The Ripple Effect

Dear Katie:

I was a pediatric oncologist for almost 20 years and have seen too many things and people who beat "the odds." For Argus - they are 100% or none....

...When I took care of the children, I used to think about things and the effect of their lives as the unknown ripple where a certain life can touch and sometimes completely change others – and it is often unknown. Some of the children I cared for went into “caring professions” and that was the obvious effect - but I also know many in medicine (and horse rescue of late) who went into what they did because of one individual. My guess is you will never know all those whom Argus has affected – and the horses who will have good lives because reading about Argus inspired some humans to do what they wanted to but had not had a palpable reason to commit.

There is the science of medicine – but too many times I saw caring make the difference in how things turn out. So the medicine and Dr. Miller will do what medicine can – but only you and Ridge and Odie can give the medicine of the soul and heart. Argus knows.

A reader


Overhead in the smoky gray dawn, a noisy flock of Canada geese drift through the airspace over the farm, circling for a moment before crashing comically to the ground in the front pasture. They "honk honk" impatiently, as if dismayed to find the whole farm still asleep. I stir in my bed, trapped between a gray tabby cat and a heavy brown dog, trying to decide between settling back down to sleep and greeting the day early. I opt to rise, tempted by the thought of hot coffee, and, wearing my new black Christmas slippers, quietly shuffle my way down the hall of the old farmhouse.

I'm careful to move quietly, not wanting to wake either sleeping children or alert Odie the Mule, who studies the kitchen window with his large, sad brown eyes for signs of life at the break of day. Once Odie realizes we're up, he alerts the other horses, and soon, from the barn, a chorous of impatient bangs and throaty whickers cuts short my warm, slow start. For now, I crouch down whenever I cross the kitchen window, feeling smug in my deception of the early-rising Odie. His breakfast can wait for now.

The laptop groans to life, flashing blue light at me as I blink away my sleepiness and cradle my mug. I click here, click there, and soon am faced with an unusually high volume of emails. About Argus. Warm wishes, hope, message board vigils. I sit, blinking through tears as I click on the PayPal link. Sleepy still, I enter numbers, letters, passwords. I'm still new to this online stuff.

What I see makes me lose balance, to almost fall off my chair in total surprise. People have sent money for Argus! I can hardly believe what I see: a balance of $1,057.23. I am grateful that it is dawn, that the house is asleep, that my privacy is ensured. I lay my head on my own lap and weep, big tears running down my face, into my hands, across the flannel of my red plaid pajamas.

(Note from Katie: This money will go directly toward the purchase of Argus' medications. I feel embarrassed accepting anything more. I ask that you do not send anything more except your continued prayers, support and good wishes. I don't want to divert important help from other animals in greater need than Argus. This has taken the pressure off us to the point where I can handle the remaining medical expenses as they come up, over time. It lifts a tremendous burden. Thank you!)

As if sensing my emotion, the geese start up again. "Honk! Honk! Honk!" I peer outside to see a small flock of about 12 geese nibbling the tender green blades of grass in my closed-off pasture. I go back to reading e-mails, dabbing at my eyes with a now-soggy section of toilet paper. Each message is like a jewel that I look at and admire before hesitantly closing it. Each message contains warmth, and wisdom, and hope.

The geese alight suddenly, frightened off by the lumbering Half Pint, who's broken into the off-limits summer pasture and is now eating the forbidden grass with greed. He pauses for a moment as he looks toward the house, spotting me through the living room window. We make eye contact for a moment, and then both look away.

My cover blown, I dab my eyes again and prepare to head outside and start the feeding process. Six horses, one pony, and one goat wait for me to appear, half-dressed in pajamas, tall mud boots, and the old orange down jacket. A chorus of whinnies greets my appearance on the back porch. It's the best feeling. Even Argus manages to lift his head and look my way.

Out in the barn, I am delighted to see that Argus has finished his grain from the night before; the first time in two weeks. It's chock-full of herbs, probiotics, and other things that will help support his immune system through all of this. His eyes sparkle for a moment before he settles back down into the dullness of illness. I wrap my arms around his neck, talking softly to him, telling him about all the wonderful people out in the world who wish most desperately for his recovery.

I go through my checklist, preparing a armload of things to put into Argus: A rectal thermometer; 20ccs of Naxcel to inject into his measly muscles (it's painful for him at times); a 60cc syringe full of liquidy "red stuff" (also known as Rifampin) mixed with a half gram of bute. Argus stands patiently while I gently peel back the left corner of his lip and shoot this syringe-full of red liquid down his throat. He begins to shake as I remove the cover of the needle, readying his "shot." I scrub down the injection site, this time his chest, and the shaking increases. I feel like a terrible mother. Still, he stands still, his mouth pressed tightly closed, his eyes elsewhere. A couple of quick smacks with my fist on his pectoral muscle, and the third time I plunge the needle in. Argus stands still. The Naxcel goes in. Liquid gold.

A week ago, Dr. Miller and I wondered if I could pull any of this off, and for how long. Getting a needle and oral medications into Argus was a rodeo event. Now, it's like he's been doing it all of his life.

I think about the pediatric oncologist's letter as I stand with Argus. How the threads of life take us here and there; how a seemingly random, and meaningless act might leave a legacy of benevolence that lasts for years, although we may never know it. How we go through life, never fully knowing the reaches of our actions and words. How a white horse, forgotten in a lonely paddock for most of his life, has the ability to touch hearts all over the world.

Love is medicine, too. It goes both ways, sent to Argus to encourage and heal, and sent back out into the world with the hope of peace for all creatures.

Light a "candle" for Argus --- this is fun!...