Marie-Claire's Horse

Parish

Chapter 26: Marie-Claire's Horse

The lameness has been building. Clem has seen it over the past three trims, the lameness that was not lameness at first but was the suggestion of lameness, the slight hesitation in the left front stride that a person who did not know horses would not notice and that a person who did know horses would notice but would not name, the not-naming being the hope, the hope that the hesitation is temporary, is a stone bruise, is a soft-tissue strain, is the kind of thing that resolves on its own because the body resolves most things on its own if the body is given the time and the chance.

But the hesitation has not resolved. The hesitation has progressed. The hesitation has become the lameness, the lameness being the visible form of the hesitation, the visible form that cannot be ignored, cannot be un-named, the visible form that Clem sees when Marie-Claire leads Dex out of the shed on a Thursday morning in the third week of September, the leading being the walking and the walking being the revelation, the revelation of the limp that is no longer a hesitation but a favoring, the favoring of the left front that shortens the stride and lowers the head on the left diagonal and produces the characteristic asymmetry that is lameness, the asymmetry being the body's announcement that something is wrong.

Clem watches Dex walk. He watches the way he has watched a thousand horses walk, with the eyes that are calibrated to detect the asymmetry, the eyes that see the shortened stride and the head-bob and the toe-first landing that says: The heel hurts, the heel is the problem, the pain is in the back of the foot. He watches and he sees and the seeing is the beginning of the diagnosis.

He asks Marie-Claire to trot Dex. The trot is the diagnostic gait, the gait at which the lameness is most visible because the trot is a two-beat gait, the horse alternating between diagonal pairs of legs, the alternation producing the symmetry that lameness disrupts, the disruption being more visible at the trot than at the walk because the trot's symmetry is more precise, more mechanical, more easily broken by the body's compensation for the pain.

Dex trots. The lameness is clear. The left front is the problem. The head drops on the right front (the good leg) and rises on the left front (the bad leg), the rise being the body's flinch, the body flinching away from the pain that the left front produces when the left front bears weight, the weight being the thousand pounds of horse pressing down on the hoof that hurts, and the hurting produces the flinch, and the flinch is the lameness.

Grade three out of five. The lameness scale that veterinarians use: Grade one is barely perceptible. Grade two is visible at the trot. Grade three is consistently visible at the trot and apparent at the walk. Grade four is obvious at the walk with a head-bob. Grade five is non-weight-bearing. Dex is a three. Dex is in the middle of the scale, the middle being the place where the lameness is undeniable and the cause must be found and the finding must be addressed.

Clem examines the hoof. He lifts the left front. He cleans it. He presses with the hoof testers, the metal pincers that apply pressure to specific areas of the hoof and that the horse responds to by flinching when the pressure finds the pain, the flinching being the answer, the hoof testers being the question, the question being: Where does it hurt? And the hoof answers: Here, at the heel, at the navicular area, the area at the back of the hoof where the navicular bone sits, the small bone that is the fulcrum, the bone that the deep digital flexor tendon runs over, the bone that bears the load and that wears with the bearing, the wearing being the age, the age being the thing.

Dex is twelve. Twelve is not old for a horse — horses live to twenty-five, to thirty, the lifespan being long enough to carry a rider for two decades — but twelve is old enough for the wear to become the damage, the damage that accumulates in the joints and the bones and the tendons, the accumulation being the arthritis, the arthritis being the name for the wear, the name that the X-ray will confirm and that Clem already suspects, the suspecting being the clinical experience, the experience of twenty-eight years of lameness exams on horses that are twelve and older and that present with the heel pain and the toe-first landing and the grade-three lameness that says: The navicular is wearing.

He does not have a portable X-ray. The confirmation will require a trip to the clinic in Natchez, the clinic with the X-ray machine, and the trip will cost money that Marie-Claire may not have, and the not-having is the factor, the factor that Clem weighs when he recommends the diagnostic, the weighing being: Is the X-ray necessary for the treatment? Or can the treatment proceed on the clinical diagnosis? And the answer, in this case, is: The clinical diagnosis is sufficient. The treatment is the same whether the X-ray confirms or not. The treatment is management.

