1:32 PM
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