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Thor was a rescue horse, owned by southcentral Alaska resident Ruth Hersinger. I wrote the following for the October 2007 AIHA Newsletter.

Thor’s Passing

The death of Thor, Ruth Hirsinger’s Icelandic, has left those of us who knew him feeling sad and dejected. I have sought solace in the fact that the six-year old stallion’s departure brought out the best in Ruth, her husband Michael, and a handful of friends and equine professionals. Memory is subjective, so our accounts of his death all differ. My version is as follows.

It was 9:30 p.m. Wednesday evening, September 5. I was at work, when on a whim, I called Ruth. Michael answered the phone, and I asked him how it was going.

“Not good,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Thor. We don’t know exactly what happened, but we think that this afternoon, he got tangled in his rope, and flipped over the berm near where he was tied. He’s in rough shape. Dr. Holland was here a few hours ago. She says he’s in shock.”

“I’ll be right over,” I said.

“We’d really appreciate it,” Michael replied

On the half-hour drive to the Hirsinger/Hofmayer place, I hoped against hope that Thor was okay. Ruth had acquired Thor in March – she, Susan Dedrick, Brandi Herr, and I drove down to Copper Center, loaded him into my trailer, and, trucked him back to Palmer. Ruth spent the entire spring and summer, training Thor, building a barn, constructing fencing, and putting up hay. In July she found a companion for Thor. In late summer/early fall, Ruth, Michael, Thor, and Diablo (a jet black Shetland pony) did two (in the words of Ruth “awesome”) backpack trips.

I arrived at Ruth and Michael’s at 10:30 p.m. There, in a tromped-down patch of grass, sat Ruth, cradling her horses’ head. Thor, blanketed, twitched an ear and sighed. Between sobs, Ruth said that Dr. Holland had been realistic about Thor’s being able to recover from his fall, explaining to her that on an average, two out of fifty horses survived something like this.

“She said that if he gets up by morning he’ll be okay,” Ruth said, adding, “He was sweating, but now he’s cooled off some. I think this is a good sign, don’t you?”

I wiped away the tears that were forming in my eyes, and then began assisting Ruth with a process that had already become routine. Every hour, on the hour, we turned Thor, so that he would not suffer from Compartment Syndrome, a fatal condition which affects recumbent horses.

Dr. Holland had, before giving Thor fluids and Banamine, shown Ruth and Michael how to turn him over. Essentially, you tie a rope to the horses’ front downward side foot, pull upwards, and flip him over. This would have been easier, if say, Thor had gone down in a large, level, open area. However, cramped space, uneven ground, and sharp sticks made this process much more difficult.

Between turns, Ruth and I did TTouches, some of which included ear slides, python lifts, mouth work, and tail slides. And every so often we poured cupfuls of water into Thor’s mouth, and fed him wisps of hay. From the beginning, the small bay horse let us know when he needed turning, by thrashing and kicking. Sometimes he rose to a near sitting position, but then flopped back onto his side. We urged him on every time he sat up, of course hoping that he would stand, shake himself off, and race back to his pen and paddock.

I cursed when around midnight, it started raining. Michael, undaunted, constructed a temporary shelter, using a tarp, ladders, ropes, poles, and trees, then illuminated our area with a halogen light. Ruth seldom left Thor; when she did, it was to fetch buckets, blankets, chairs, and pads. When complete, the area resembled what I jokingly referred to as a “horsepital.”

At 3 a.m., Ruth and I again prepared to turn Thor. This time, Ruth fell off balance, onto a stump. And I fell on top of her.

“I can’t move my legs,” I muttered.

Ruth, gasping for air, explained to me that I was pinned under Thor’s leg, and that she was pinned under mine.

The horse, amused, lifted his head and watched, as we humans struggled to

get back on our own feet.

At 7 a.m., dawn, I discovered that Thor’s ears and legs, which earlier, had been room temperature, now felt cold to the touch. TTouches brought limited heat back into Thor’s limbs, and as well, boasted our sagging spirits.

