The midnight drive to Madison felt oddly familiar. I was exhausted from hosting several groups on the farm earlier in the day, working a shift at the restaurant, and of course — loading Chaz and admitting him to UW Veterinary Care for a life-threatening leg injury. I was exhausted, yet wired with adrenaline. Even if I laid down to rest, I knew I would not sleep.
`The late-night drive to UW to visit Chaz felt reminiscent of an earlier trip to Madison back in 2017 to visit my mother, who was in intensive care at the time. In fact, Chaz was being treated only a few blocks from UW-Hospital, where my mother had been. Eerily familiar, but instead of turning left to visit her, I would turn right to visit him. The dark drive down mostly deserted roads and highways at a time when most normal people are sleeping to visit an ailing loved one — yeah, I’ve done this before.
Chaz had been on my mind all through the evening shift at Pancho and Lefty’s. I thought about my friend, in a strange place surrounded by strange people, getting poked and prodded as the wound was inspected and cleaned. I thought of Chaz, knowing full well the cognitive ability of animals to sense when they have been abandoned or discarded, and it broke my heart to imagine him feeling this way. I could not get to Madison soon enough.
On a personal note, I was blown away by the genuinely sympathetic reception I got at the restaurant. Cooks and servers stopped what they were doing and asked about Chaz. One of the prep cooks asked if I needed the night off; she would be happy to cover my shift if I “needed a break.” If Chaz was getting the best support he could at UW, I was surrounded by the best support group possible in the service industry.
I arrived at UW around midnight still in my work uniform and smelling of smoked meats and creole sauce. The head veterinarian received me at the door, smiling, “Chaz is all cleaned up and he is doing well.” She led me toward his stall. Rounding the corner but still out of sight, Chaz let out a loud whinny. In his stall, he stood tall and proud. His eyes were bright and his ears alert — a much better sign from the dullness earlier in the day. I opened the stall and stood in the company of my friend. He circled and grumbled. His left-rear leg was bandaged from the knee to the ankle. I was relieved to see him put weight on the leg as he moved effortlessly, albeit stiffly, in his stall.
If Chaz had been wounded physically that day, his attitude and personality remained intact. He placed his nose against my chest and flicked my chin up, as he has always done. I can practically hear him exclaim, “Chin up! Stand tall.” He devoured the carrot ends I always pocket when stocking the line, and resumed pacing his stall as if impatiently demanding more.
There is something uniquely remarkable about Chaz. As any equestrian will share, every once in awhile you are granted the privilege of genuinely connecting with a horse, and them with you. Chaz is that horse — he genuinely connects with his riders and caretakers. During his five-day stay at UW, he was visited by four of his riding students. When these kids learned about his predicament, they gathered treats and made arrangements to visit “their” horse. One of the students described in great detail how Chaz visited her in her dreams. Another teenager rode Chaz on a first date at the farm. For these kids, Chaz was their first real introduction to riding, cantering, and the sacredness of the human-horse relationship. He is a special guy.
Chaz’s original owner and trainer reached out. Nancy is a friend of the farm, and was Chaz’s caretaker through the first several chapters of his life. She raised him from a foal, rode him all over the Midwest, and in her words, “loved him dearly.” One day, Nancy was watching PBS and saw a special about Wegmueller Farm. To her surprise and delight, there was Chaz, larger than life and clearly happy and healthy, on TV. Although Nancy’s riding days are long past, that PBS special brought us together and reunited her with her old friend.
She visited Chaz at UW and quietly remarked, “I am so grateful he is with you.”
Upon admitting Chaz to UW Veterinary Care, I was cautioned about his age, the severity of the wound, and the obvious costs we were about to incur. Chaz is, after all, 25 years old — the equivalent of a human in their early 70s, and he is starting to exhibit early signs of arthritis and joint inflammation. I remember saying, “Once you get to know this horse, you’ll understand why he’s here.”
Following his initial admittance and diagnosis, the head veterinarian at UW called me with an update:
“Chaz is doing very well. He gave us no issues at all cleaning and bandaging the wound. He is taking the antibiotics with no complications, and we just love him. Chaz is such a good boy, and I am so glad he’s here.”
— Dan Wegmueller is the owner of Wegmueller Farms and his column appears regularly in the Times. His website is https://www.farmforthought.org.
