The Devastation Of Loss With Laminitis.

Laminitis Loves and Losses :(

The Devastation Of Loss With Laminitis.

I am feeling very fragile and emotional right now, and I want to be honest about that before I say anything else.

I am writing this with a heavy heart, not as an educator, not as someone with all the answers, but as a human being who is hurting and devastated at another tragic loss.

Today I was in my tack room. I have been building it bit by bit for about six months, stealing an hour here and there between helping people with their horses and running Natural Horse NZ. I have never had a tack room before, so I have been quietly excited about it, joking that it is my wee she shed. Today, it was finally almost finished, and for a moment, I felt proud and accomplished.

I walked inside, made a coffee, and sat down to check a few emails.

And there it was. Bam! Like being hit by a truck.

Another horse gone. Another owner shattered. Another life ended because of laminitis. In an instant, the joy drained out of the room.

That is what laminitis does. It does not knock or give a warning. It arrives like a black hole, swallowing everything. Hope, sleep, finances, confidence, and eventually, sometimes, the horse you love more than anything in the world.

It is supposed to be summer here in New Zealand, yet instead of dry heat and a natural slowdown in grass growth, we have had torrential rain, severe winds, and then warm conditions in between. This constant fluctuation has created a perfect storm, as our grass has never truly stopped growing and behaves more like an eternal spring than a summer. Pasture has remained stressed and sugar-loaded, becoming dangerous while still looking innocently green and familiar.

This is a major reason we have seen so many cases of laminitis this year, catching owners completely off guard and overwhelming horses that were never designed to cope with conditions like these.

I see the owners at the end of this road. I hear the crack in their voices. I read the emails written through tears, guilt, and exhaustion. I know what it costs them to say the words “we decided to let her go.” That decision is nota weakness. It is devastation wrapped in love.

I am a rescuer. That is who I am at my core. I am wired to help horses, and helping them is what makes me feel whole. I work close to a hundred hours a week, often without any pay, because I cannot walk away when someone is desperate, and their horse is hurting. I support, I listen, I show up, and still, sometimes, I arrive too late.

Sometimes the damage is already done. Sometimes the pain cannot be undone. Sometimes the kindest thing left is to stop the suffering. Every time I hear that another horse has been put to sleep because of laminitis, it feels like a punch to the chest. Not because someone failed, but because this condition is cruel, relentless, and unforgiving. It destroys the horse’s body, and it tears the owner apart at the same time.

I need owners to hear this clearly.

Laminitis is not your fault.

It is not your fault that we live in a climate filled with grasses that horses were never designed to survive on. It is not your fault that modern pasture can quietly poison a horse from the inside out. It is not your fault that companies sell rubbish ingredients in horse feeds nof health but for profit, or that many supplements are marketed with promises that never come true.

You loved your horse. You tried. You worried. You lost sleep. You made impossible decisions with a broken heart.

If you have ever held your horse while they were put to sleep and wondered if you could have done more, please hear me. Love does not always get the miracle ending. Sometimes love looks like staying until the very last breath, whispering thank you, and carrying the grief so they do not have to carry the pain anymore.

This is the part of laminitis no one prepares you for. The silence after. The empty paddock. The halter you cannot bring yourself to move. Knowing you did the right thing and still feeling completely broken.

I am hurting today, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But I also know this. For every horse we lose to laminitis, there are many more who are still here because someone acted early, asked for help, changed course, and refused to ignore the quiet warning signs. Those wins do not erase the losses, but they matter deeply, and they are the reason I keep showing up even on days like this.

If you are reading this and your horse is still here, please take that as hope, not fear. Early awareness saves lives. Listening sooner matters. And while laminitis takes far too much from too many, it does not always get the final word.

Today I grieve the horses we could not save. Tomorrow, I will keep doing the work for the ones we can.

Tracy @ Natural Horse NZ