"I think it's navicular," Clem said. "Arthritis in the navicular bone. It's common in horses his age, especially horses that have worked on hard ground."

Marie-Claire holds the lead rope. She holds it the way she holds all things, tightly, with the grip of a woman who has learned that things must be held or they leave. She does not speak. She waits. The waiting is the space in which the veterinarian will say the next thing, the thing that follows the diagnosis, the thing that is the prognosis, the prognosis being the future, the future being what the diagnosis predicts.

"He can be managed," Clem said. "But he can't be fixed."

The sentence. The sentence that is the hardest sentence in veterinary medicine, harder than the diagnosis, harder than the cancer or the fracture or the organ failure, because the sentence says: The thing that is wrong will continue to be wrong. The thing that is wrong is permanent. The body has reached the place where the damage exceeds the repair, the repair that the body has been doing all along, the repair that is the body's daily practice, the daily fixing of the daily wear, and the daily fixing has fallen behind the daily wearing, and the falling-behind is the arthritis, and the arthritis is the permanence, and the permanence is the sentence: He can be managed but not fixed.

Marie-Claire looks at Dex. She looks at him the way she has always looked at him, with the love that is not sentimental but practical, the practical love that says: You are my horse, I care for you, the caring being the feeding and the watering and the grooming and the riding, and the riding may be ending, and the ending of the riding is the ending of something, the something being the partnership, the horse and the rider, the partnership that has been Marie-Claire's and Dex's for ten years, since Dex was two and Lily was not yet born and Marie-Claire was not yet the woman she is, the woman who keeps goats and clears brush and raises a daughter alone and drives to Angola every third Sunday.

The horse was before all of that. The horse was the first thing Marie-Claire acquired in the parish, the first thing she bought with her own money when she moved to the five acres outside Ferriday, the buying of the horse being the declaration, the declaration that says: I am here, I am staying, I am putting down the root that a horse represents, the root being the commitment, the commitment to the daily care that a horse requires, the daily care being the daily staying, the staying being the life.

"What does managed mean?" Marie-Claire said.

Clem explains. Managed means: Anti-inflammatory medication, phenylbutazone, the bute, given daily in the feed, the drug that reduces the inflammation in the joint and reduces the pain and allows the horse to move more comfortably, the comfort being the goal, the goal being: Reduce the pain so that the horse can be the horse, can graze and walk and stand and do the things that a horse does when a horse is comfortable, the things that the pain prevents.

Managed means: Corrective shoeing, the shoes applied by the farrier (Clem will refer Marie-Claire to a farrier in Natchez who specializes in therapeutic shoeing, the farrier who can apply the shoes that change the angle of the hoof and redistribute the weight and reduce the pressure on the navicular bone, the redistribution being the mechanical intervention, the intervention that the shoe provides).

Managed means: Reduced work. No more trail riding. No more long rides on the parish roads. Short rides, if any, on soft ground. The reduction being the concession, the concession that the arthritis demands, the demand being: The body cannot do what the body used to do, and the cannot-do is the limit, and the limit must be respected.

Managed means: Eventually, the decision. The decision that Clem does not name now, does not bring into the conversation now, because the now is not the time for the decision, the now is the time for the management, the management being the phase before the decision, the phase that can last months or years, the phase during which the horse is comfortable and the management is working and the working is the reprieve, the reprieve from the decision that will come when the management stops working, when the pain exceeds the medication's ability to reduce it, when the comfort cannot be maintained, when the body says: I have carried what I can carry and I cannot carry more.

But the now is not then. The now is the management. The now is the bute and the shoes and the reduced work. The now is the plan.

"How long?" Marie-Claire said.

The question. The question that every person asks when the diagnosis is chronic and the management is the treatment and the treatment is not the cure. How long will the management work? How long will the horse be comfortable? How long before the decision?

