Ain’t no Sunshine When He’s Gone

By Nick Warhol- 1994

This is a colic story that has a happy ending, at least so far. I would not want to go through this experience again, and now I understand the ordeal that many people have endured. I hope that reading this might encourage people to be more conscious of what their horses are telling them. If one case of colic like this can be avoided, then our experience will have been worth it.

This story is about my wife, Judy Long, and her 10 year old Appaloosa gelding, Warpaint. His registered name is Nachi Sunshine; we think he comes from a line of racing appys. This might help explain a little about his performance. Warpaint is Judy’s first horse- she has owned him for four years. He is a flashy looking horse- a big, handsome, bay with a huge white blanket from his tail to his withers that looks like someone doused him with a bucket of white paint. He looks like a classic appy- he has many peacock spots all over his rump, mixed in with smaller dark spots. He has a long, thick, un-appy like tail that just reaches the ground. People always ask us, :What kind of horse is he?" He may look like a thoroughbred cross, but he is indeed pure appy, or, as we like to say, as much appy as appys get.

Warpaint was recommended to us by a good friend and endurance rider named Jean Schreiber. I knew absolutely nothing about horses until I met jean through her son. Jean helped me find a horse for Judy as a college graduation present. Judy had always loved horses as a kid, especially Appaloosas. When she first saw Warpaint, she was stunned. She rode him around in an arena with no problems. Her comment was: "This horse is powerful!" He was very green, having has several owners who had a lot of trouble dealing with his "appy-tude." I think Jean saw something in Judy’s character back then that has been proven many times over. (Read that stubborn, and talented.) Judy has done some dirt bike racing, has good balance, and is physically fit. It might be a challenge, but we bought him. Judy started taking lessons from Jean, and it was here we first learned about Endurance Riding. This sounded perfect for this horse, since he never wanted to slow down or stop running down the trail. This is an example of a horse that does not know the meaning of the word slow, or "whoa!" Perhaps these long rides might help "calm him down" a bit.

Judy and Warpaint have been competing for just over three years now. They have completed about 1200 miles so far, with only two DNF’s. One was for a thrown shoe at mile 80 at the Mt Diablo two day 100; the other was when Judy pulled him after a suspected tie up at the Oakland Hills 50. (I don’t count the 20 Mule team 100 in March a DNF, (did not finish), more like a DNS. (did not start). That was the ride where Judy parted company with Warpaint after only two miles, and Mr. Competitive took off across the desert without her. We eventually got him back at 6:00 pm that evening.) They finished their first Tevis last year in great shape around 50^th place, and they completed their first multi-day ride at the death Valley Encounter with a fifth best combined time after all four days. (Day four at Death Valley was when Judy and Marilyn Smart had their fantastic race to the finish line. After a Kentucky Derby style photo finish, Judy beat Marilyn’s Arabian gelding by only a nose) They have been in the top ten four times so far. Last month the duo completed the incredibly tough Big Creek 100 mile ride in fifth place. The amazing thing is that all this time, Judy has been holding Warpaint back! She has done a great job of conditioning him. Lots and lots of slow, walking miles and slow 50 mile rides. Even though Warpaint wants to run, she won’t let him. (they have been known to go 60 miles in a 50 mile ride, because of all the circles they do. Judy is the one you might see lunging her horse at the start until everyone else is gone.) She wants Warpaint to be a strong, reliable, high mileage horse that is able to compete for many years. Judy and her boy are starting to concentrate on 100 mile rides, with her ultimate goal being to compete in the international endurance events.

It was right after he Big Creek event that we had our disaster. Warpaint got the week off after the tough 100 mile ride. We went to Point Reyes over the Memorial Day weekend with our two other horses while the War Pony rested at home. We returned Monday afternoon, when Judy took her boy out for a nice, slow walk. They returned to the stable where Warpaint rolled in the dirt, as he so loves to do, all the time. Later on that night, we got a call from a friend at the stable telling us that our horse looked uncomfortable. He was restless, shifting his weight back and forth on his hind legs, and he had not passed any manure for the past couple of hours. Judy went up to check on him and found the situation the same. All of his other vital signs were normal, and he was eating as usual. After talking to our vet, she gave him a shot of banimine to make him more comfortable, and his condition seemed to improve greatly. She stayed with him late into the night. We decided to watch him closely to see if his condition changed.

