An essay by Emma Bond about our beloved horse, Moso
Moso is blind.
He arrived at Square Peg half-blind, due to a large cataract that formed in his right eye in his younger days. At 20, his seeing eye developed issues, so into the trailer he went, headed for UC Davis Vet hospital.
Ever the stoic presence, Moso stood patiently as the bright young Doctor Park examined his eye. She turned to us, paused, and went to grab the head of Ophthalmology. When she whispered her findings, the doctor made a face and began her own lengthy study of Moso’s eye.
We knew then that this was not a simple infection or scrape.
The head ophthalmologist confirmed Dr. Park’s findings. His sighted eye had a condition that caused extreme pressure fluctuation of the eye (read; pain). That day, his pressure reading was double the normal. And in a 24 hour period, his vision, eye pressure, and ultimately, level of pain was constantly and unpredictably fluctuating.
I was struck by the weight of how much our horses give. How many hours has Moso silently spent in migraine-like pain, while also kindly showing up for the humans who grow to rely on his steady presence and smooth rides for their regulation? How is it possible for countless horses to push aside pain to continue performing every day at a world class level for humans?
The doctors explained that the medical treatment available would involve two kinds of eye drops, four times a day, for the rest of his life. She added that even with that level of treatment, the outcome was iffy at best regarding pain management and vision.
“What about removing the eye?” I inquired.
Dr. Park’s face relaxed, knowing I understood what we were dealing with and that she would not have to be the first person to utter such news. She wouldn’t have to convince me to do what is best for our horse.
“Yes, that is the most humane option” she replied.
I excused myself to call Joell. We both knew the only way to guarantee pain relief was removal. The phone went silent as we processed that part of our duty in stewarding our horses is making the decision to remove Moso’s sight, in order to give him the most comfort we can.
Humans are visual creatures and we are deeply connected to inserting ourselves and our experiences into a situation. Heck, most biologists agree that these two traits are what allowed the human animal to create the deep social connections needed to form the robust society we have today.
Removing Moso’s sight forever felt like a tragic decision at first. I was divinely uncomfortable at the thought of taking away what little sight he had left. But, Moso isn’t human. He’s a horse. Our relationship has always lived somewhere beyond boundaries. This decision had to be made in a space that wasn’t centering on my human experience. Instead, it had to center on our sweet Moso’s comfort.
We have to set aside our (dare I say, ableist) projections of what sight means to a body, and remember a horse lives in attunement with the world through all of the senses. Their sense of smell is many times better than dogs. They can hear a heartbeat from yards away and can sense carpet or rocks or soft beach sand beneath their strong hooves
.
I won’t deny that part of me hoped for a few more years of Moso giving our service users their first canters, of sitting on his strong back as he boldly marches down the trail. We humans grieve what we imagine we’d lose, but Moso will not. He will adjust, as horses always do, with grace and trust, navigating his world through the senses that have never failed him.
Moso is blind. What feels like loss to us is, for him, the return of comfort, of quiet.
We settled Moso into his stall to await his surgery time. We felt our love for him in every cell of our bodies as he searched all our pockets for food. We cried, we laughed, recounting together the hours of shared adventures. We leaned into our human-ness and showed him pictures of his horse friends, his favorite people, and lots of photos of fresh green grass. Just in case he can make out images on a phone screen.
As we gathered ourselves to leave, we turned and reassured him “You’ll see us later!”
Realizing that was not quite accurate we ventured “….. you’ll feel us later?”
Our friends at The Horse Boy Foundation have started a Go Fund Me to help defray the costs of the surgery and his recovery. You can contribute here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/therapy-horse-moso-needs-your-help
