He was soon sound in walk, but lame when trotted up. He stayed on box rest, and I hand-walked him in circles around the yard every night through February and March, stopping to hand-graze for as long as I could stand the cold. He’d seem better one week, then as soon as I thought we were getting back on track he’d drop lame again. It was time for the full lameness work-up, to figure out what was going on.
X-rays and ultrasound revealed a whole host of pathologies in his foot and pastern: poor foot balance, coffin joint osteoarthritis, evidence of changes in the navicular bone consistent with a diagnosis of navicular disease, thickening of the medial branch of the suspensory ligament, evidence of damage to the lateral lobe of the deep digital flexor tendon in the palmar pastern region. I was devastated.
My priority was always, 100%, what was best for Jasper, both physically and mentally. I decided pretty quickly that I was not going to follow the vet’s advice – to keep him on box rest for many more months – because he was completely miserable. I could see it in his eyes and in the tension around his mouth; anyone could see it in how dangerous he had become to handle, and how stubbornly he locked his legs and refused to move back towards his stable at the end of his nightly brief walk around. Jasper was so gentle in his heart and so careful with his body that I could sit between his legs in complete safety, and small children could get on him and he wouldn’t put a foot wrong – but now I had protect myself with hat and gloves just to go near him. He was miserable.
So I started turning him out: at first in a small coral which I moved each day, until he jumped out from this (from a standstill). The prospects of his full recovery were very uncertain, but he was not in pain, and he was himself once more. I thought about just turning him away and letting him enjoy the summer out in a field with friends, and seeing what happened. How I wish I had done this.
But I wanted to give him the best chance of getting better, of course because I wanted to ride him, but also because I wanted him to enjoy the rest of his life, and he loved nothing more than a long adventurous hack, ears pricked and keen to go. And I researched: I spoke to everyone I could, I read everything I could, and I learned that turning him away in a field did not give him the best chance of being able to come back into work in the future.
As I researched and read, and learned about horses’ feet, I learned about track systems. And I thought this is the answer – or at least the best answer there was going to be.
But there were no track liveries anywhere near where I live. So I decided that I would send Jasper away, because this would be the best thing for him. I’d send him away, on full livery at what I thought was the best track livery yard within a few hours’ drive of home. Gawsworth Track Livery was well established, had great facilities, knowledgeable-sounding management, and the internet was buzzing with positivity about the place. It was more expensive than other options I looked at, but I wanted the best for Jasper. I’d visit when I could, and we’d see how things were looking after he’d had a year there.
I drove Jasper to Gawsworth at the end of July last year. He was already barefoot when I took him there, sound in walk, and his usual confident, interested, happy self. I found it extremely hard leaving him there, not because I had any real concerns for him, but just because I was going to miss him so much. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from him and walk away. The yard owner told me: you don’t have to keep staring at him. He’ll be completely fine.
I didn’t go back to see him for almost six weeks. I hate myself for this. There was a lot going on in my life at the time, I trusted the yard owner with the horse that I loved, and I didn’t go back to see him for almost six weeks.
I received updates during this time. “Jasper has lost a bit of weight which is really quite normal when horses come here. He’s a little footsore as to be expected also.” He had his feet trimmed, and two days later the yard owner messaged asking if it was ok to order him hoof boots (of course I said yes). The following weekend, the last weekend in August, I drove the two-and-a-bit hours to see him. It was the first and last time I would visit him at Gawsworth.
He’d lost a huge amount of weight. He looked dreadful. The yard owner must have known this, as she’d warned me in advance (“it’s quite normal, but we’ve had problems with some owners being upset by this in the past”). But it wasn’t this that upset me the most. Jasper was switched off from the world. He wasn’t interested in anything around him. He was not the fun, friendly, curious horse I knew. I could hardly get him to notice me. It hurt to see how slowly and reluctantly he walked.
The yard owner had not been around to speak to, and so I messaged her after I left. I said it was upsetting seeing how immobile he was, and how listless.
The message that I received in reply said: “I don’t think this is going to work out, I don’t think that you’re going to be able to cope emotionally with being so far away from him and the changes that he’s going to go through, so I think it’s best that you come and get him when you can. It’s really nothing personal, I think you and Jasper are lovely but I have to think of your mental wellbeing and it’s clear you’re not coping with the challenges that come along with barefoot rehab.”
I was shocked, and upset. I still thought Gawsworth was the best place for him. I even thought about trying to talk her out of it. But it was weird, too, responding to my concern by chucking him out, without discussing it with me, and with no concern for whether I was right that he wasn’t ok, or where he would go. So I arranged to collect him about a fortnight later – as soon as I could.
Shortly before I was due to go get him, I received another message telling me that he’d blown an abscess, “which does explain why he’s been quite footsore and feeling a bit miserable. It’s quite common with barefoot rehab as structures change.”
He’d blown an abscess, and prior to it blowing – out of his coronary band, having tracked all the way up and left a huge exit hole – it seems that she hadn’t even noticed that anything was wrong - because she hadn't told me that anything was wrong. Despite the concerns that I had raised with her. She had just focused on asking me to leave, for no other apparent reason than because I had shared concern for the welfare of my horse.
