The sun was starting its descent as we made our way to R&W ranch. We drove up a dirt road on one side of the property, then Dale hopped out to drop off medications to someone near the barn. When he returned, we started heading down the opposite way we had come up.
“This road heads back to the ranch. Someone saw Ava’s truck and trailer down here by the barrels.”
When the land flattened, I could see a barrel track and corral in the distance. As we got closer, the sun dropped behind the mountains. The light still flooding the sky turned cool and gray. Ava’s truck was parked next to the corral, but it wasn’t until we passed that we encountered a horrifying sight I would never forget.
Ava waved her arms at us to stop but we looked past her to the arena. We were speechless as we watched Dancer hop around frantically with a very visibly broken leg. Her back left leg below the knee joint was hanging off loosely and flopping around as she thrashed against the metal corral. We stopped and jumped out of the truck.
The sound of Dancer’s bridle clinking against the bars drowned out all other sounds. The other horse, the black filly, was saddled and tied to a post nearby. She vocalized and swished her tail, clearly distressed by the scene playing out in front of us. Dale approached Ava first. He yelled something at her but she pushed him and ran toward the truck, her face red from exhaustion. I yelled to her but she didn’t stop.
Dale came running after her. “Ava, don’t do that, please.”
She didn’t respond to Dale or acknowledge my father or me. She walked past us, to the back passenger door of Dale’s truck, pulled the seat forward, and removed a .22-caliber rifle. She loaded it and moved hurriedly toward the corral. We all followed as Dale tried desperately to make her stop.
“Ava, you may not hit the right spot. We can go back to the ranch, I’ll get the medicine and we can euthanize her the humane way.”
Holding the rifle to the ground, she turned and screamed, “There is nothing humane about that, Dale. It’ll take you at least an hour to get back here.”
“We might not need to put her down.”
“Look at her!” Her voice was so desperate and she was crying hysterically. “Look. At. HER!”
It was hard to look at Dancer. I couldn’t imagine how Ava was feeling.
“At least let me take the shot.”
She sniffled, wiped her face with the back of her hand, stood up straight, composing herself, and said, “No. I have to do it.”
She walked stoically into the corral and stood in front of Dancer, who was now on her belly, still thrashing against the aluminum posts. Ava lifted the weapon high and aimed right at the spot between Dancer’s ears. “Be still,” she said calmly. The horse immediately stopped moving. As unintelligent as I know horses are, there was a moment in Dancer’s stillness when I thought she knew Ava was trying to take her pain away. “Goodbye.”
She fired the gun.
The ringing of the shot echoed against the distant mountains, leaving a buzzing hum in my ears. Dancer’s body fell lifeless to the side. The kick from the rifle sent Ava stumbling back against a small shed in the corral behind her. She let loose one long sob before I went running toward her.
“Ava?” I said, but she didn’t turn around. She stood over Dancer’s body for several moments then leaned the rifle against the corral and slowly walked away. The three of us watched and waited to see what she would do.
Dale called to her, “Ava, come here, sweetheart. We’re so sorry.” She ignored him as she untied the filly from the post. Dale squared his shoulders and started walking quickly after her. We followed. “What are you gonna do, sweetie? Don’t get on that horse, please, Avelina.”
“I’m riding back,” she said as she hopped up into the saddle.
“It’s not a good idea. It’s almost dark and it’s far and that horse is un-broke.”
“She’s broke. She’s wearing a saddle with a rider in it, isn’t she?” Right at that moment the filly threw her head back. Ava yanked on the reins with both hands, reprimanding her.
“Ava, please don’t,” I said to her. “You’re not thinking straight.”
My dad even tried to plead with her. “It’s not safe, honey. Why don’t you get down? Nate can drive you back.”
I held my hand out to her but she looked away and pulled the reins, turning the horse in a circle. She gave the filly a swift kick and they were off, a black blur in the fading light.
“Jesus Christ,” Dale said. “She’s gonna get herself killed.”
“I think that’s what she wants.” My father’s words stung my ears.
“Are we gonna go after her?” I asked, feeling panic rise.
“She’ll stay off the road. The best we can do is get things taken care of with Dancer and then get back to the ranch.”
“God, poor Ava. She was just starting to come around,” I said. “Are we going to bury the horse?”
“No, we’ll call a company to come out here and remove her,” Dale said.
“I think we should bury her on the ranch so Ava will have a place to visit her.”
My father and Dale looked at each other like they were contemplating it. While I waited for an answer, I felt drop after drop of rain hit my skin until it started drizzling steadily. All the while I worried about Ava.
“Okay,” Dale said, finally. “I’ll have to run up and borrow Henry’s tractor.”