Clem answers honestly. He answers the way he answers all questions about the future of an animal's body, with the honest uncertainty that is the only honest answer, the honest uncertainty being: I don't know. Every horse is different. Every arthritis is different. The management may work for six months or two years or five years. The duration is the horse's to determine, the horse's body being the authority, the body's response to the management being the answer that the future will provide.

"Some horses do well on management for years," Clem said. "He's only twelve. He's otherwise healthy. His heart is good, his lungs are good, his weight is good. The arthritis is the issue. If we manage the arthritis, he may have years of comfortable life."

Marie-Claire holds the rope. She holds the rope and she holds the horse and she holds the information, the information being the diagnosis and the prognosis and the management plan and the eventually, the eventually being the word that Clem did not say but that Marie-Claire heard anyway, because Marie-Claire is a woman who hears the things that are not said, the things that live in the spaces between the words, the spaces where the future lives, the future that includes the eventually.

She puts her hand on Dex's neck. The hand on the neck. The touch that is not medical but personal. The touch that says: You are mine, you have been mine for ten years, you were the first thing I owned in this parish, the first root, the first commitment, and the commitment does not end because the arthritis begins, the commitment continues, the commitment being the care, the care being the management, the management being the daily attention that the diagnosis requires.

Dex drops his head. He drops it into the space where Marie-Claire's hand is, the dropping being the horse's gesture, the gesture of trust, the head dropping into the hand because the hand is the known thing, the familiar thing, the thing that has been on the neck every day for ten years, the thing that feeds and waters and grooms and holds, and the holding is the trust, and the trust is the relationship, and the relationship is the thing that the diagnosis changes but does not end.

"Lily will be upset," Marie-Claire said. "Lily rides him. Lily loves him. She named him. She calls him her horse. Her horse."

The her horse. The possessive that is the child's claim, the child's stake, the child's root, the horse being the child's version of the adult's commitment, the child committed to the horse the way the adult is committed to the land, the commitment being the love, the love being the daily act, the daily feeding and the daily riding and the daily grooming, the daily acts that Lily performs because Lily is seven and the performing of the daily acts is the learning, the learning being: Care for a thing. Love a thing. Hold a thing. And the thing you hold will someday need more care than you can give, and the needing-more is the lesson, the harder lesson, the lesson that the arthritis is teaching.

"She can still be around him," Clem said. "She can still groom him, feed him, hand-walk him. He can still be her horse. He just can't carry her right now."

The right now. The temporal softening that Clem offers. The right now that is not never but is the present tense, the present tense that may change, that may improve (the management may allow light riding, on soft ground, the light riding being the possibility that the right now preserves). The right now is the kindness, the kindness that the veterinarian offers along with the diagnosis, the kindness that says: The future is not written, the future is the horse's to write, and the horse's body will write it in the language of the lameness and the response to the management and the comfort and the pain, and the writing will be read, and the reading will be the next step, and the next step will be taken when the next step is the step.

Clem writes the management plan. He writes it on the pad from the clipboard, the writing being the documentation, the documentation of the plan that Marie-Claire will follow, the plan being: Phenylbutazone, one gram daily in the feed. Farrier appointment for corrective shoeing. No riding until further evaluation. Soft footing in the paddock. Monitor for changes in lameness — improvement or deterioration. Call if the lameness worsens.

He gives Marie-Claire the bute. He has it in the truck, the paste form, the oral syringe that delivers the drug into the horse's mouth, the drug that will begin the management today, right now, the beginning being the action, the action that follows the diagnosis, the action that is the response, the response being the care.

Marie-Claire takes the syringe. She approaches Dex. She inserts the tip into the corner of his mouth and depresses the plunger and the paste enters and Dex chews and the chewing is the acceptance, the horse accepting the drug the way the horse accepts the halter and the hoof trim and the holding, with the resignation of a domesticated animal that trusts the human's actions because the human's actions have been trustworthy for ten years.