She thought there was another abscess brewing in his other front foot. “You can have a vet come dig it out if you want, but it does mean you have to keep the hole clean and pack it and all the rest of it. If they burst themselves it’s a quicker recovery time.” I replied – naively, trustingly – that my preference was not to dig it out, and I was happy to trust her expertise and judgement on what was best for him.
I was on my way to collect him and bring him home when I received two further messages a short time apart: “Walking well this morning boot free so maybe no other abscess coming”, and then – with a photo of oozing pus – “No, turns out there was one after all.”
The yard owner was not there when I arrived and loaded my darling boy, thin as a rake and walking as if on eggshells – a shell of the beautiful horse I had left in her care.
I had him back, and although he was in very poor condition, I still thought I was ‘just’ dealing with two abscesses, both of which had burst and drained. Until one of his legs started to swell.
The vet’s clinical note from the first visit reads: “Re-abcessated medial seat of corn, opened again, lots of false sole and pus under. Unfortunately concerned contra lateral limb lami +/- pedal oestitis.” I was in shock, absolutely horrified.
The vet’s clinical note from the next day (after radiographs) reads: “Massive underrun subsolar abscess. Excavated whole of the white line from medial bar to lateral bar exposing corium, also respect sole dorsal to frog approx 1.5 inch from white line but cavity still extends further palmar and under frog. Insert pair of blunt ended mayo scissors under sole in palmar direction and able to advance under frog and approx ½ way towards heels. Huge subsolar trauma.”
I have photos of his hoof with almost the entire sole cut away, but they are too upsetting to look at.
Jasper was on bute, and antibiotics. My farrier fitted a hospital plate in place of his lost sole. It was traumatic getting it on, and it came off the next day. More trauma and pain for Jasper refitting it, but this time it held. I felt some cautious optimism.
Then about a week later, he was non-weightbearing on his left front. Another emergency vet visit, another dash to the yard full of dread, meeting the vet there.
He had re-abcessated, yet again. Opened, drained, we soaked the foot in Epsom salts and poulticed, yet again. I was there all hours, and the wonderful yard owner woke throughout the night to check on him. He got through the night.
Another week passed. He got marginally better, but only marginally. My heart physically hurt, seeing his pain. I was tormented by not knowing what to do, what was best for him, what was right by him.
He started laying down and not wanting to get up. We forced him up and he’d eat hay but soon be down again. He couldn’t walk. He could hardly stand. He needed forcing to get up every couple of hours.
The clinical note from the vet’s next visit reads “Abcess burst dorsomedial coronary band, lots pus, very uncomfortable. Took poultice off and another opening discharging medial heel bulb, and another smaller more dorsal. Whole area necrotic, advised likely to slough and leave wound to heal. Question quittor?” He was looking at an absolute minimum of six months further box rest, in the absolute best case scenario. Again I have photos, but they are far too awful.
That night I made the worst decision I have ever had to make.
On 18 October, my horse Jasper died. I lay with him in his stable, his head on me. I brought him fresh grass. I got him up for the last time, and I led him out. I asked as the vet’s car pulled up: is this really right? I knew the answer. I signed the form authorising euthanasia. I gave him an apple and told him how much I loved him and how grateful I was for him. I stepped back when the vet asked me to, so she could guide him as he went down, but I didn’t look away. I didn’t talk to him as he fell, and I should have. I kneeled by him afterwards and stroked him, the vet said he was gone, and then I walked away. I looked back once, and they were laying his blankets over him. I couldn’t see for the tears. I drove away literally screaming.
He was my first horse. I’d never before been responsible for, invested so much in, and cared so much for another life. It felt unreal that he wasn’t there anymore. Jasper existing made me feel grounded and proud and happy.
I lost my companion, but also my teacher, caregiver, therapist, adventure partner, teammate, game-player, best buddy. I knew him better than anyone. He enriched my life beyond words and should have done so for at least another decade.
I felt overwhelming guilt, because he was only 11 years old, and because I was responsible for him and my decisions had led to his death.
And it should not have had to happen. I believe that if I had not sent him away, he still would be with me, well enough to be in a field with friends, at least.
It breaks my heart that I took him to a strange place and left him there for those six weeks.
I don’t know if Gawsworth Track Livery is still operating under Bethan’s management, as she blocked me from their Facebook page so I cannot view it. She did this before Jasper died, and without my having said a single word to or about her or what happened. It was pre-emptive: kick us out and block me, just in case.
After Jasper died, I learned that I was not the only person who’d had a bad experience at Gawsworth (although I was and hopefully still am the only person who lost their horse in connection with it). I also learned that deleting any remotely negative comments or reviews and blocking people who just might express any opinion in any way contrary to Bethan’s was her standard operating procedure.
I wish I had known, or even thought to imagine that this censorship might occur. In part because of it – because of the glowing one-sided commentary presented to the world – I trusted Gawsworth absolutely. I wasn’t alive to the risk that I now see: that anyone who thinks that they know best, who curates a biased image of success for the world to see, and who doesn’t listen to concerns of owners – can be blinded to the reality of an individual horse’s needs and welfare. And this, I believe, cost Jasper his life.
That’s why I have written and decided to share this. I don’t want the same thing to happen to anyone else. And I owe it to Jasper. I miss his gentle soul every day.