We went up very early Tuesday morning and found him extremely uncomfortable. He was definitely showing signs of serious colic. He was getting up and down, kicking at his underside, he was puffing out on one side of his body, and there was no poop in his stall at all! We put him in the trailer and he promptly lay down! He had certainly not done that before. We dashed him out to Livermore to our vet, Dr. Bryan Umstead. Bryan immediately put his arm in the horses rear end and began feeling around. He felt a hard object that he likened to "the end of a milk bottle." He could not tell if it was an obstruction, or maybe some dried out manure. He gave Warpaint an enema to attempt to soften the impaction, and as he pulled his arm from the horse, he noticed a streak of blood on his arm. Bryan quickly said: "Let’s get some fluid and mineral oil in Warpaint’s stomach and get him to Davis, quick." We pumped a lot of fluids into the horse, as well as starting a whole bunch of IV bags. Judy and I were obviously starting to stress at this point. While Judy walked her horse around, Bryan explained the details of the surgery to me. There was no sense in taking any chances, and time was now a critical factor in saving Warpaint’s life. We put Warpaint back into the trailer after Bryan had rigged up more huge IV bags, where the horse’s food normally goes. This was bad! Our poor horse was getting all puffed up, and was in obvious pain. Bryan gave him a shot of something to keep him comfortable as we drove. We hastily got directions and left, while Bryan called Davis to talk to the surgeon.

This was a miserable trip! We have trailered Warpaint thousands of miles, yet not one mile as bad as this. Every traffic delay seemed like an eternity, I drove the big rig on the shoulder to keep moving. We had to stop for gas, and while the gas slowly trickled into the tank, I watched Warpaint’s eyes through the trailer window. I started to get choked up and teary as I thought about what could possibly happen. After what seemed like a 30 minute gas stop, we got going again, with me driving the truck/camper/trailer a little faster than I normally would have.

We arrived at the hospital and unloaded our horse. He was standing up in the trailer, and backed out very gingerly. His body was the size of a huge Quarterhorse, not the sleek, streamlined Arabian –like body our boy normally has. We took him right into the intensive care unit and were greeted by the hospital staff. These people were excellent; they were true professionals who knew what we were going through. We led Warpaint into an animal stock to secure him, while the surgeon, Dr. Shane Miller, looked him over. Shane quickly felt the obstruction that Bryan had described on the phone. After only a couple of seconds, Shane said that our horse was a good candidate for surgery, and right now. We said GO! That’s when the action started.

The first thing they did was to help ease Warpaint’s pain. One vet student was shaving Warpaint’s belly, while two others were hooking up more IV bags. Another catheter was inserted into his neck, and a six-foot-long tube was run down his nose into his stomach to rinse out his insides. They started injecting him with shot after shot of antibiotics, painkillers, and who knows what else. There must have been ten shots, and they were not your average little needles. Ever wonder where the term "horse syringe" comes from? Some of these shots would take 60 seconds. They wrapped up his long tail, and using a two-foot long metal syringe, rinsed out his mouth and teeth so he would not accidentally aspirate any feed particles during surgery. It seemed to me that these guys knew what they were doing.

Judy and I could not believe what was going on in front of us. I was standing at the front end of the stock holding Warpaint’s head up in my arms, so he could keep breathing. It was not until Judy started whispering something in his ear that I lost it. Every time she would gently say his name, his eye would glance over at her. Picture this: Judy and I are standing there, holding up his head, tears streaming out of our eyes, while the hospital technicians swarmed over the horse. I have never before experienced that kind of emotional misery before. It was excruciating to see our strong, fiery, energetic, athletic animal in this weakened state. I kept picturing him flying around in the sand arena, and to see him now really hurt. The doctor certainly noticed our condition, and tried his best to encourage us. He told us that Appys are such a stoic breed. If it had been another breed in this condition, the horse would have been on his back from the pain. Funny- that was nice to hear, but it didn’t help a whole lot.

The time came, and they led Warpaint off to the operating room. Judy signed the surgery estimate- between three and five thousand dollars. Warpaint was still unbelievably on his feet, a fact that the staff thought was amazing. He walked slowly with the team, with tons of hoses, tubes and wires sticking out him, right past the other customers out in the parking lot who were waiting with their horses for an exam or such. The depressing look in their eyes described our feelings exactly. Once Warpaint was in the operating room, Judy and I began to feel a little better; now all we could do was wait. The operation would take at least two hours, maybe more, so we drove into town for something to eat. Neither of us could eat anything, so we just returned to the waiting room, sat down, and waited. We would nervously jump up every time a doctor would come through a door. We tried to read horse magazines, but nothing seemed to work. I could not stand the waiting! I am not a patient person by nature, and these two and a half hours seemed like six.

After what seemed like an eternity, we looked up once again and saw a familiar face- it was our doctor’s assistant. I was actually holding my breath as she said: "We found entroliths. (stones) He has come through surgery fine, and will be okay." That was all it took. A wave of relief swept over us. As I was trying to think of what to say, and drying Judy’s tears, Dr. Miller walked up. He explained how he had found two stones, and that one of them had been the solid object that was plugging up the horse’s colon. The assistant went to get the stones, as the doctor continued: "He did very well in surgery, and there were no complications. No torn tissues or other perforations. I found the huge stone down in his large intestine, and was able to squeeze the small one out of the colon without having to cut into the tissue, which would have been very bad, or fatal. I think he will be just fine, and I expect a complete recovery." Just then the assistant walks up and hands Judy the stones. Stones? I thought she was kidding! The one that had plugged Warpaint’s colon was as big as a hard ball, and the bigger one that was in his large intestine was the size of a softball, or a grapefruit! These were not stones, these were rocks! And big ones! The doctor told us that our horse had just been moved to recovery, located in the intensive care unit. We could see him in an hour or so, before we went home. I couldn’t keep from crying when Judy hugged the doctor, and I have never in my life felt a feeling of gratitude like that. Maybe that’s why people become doctors.

