Echoes of the resurrection on the farm

Over at Roger Ebert’s blog, you can read the simple account of an animal lover, Tom Dark, and his dying horse Clay. Having done all the things that Episcopalians tend to do from the middle of Holy Week through to Sunday, we bet you’ll find redemption and delight in it.

Here’s a taste.

Apart from how much it hurts to see such a magnificent creature die in front of you, the prospect on a Sunday morning sunrise of where to put a dead animal that weighs a thousand pounds or more is not cheering. Catt called the vet and I had a little talk with Clay. He raised himself up enough to accept a neck-and-ears rub. He wouldn’t take a little apple-and-oat treat, something they adore more than God; that was a bad sign. His breath was short, punctuated with little groans. His rear legs lay under him as though useless. His tummy felt as hard as a rock. He liked the rub, though. Unusual for an animal as temperamental as a thoroughbred, which, unlike dogs, don’t usually have a lot of patience for it.

But Clay was listening to me. He seemed to remember that yesterday I’d promised him a little free-time outside the corral. The corral is plenty big enough for the lot of them to race around in, but that’s just not the same as being outside it. So I fetched his halter and a rope and walked him outside the little gate. The other horses were stunned, barely able to believe their eyes; one of their own had suddenly entered a distant universe.

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