By 8 a.m. Michael, Ruth and I appeared to be moving in slow motion. Our pace picked up when Ruth’s neighbor, Cecily Fritz appeared. Shortly thereafter, Dr. Brown (via the phone) and Dr. Holland (in person) agreed with Cecily’s assessment, adding that Thor needed to be lifted into a standing position, otherwise, his internal organs would suffer irreparable damage.

Michael suggested that we move Thor the eight hundred-or-so yards under the house deck, and set him up in a sling. I, like Dr. Holland, was dubious about this idea for I too did not see how we’d get the horse over the berm, and across the yard. However, I remained quiet, for I knew from experience that together, Michael and Ruth are people of action.

Michael, energized by the seemingly improbable task of getting a 650 pound horse onto his feet, set out in search of the proper equipment. He called his friend Kevin, who appeared with what Michael called a “whale stretcher,” a heavy-duty orange plastic sheet with handles. (Michael, who along with his friend works for the Anchorage Fire Department as both a firefighter and a paramedic explained that this device is used to transport heavy people, hence the slang term.) He also spoke with the local road crew, (who had an excavator on hand,) and rounded up slings.

Brandi and Sue appeared at 10 a.m. Sue fed us all, and both she and Brandi began assisting with Thor’s care. The conversation occasionally drifted away from Thor, in the direction of Silfra. Three weeks previously, Brandi’s daughter’s mare had cast herself in her shelter and died, leaving a three-month old foal behind.

Michael reappeared with Kevin, and I left momentarily, to return to the house and re-heat a buckwheat bag, a quasi-heating pad that we were using to warm up Thor’s legs and back. Upon my return, I discovered that Michael had, in my absence, enlisted the services of a nearby road crew. The excavator driver was now moving the berm that separated the horsepital area from the pathway leading to Ruth and Michael’s house. These five guys made what otherwise would have been impossibility, a possibility, by tying the sling ropes on the excavator bucket, and then lifting him. Once Thor was up off the ground Ruth positioned his legs in a way that enabled him to stand upright. If, as Dr. Holland had said, he both put weight on his legs, and stayed upright, say for 15 minutes, he’d stand a fighting chance. I turned away, sobbing, as Thor thrashed about like a dangling marionette – his neck and his head hung limp.

“Lower him,” Ruth said. It was now 1 p.m. It was decided to let Thor rest for a while, and to try again later. Ruth, Brandi, and I resumed doing Ttouches.

“What now?” I finally asked.

“Dr. Holland is right – something must be wrong with his neck,” Ruth said.

I suggested that we call Sharon Blake, a holistic veterinarian, who does chiropractic work. She arrived around 2 p.m. with her husband, Norm. After doing some manipulative work, she confirmed what we were all thinking – that Thor’s neck was either badly dislocated or broken.

“Do you think that he should be euthanized?” Ruth asked.

Sharon nodded.

Ruth’s shoulder sagged, as Sharon gave her a hug.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to call Dr. Holland,” Ruth said.

Dr. Holland, who was at that moment in Anchorage, said that she’d be by in another hour or so.

The road crew workers were subsequently told that there was no need to again lift Thor. He was instead left to rest, in order to gather up his energy for what would be his journey to the Rainbow Bridge. For the next two hours, Cecily, Brandi, Sue, and I comforted Ruth, At some point, someone handed me a wine cooler. I examined the label, and read what it said outloud; “The hardest of times are the best of times.”

“Crap,” Brandi said.

Her utterance summarized how I then felt. What had happened to Thor was ridiculously unfair. Why Ruth? Why Thor? Why, why? why?

Dr. Holland found us all, tired, weary, sad, hanging out with Thor. She did what she had to do in an efficient and empathetic manner. And the next day, the road crew gently lowered Thor’s body into place and covered it.

I have since thought long and hard about Thor and his last twenty four hours on this earth. Each and every Icelandic horse that I’ve ever met has taught me something valuable, and Thor was no exception. Slowly, I have come to realization that at the time of his death, he brought out the best in those who cared about and for him. And this then, is what I will most remember about him.

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