It is with a heavy heart that I tell you that my Appaloosa gelding, Frisco, went on to greener pastures late last Saturday afternoon.

It's taken me the better part of a week to compose this e-mail; and trying to keep myself composed during this time has been extremely difficult. So many memories - too many to write about at one sitting - and way too many tears shed in remembering the good times and the not-so-good times.

Frisco had been lame all of his life. When I got him two years ago, he had a noticeable limp but didn't seem to be in too much pain. Over the last ten days or so, I noticed his limp had become more pronounced and that he spent quite a bit of time lying down or standing in a position which relieved the pressure on his front foot.

When I went out to feed Frisco early last Friday morning, I was not greeted by his usual whinny, or the impatient toss of his head and pawing of his foot as he waited for me to serve him his breakfast. As I entered his pasture and walked to the barn to pour his feed, he was not nudging my back or hanging over my shoulder or running ahead of me to get to his bucket. Instead, Frisco was standing quietly next to the pasture gate - seemingly reluctant to move. It was then that I noticed something different about him...that telltale sign that all animal owners dread...the fire in his eyes - that spark of mischief and spirit - was gone. Instead, in those big brown eyes, I saw pain and sensed, overall, that he was weary. With a little coaxing, he eventually did hobble to his feed bucket, but without his usual enthusiasm. In that moment, I knew that the time had come to put an end to his suffering. I made a tearful call to my sister, Elizabeth, who made all of the necessary arrangements to have a veterinarian friend of hers come to my house to perform the euthanasia.

I spent most of the day last Saturday pampering Frisk - a couple of cans of Diet Pepsi here, a little extra grain there, a few horse snacks, a little more feed, a nice cool shower when the temperature hit it's peak, etc. He loved the attention and was more lively than I've seen him in a long time (Of course, it could have been the caffeine from the Diet Pepsi). I even let him have the run of the yard for a good portion of the day...during which time he deftly picked all the apples that were within his reach off the apple tree in my front yard. It didn't matter that I had been pampering the tree for the last several years and that this is my first crop of apples... and I'll even overlook the fact that while he was at it he apparently gorged himself on the fruits of my fig tree (He left very few ripe ones and many of the green ones are half eaten).

Frisco's send-off has to be the most unorthodox euthanasia of all time - I'm serious! To the occasional passerby, the gathering at the back of the pasture Saturday afternoon probably looked more like a tailgate party than the somber affair it should have been. In actuality, it was a party - complete with several pizzas and beer...lots of beer...much to the delight of the guest of honor.

We were a motley crew who gathered to say our goodbyes: Dr. Chris Thompson (Dr. Kevorkian of the veterinary world) arrived about 3:30 or so. My sister Elizabeth (vet tech extraordinaire) and brother-in-law, Kelly, arrived shortly afterwards in their pick-up truck - with a few bales of hay in the back (again, much to the delight of the guest of honor) - and with a generous supply of comfort food (the pizzas and beer).

My friend Normand was on hand with his backhoe to dig the grave (What? Did you think I was gonna manually dig a hole big/deep enough to bury a horse?). (Note to self: Get an aquarium and some fish, not another horse. No veterinarian needed to treat fish. No backhoe required to bury fish. When fish are sick or die, you just scoop them out of the tank with a net and flush them down the toilet. Also, fish will not raid your fruit trees or bite the paint off your vehicle).

As we made our way to the back of the pasture, towards the shade of the oak trees, near the site I had picked for his final resting place, Frisco eagerly followed the truck carrying the food – snatching mouthfuls of hay from the back of the pick-up along the way. I brought up the rear of the procession...or at least I thought I was the last one out there. As it turns out, all the commotion in the pasture had captured the attention of the chickens. So, not wanting to be left out of anything, Dink and Nugget joined us.

Well, folks, we spent the next hour or so eating pizza, drinking cold beer, and swapping stories! Frisco drank at least 6 or 8 beers...so many, in fact, that we honestly thought we might have to make a beer run before all was said and done. He ate whatever pizza he could bum from us - mostly crusts, but we did catch him with his head inside an unattended pizza box. No harm done - just a little hay mixed up in the toppings. Frisk was such a ham and so pesky that we actually had to keep pushing him away from us! He was in his element - the center of attention. Dink and Nugget managed to scavenge a few pizza crusts too, along with whatever bugs wandered by. In looking back, I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take pictures...it really was a happy gathering.

But all good things must come to an end. And in the end it was my sister who held Frisco's lead rope and stood at his head, petting him and uttering soothing words of praise and comfort to him throughout the procedure. She called him "handsome man" and told him that she was sure her two horses, Nonie and Vokie, were waiting to meet him on the other side and that he'd be in good company. She also assured him that in horse heaven he'd be whole again ... able to run without pain. Then I heard her whisper something in his ear about him also being able to sire lots of little appaloosa babies. When I questioned her about it later, and reminded her that Frisco been a gelding for over a year, she told me it was her belief that when he reached his final destination he'd be fully "restored" to his former self - "manly" parts included. I'd like to think she's right...for his sake. (I swear he died with a smile on his face.)

Dr. Thompson was wonderful - both personable and professional - and made Frisco's final gallop to horse heaven an unbelievably painless, smooth transition. First, there was a sedative to make Frisco drowsy and relaxed. Second, a shot that Dr. Thompson referred to as "heart attack in a syringe" which, within minutes, had done its job. It was a peaceful end for my dear friend.

Frisco was quite a character with tons of personality and, as such, had acquired many nicknames over the past couple of years. My mom referred to him as her "Grandhorse". I referred to him as: "Frisk," when he was being good; "Goofball," when he'd spook at the silliest things - like the old soccer ball that he was terrified of. No idea why, but when it was kicked in his direction, he'd go into an absolute frenzy of running, bucking and snorting. "Bad Egg," when I'd catch him raiding my bird feeders for birdseed or licking the nectar out of my hummingbird feeders; "Big Jerk," when he would mischievously dump over the wheelbarrow full of manure as I cleaned out his stall; "S.O.B.," when he'd walk up behind me and purposely push me into the pile of manure I was trying to pick up; and "*!@&%&," when he decided to use his teeth to pinstripe the trunk of my newly painted car. Frisk never met a stranger and was especially fond of anyone who brought food or beverage within his reach.

Folks, when it's time for me to leave this earth , I hope that I, too, will be surrounded by family, friends, and loved ones (please bring ribeye steaks and gin and tonic...lots of gin and tonic). I pray that my "Master" will lead me Home with as much celebration, peacefulness and dignity as he afforded my boy Frisco. I'd like to think that as I make my way toward Heaven's gate (By the way, in my Heaven it's a rustic old wooden gate leading to green meadows that stretch as far as the eye can see), that once again I'll hear a familiar whinny and be rewarded by the sight of Frisco - standing at the gate, tossing his head and pawing impatiently as if to say, "Hey, hurry up! What took you so long? I've been waiting..."