Vet day at horse camp

Yesterday I had the kind of day that keeps me engaged in my life, present to what I have created, and a little amazed at where I have ended up. I have more of these days lately than I ever have; all I can surmise about that is lucky, lucky me.
Most Mondays I spend on the Mountain interacting on some level with horses. I have some friends up there who have their lives all wrapped up in horses, and they have special horses, and special experiences because of them. Sometimes we ride in the woods, and those rides can be sublime and peaceful and green, or they can be harrowing and steep and loud with the sounds of hooves and dirt and breath. Some days I ride in the arena and learn about how my knees talk to Austin, or the way he feels my heartbeat speed up and wonders what to do. Some days we brush and brush and brush them. I love going out to the pasture to see them; they all want to get close and smell your hair or eat your hat or nudge you until you nudge them back. There are new fillies now, and I have a big crush on one of them. She loves me back, and so when I go to see her she kisses me on the face and follows me wherever I go and everyone who sees us can see how in love we are.
Yesterday was vet-day at horse camp, and she arrived right on time at high noon in her big pickup. She was clad in a fleece jacket and one of those life-is-good baseball caps. Her eyes were very shiny. She was totally in tune with her work, and she answered all my questions happily as she went from horse to horse with their vaccinations. After shots, she went to her truck and started to prepare for the gelding that was allegedly happening on Thursday. I started to get all cringy inside and nervous. Gelding is the word that is used for the ol' snippetty-snip that divests a male horse of his inherent stallionness.
I have read about 72532746352 books about horses in my life. Most of them were read between the ages of 7 and 15, but I remember them. And what I remembered yesterday as the vet was assembling her tools were the gory tales of horse-book stories. In books, and probably in real life too, sometimes, horses will get their junk removed without the comfort of anesthesia, and without care, or gentleness, or loving kindness. My imagination was on fire, and I felt a little sick when the pretty young stallion (Dan) was brought into the barn. The vet had a big hank of very wide, soft rope in hand, and she tossed it on the dirt floor of the arena. "Welcome to my surgical suite," she said, and winked. She had two stainless steel buckets--one with betadine solution, and the other with some blue liquid in it. She referred to these buckets as "cold sterilization." Next she prepared two syringes--one with a sedative, and one with ketamine. She gave the sedative first, and Dan started to list a bit. His eyes dulled. We all talked to him and told him what a good boy he was. When Dan was blotto, she gave the ketamine. Then he needed help lying down. Soon after, he was out. We covered his eyes with towels. The vet used the big rope to tie him in such a way that his top back leg was up, so she had easy access to his cajones, which, she noted, were sizable. She swabbed him over and over with the betadine solution. Then she made an incision in his scrotum. She had a great big tool with a horrible name that cuts and crushes the vascular tissue and the connective tissue that needs to be severed. It makes a nauseating sound. She told us that she never hears the sound when she is doing the gelding, but she hears it when she is present and someone else is doing it. She has been gelding horses for 21 years, and it still makes her heart race. And just like that, she did the same thing to the other side, tossed the excised testicle on the floor next to the other one, and took a breath.
Dan slept for awhile longer, but soon enough, he woke up and got up on his own. The vet told him it was all a bad dream, and what a good, good boy he was.
We examined the offal, and she indulged all my curiousities. When she finally drove off in her big truck, I was struck by how clear, clean, and competent she was, as well as kind. She is the kind of doctor I would trust to care for anyone I love, and the kind of doctor I work to be. I have to admit, though, I'm glad I don't have to remove anyone's testicles. But maybe it's something I could learn to get comfortable with.
Ahem.