We walked around in sort of a daze, waiting forever for our one hour to be up. We visited the llamas, cattle, goats, sheep, and even some giant sea turtles. Davis is a neat place. At 59 minutes and 45 seconds we found the room our by was in, and saw that there were still two people sitting there, watching him carefully. They saw us and told us that he was standing up already (!), and that we could go into the room in about fifteen minutes. We paced around in circles, then returned to the IC unit. We walked up to the door and peeked through the opening to the stall at our horse. This was our horse? He was barely recognizable. He was standing, but was barely conscious. His entire body was shaking and quivering, there was a lot of residual blood all over his beautiful white blanket. He had shaved spots all over his body, there were still tubes and hoses in him, and his entire body was covered in what looked like Vaseline. His body was back to its normal size, but his ears were hanging down, and his lower lip was limp. His number from the big creek ride was still on his rump, barely visible through the goop and blood. He looked grim, but I reminded Judy that he looked alive. Judy took a breath and called his name- he glanced over, flapped his lower lip, then he went limp again. There go those tear ducts again! The anesthesiologist told us that he had done extremely well in surgery, and that they had been very impressed with his cardiovascular system. His heart had pumped plenty of blood- she said that this guy had a big heart. We already knew that.

It was really hard to leave, but he needed to sleep, and it was late. We drove home with an empty trailer. It was a much better trip than the drive we took several hours before. We were still in a state of disbelief- what a nightmare. We took our "Prize" stones to work and showed them to people. No one could believe that these things had been in the horse, especially given that Warpaint had completed the Big Creek ride the week before. Now we realized that when Warpaint seemed a little restless, and was shifting from foot to foot during the ride, it meant something. The vets at the ride looked at him closely, but he showed no other signs of stress at all. Judy also remembered that Warpaint was moving a little strangely a little after his ninth place at a shine and shine ride in March. These things had been in his body for a long time, and he had just been going on with business as usual. One doctor at Davis told us that the stones can move around inside the horse, and the horse’s pain can come and go depending on where the damn rocks are at the time. This is one tough horse.

Warpaint’s recovery went extremely well, and very quickly. We were able to pick him up only three days after his operation. On Friday evening, we dropped off a horse at the Diablo Vista ride, and pulled that darned empty trailer back out to Davis. We camped in the parking lot, wanting to be there at 9:00 am sharp. At 9:01, we paid the balance of our surgery bill and were directed to the regular stables. We met Dr. Miller, who took us to the barn entrance. As we spoke, Warpaint heard our voices. He stuck his head out of the stall and saw us. What a sight! He looked so good- there was that beautiful look in his eyes once again. He was all cleaned up, and those ears were forward! We wanted to run right up to him, but had to wait, since he was still in a controlled environment. I went to get the truck and drove it around to the door. Just as I pulled up, here he was! He was about 150 pounds lighter than he should have been, he had staples holding his 20-inch incision closed, and his tummy was quite swollen. But he was here! He hopped right into the trailer as usual, and gave us a dirty look when he realized that his feeder had been removed. That’s our boy! It’s funny how good that trailer felt with his weight in it. I felt a funny twinge as I removed the rope that Bryan had used to hang the IV bags in the trailer.

Warpaint is now at home recovering. I got misty eyed once again when my 20 year old Arabian gelding whinnied and hollered when he saw that his buddy had come back. I think everyone at our stable felt the same way. We received many calls and get well cards from our endurance friends, as well as the people in our riding club. Warpaint’s appetite is voracious- it was really hard to limit his feed for the first few days. We have to keep him in his stall for two months, and can start riding him again in three. This should be interesting- he has never been in there for more than a day or so. Judy canceled her plans for Tevis, the High Country 100 in Arizona, and a bunch of others. That’s fine- there will be many other rides. We hope he will be back in shape for the Death Valley ride at the end of the year. Patience is easy- especially since my team of Warpaint and Judy is still together.

The moral of this story is: People really need to pay attention to their horses. I have adopted the words of horse trainer Diana Thompson as my new motto: "The horse will tell you." Watch for signs of change. If your horse usually rolls after a ride, and stops doing it, worry about it. If he starts shifting back and forth between his rear legs, or backs up into the corner of the stall, or kicks at his tummy, or the manure count is wrong, call your vet for assistance. If the horse starts doing anything different, or starts doing new things, it might mean something important. We look back on the past few months and remembered some of the subtle things he started doing. I sure wish horses could talk, and everyone could be a vet, but that’s just not the case. Thank goodness there are people like Bryan and Shane in this world. They saved Warpaint’s life. I can’t imagine life without him.