Goodbye George

‘Goodbye lovely Boy’, John strokes the horse’s neck; breathes him in.

‘We tried everything’, he ruffles his wide hand over the black mane.

Asks his tired daughter to take a photograph. Her eyes well.

Sedated, George stumbles past inquisitive, whinnying, stablemates.

The groom strokes quivering dappled flanks.

She halts,and gives George a mint at the entrance of a sandy space, shielded by metal sheets,

near where a horse box’s ramp lowers.

The vet tucks a canula into George’s 17-hand shoulder.

The groom’s mouth twists and eyes clench as the vet injects,

 then braces both hands upon George’s halter. Their heads lean together,

 like old friends embraced in a loving goodbye.

George’s breath deepens, lips tremble to a body-wide ripple and leg-buckling collapse.

Those once-fleet fetlocks flick as if cantering into the navy light of winter fields.

I leave before his muscular, elegant limbs are tethered and George’s hefted away.