The drug enters the blood. The drug will reach the joints. The drug will reduce the inflammation. The drug will reduce the pain. The reducing of the pain will allow the horse to walk more comfortably and the comfortable walking will be the management's first result, the first evidence that the management is working.

Clem watches Marie-Claire administer the bute. He watches the woman hold the horse's head and the horse accept the drug and the acceptance being the trust and the trust being the relationship that the diagnosis has changed but not broken, the relationship between the woman and the horse that is the same relationship between the woman and the parish, which is: I am here, I am committed, I will care for the thing that needs caring for, and the needing is the bond, and the bond does not break because the needing changes, the bond adjusts, the bond adapts, the bond manages.

He thinks about his own body. He thinks about the diagnosis he carries. He thinks about the cancer in his prostate that is the arthritis in Dex's navicular, the wearing of the body, the body being honest about what it has carried and what it can still carry and what it cannot. The body's honesty. The body's truth-telling. The body telling the truth through the PSA number and the lameness and the blood work and the hoof testers, the body saying: This is where I am. This is what I carry. This is what I cannot carry anymore.

The body being honest about what it has carried. This is the sentence that Clem holds as he watches Marie-Claire hold the horse, the sentence that applies to Dex and that applies to Clem and that applies to the parish, the parish's body being the land and the levee and the infrastructure, the parish's body carrying the river and the heat and the history and the poverty and the beauty, carrying all of it, and the carrying produces the wear, and the wear is the honesty, and the honesty is the truth that the body tells when the body has carried enough.

Not failure. Honesty. The body being honest about what it has carried. The horse has carried Marie-Claire and Lily for ten years. The horse has carried them through the parish, along the roads, across the five acres, through the days. The horse's body has done the carrying and the carrying has produced the wear and the wear is the arthritis and the arthritis is not failure. The arthritis is the body's honest accounting.

Clem packs his bag. He loads the truck. Marie-Claire walks him to the truck. The custom. The walking.

They stand by the truck. Lily is at school. The goats are in the pasture. The bells are ringing. Pearl is healthy, fully recovered from the pneumonia, back to her stubborn, ungovernable self, back to the eating and the climbing and the opinionated bleating that is Pearl's contribution to the five acres.

"He'll be all right," Marie-Claire said. Not a question. A statement. The statement that is the hope. The hope that the management will work and the horse will be comfortable and the comfortable will be the years that Clem described, the years of managed life, the life that is not the life-before-the-diagnosis but is life, is still life, is the life that the management provides.

"He'll be all right," Clem said. And the saying is the hope, and the hope is the practice, and the practice is the thing that Clem offers along with the bute and the plan and the management, the thing that is not the medicine but is the medicine's companion, the companion being: The veterinarian believes the management will work. The veterinarian has seen this before. The veterinarian's experience says: Managed horses live comfortable lives. The experience is the hope. The hope is offered. The offering is the practice.

Clem drives away. In the rearview mirror, Marie-Claire stands beside Dex. Her hand on his neck. The hand on the neck being the image that Clem carries, the image that is the parish's image, the image of a person standing beside an animal and touching the animal and the touching being the care and the care being the love and the love being the thing that does not end when the diagnosis begins.

The body wears out. The wearing out is not failure but honesty. The body being honest about what it has carried and what it can still carry and what it cannot.

Clem drives through the parish. His body carries the diagnosis. Dex's body carries the arthritis. The parish's body carries the river and the heat and the history. Everything carries. Everything wears. The wearing is the honesty. The honesty is the life.

The life continues. The management begins. The care persists. The parish turns toward October, toward the harvest, toward the sale, toward the surgery, toward the things that the turning carries, the things that are coming, the things that the September light illuminates in the sharpened seeing that is the turning's gift.

The turning. The management. The care. The carrying. The honesty of the body that has done the work. The work continues. The care continues. The carrying continues.

Dex stands in the paddock. Marie-Claire stands beside him. The bute is in the blood. The management has begun. The beginning is the hope. The hope is enough.