---
title: "No Wrong Answer: When the Outcome Still Hurts"
description: A heartfelt reflection on the difficult decision to euthanize a beloved horse, exploring the complexities of hope, care, and the philosophy of compassionate choices.
---

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# [No Wrong Answer: When the Outcome Still Hurts](https://tiffanyring.net/stories/no-wrong-answer-when-the-outcome-still-hurts)

 Written by [Tiffany Ring](https://tiffanyring.net/stories/author/tiffany-ring) | Nov 5, 2026, 3:20:33 AM

Today, we euthanized Simon.

Simon was an 18-year-old horse who had been struggling with the effects of EPM, a neurological disease that can cause weakness, loss of coordination and other significant problems. We'd treated him, watched him improve, and even received a negative test result. There were good reasons to believe he was recovering, although we knew that recovery might never mean returning to the horse he had been before.

Then came the setbacks. He began losing weight, developed an infected puncture wound, and we found ourselves questioning whether the improvements we'd seen were enough to justify continuing treatment. Some days we were encouraged. Other days we were discussing whether it was time to let him go. And then he'd improve again, giving us another reason to reconsider.

As winter approached, those discussions became more serious. We knew that even if Simon was comfortable and managing reasonably well in the fall, a South Dakota winter would bring challenges that could be dangerous for a horse with neurological deficits. Ice, deep snow and frozen, uneven ground can be difficult for healthy horses, let alone one who struggles with balance and coordination. Unless he continued improving to the point where we were no longer worrying about him slipping or becoming stuck, we knew euthanasia might be the kindest decision before winter arrived.

Throughout all of it, I questioned our decisions. Was his improvement meaningful? Were we interpreting his setbacks correctly? Were we giving him a fair opportunity to recover, or were we letting our hope influence our judgment? It's difficult enough to answer those questions when you have a clear diagnosis and a predictable prognosis. It's considerably harder when the information keeps changing and the horse in front of you doesn't follow the expected path.

And then today, a random patch of slippery clay changed everything.

We were able to get Simon out of the clay, but getting him onto safer ground was only the beginning. It was about 45 degrees, raining, and the ground was saturated from weeks of relentless moisture. We worked to get him warm, prevent him from going into shock and help him back onto his feet, but he simply couldn't get his legs underneath him.

As we continued trying, it became increasingly clear that he'd injured both hind legs. The leg that had previously been injured was swelling rapidly again, and his other hind leg wasn't able to support his weight or give him the push he needed to stand. Each attempt gave us more information, but none of it was encouraging.

We started weighing our options. We own a sling, and we could potentially have rolled him onto a tarp or board and pulled him to firmer ground, although finding a genuinely firm spot after so much rain was a challenge of its own. We could have tried a steroid and continued working to get him standing. There were still things we could attempt, and we were willing to consider them.

But we also had to ask whether those interventions offered him a reasonable chance of getting up and staying up, or whether we were asking an already exhausted and injured horse to endure more because we weren't ready to stop trying.

When the veterinarian and technician arrived, we were still discussing whether to make another attempt or let him go. They reassured us immediately that they wouldn't judge us either way and would support whatever decision we made.

Because humor is sometimes how I get through the hardest moments, I responded, "You would if we did nothing and just let him lie there in the water."

It was meant to be funny, but there was truth behind it. One of the core principles of my *No Wrong Answer* philosophy is that doing nothing is always the wrong answer. That doesn't mean we have to pursue every available treatment or intervene aggressively in every situation. Choosing comfort care, deciding against treatment, or electing euthanasia are all decisions. Ignoring suffering and refusing to take responsibility for an animal in your care is something very different.

I've spent years talking about No Wrong Answer in animal welfare, and recently had the opportunity to present that philosophy to others. At its heart is the belief that our decisions are shaped by three things: the information we have, the resources available to us, and our values. We can have exactly the same information about an animal and still arrive at different decisions because our resources and values aren't identical. That doesn't necessarily make one of us right and the other wrong.

But there's another part of that philosophy that I've had to lean into particularly hard today: **New information does not determine whether previous decisions were wrong.**

I know there are people who would have euthanized Simon rather than treating his EPM. Some might have made that decision when he began losing weight, or when his puncture wound became infected. Others might have tried longer today. And I know that now, with the benefit of knowing how his story ended, there will be people who believe we waited too long.

I understand that perspective, even if I don't share it. I've seen enough difficult recoveries and disappointing outcomes that I could easily decide we should never treat another horse with EPM. I could make a blanket policy that eliminates the uncertainty, the expense, the emotional investment and the possibility of ending up right where we did today.

In some ways, that would be easier. There would be fewer decisions to second-guess, fewer days spent trying to determine whether a small improvement was meaningful, and fewer opportunities to wonder whether we'd missed the moment when treatment was no longer in the horse's best interest.

But I don't think that would be consistent with my values.

I believe in evaluating the individual horse, the circumstances in front of us, the realistic treatment options and the quality of life we believe we can provide. I believe in giving an animal an opportunity to recover when the information and resources available to us support doing so. And I believe just as strongly in recognizing when those circumstances have changed enough that continuing is no longer the compassionate choice.

When we started treating Simon, we had reasons to believe treatment was appropriate. When he improved, we had reasons to continue. When he experienced setbacks, we reevaluated. And when today's circumstances changed his prognosis so dramatically, we made another decision based on what we knew at that moment.

The fact that we ultimately euthanized him doesn't mean we should have made that decision months ago. It means that today, with the information we had and the circumstances we were facing, euthanasia became the decision we believed was best for him.

That distinction is easy to lose when we know the outcome. It's tempting to look backward and identify the moment when we think someone should have chosen differently, particularly when we're evaluating someone else's decisions from a distance. We see the ending and assume the people making the decisions along the way should have seen it coming.

But they couldn't. And neither could we.

I will absolutely carry what we learned from Simon into future decisions. His recovery, his setbacks, the complications and the outcome all become part of the information we'll have the next time we're faced with a similar situation. That's how experience should work. It should help us ask better questions, recognize potential problems and make more informed decisions.

What I don't want is for that experience to become a reason to stop considering the possibilities.

If another horse comes to us with EPM and we believe treatment offers a reasonable opportunity for recovery and a good quality of life, I would make the same choice again. I would still worry, still question the setbacks, still celebrate the improvements and still recognize that we might ultimately have to make the decision to euthanize.

Because the possibility of an unhappy ending doesn't automatically make the decision to try a bad one.

Tonight, I'm sad about Simon. I'm frustrated that after everything he'd been through, something as ordinary as a slippery patch of clay became the final complication. And I'm sure I'll continue to question moments along the way, because caring deeply about an animal doesn't make it easy to accept that you couldn't change the outcome.

But I also know that our decisions were guided by the same values I talk about when I teach No Wrong Answer. We paid attention, we adjusted when new information became available, and we took responsibility for making difficult decisions when Simon needed us to.

I wish we had a different outcome. But knowing how Simon's story ended doesn't change why we made the decisions we did, and it doesn't mean I wouldn't make them again.

[View full post](https://tiffanyring.net/stories/no-wrong-answer-when-the-outcome-still-hurts)

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