Windchill dies; city's collective heart breaks

Last night, out of nowhere, little Windchill the 10-month-old colt died in his sleep. He was rescued from unbearably frigid temperatures three weeks ago, and given a 1 percent chance of survival. Amazingly, he not only survived, he thrived. He was putting weight on his emaciated frame, and with the aid of a sling he was able to hoist himself on his frost-bitten legs and stand.

Though I often complained about covering his recovery, I never wished him ill and am surprised by the feelings of my icy heart melting upon news of his death.

RIP, Little Neigh.