Diagnosis

Looks as if I owe Cupcake an apology. The blacksmith found an abscess that had already opened and drained. He might have had it for a while, possibly low-grade or partially open that started hurting when it closed/reclosed. Blacksmith thinks it had more to do with the wet weather than recent “work”. Either way, Rodney how has front shoes. He is celebrating by cavorting about the field.

When he had his first injury – also a foot abscess [Blues*] – I didn’t know how to interpret his behavior. Was he an iron horse or a cupcake? The answer: he’s an iron cupcake. When he’s injured, he does carry on as if the end of the world is nigh. No stoic, wild horse, hid-your-injury-from-predators here. OTOH, he usually does have a legitimate grievance.

(* For those who came later to the party, Rodney was renamed shortly after this. [Square])

Your horse: iron or cake?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

Handling the paperwork.

Hoof Meet Bucket

Imagine me sitting here, listening to the earworm:

There’s a hoof in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza.
There’s a hoof in the bucket, dear Liza, a hoof.

& wishing I was creative enough to come up with words to the rest of the verses.
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Gratuitous Kitten Picture
(Good taste prevented me dragging out the camera.)

Before she came to live with us, our German Shepherd had several litters. She has regained her figure but retains a few attributes of her maternal past. Recently, one of the kittens has been experiencing species confusion. I’ll let your imagination do the rest. Snaps to the dog for bearing it with fortitude.

TMI?

Mixed Messages

Bad steps are contagious. After Mathilda’s adventure Sunday evening, Rodney was off Monday morning. We suspect he is mildly footsore but having horse histrionics over it. The lunging he has been doing has been proof of concept more than work: halter, no tack, short, mostly walk, microscopic amount of trotting. OTOH, who are we to judge, it’s his foot.

The bad news is, first, he hurts – which is never nice. Second, he’s barefoot now, so he will need front shoes before he does any more work. Or what might pass for work if you squint. Third and long-term, he’s going to be a princess about his feet.

The good news is his attitude. Previously when he was off or ill, he would act jumpy and scared of us. Now, he’s mooching around outside of Mathilda’s pen projecting as much pitiful as possible, “Mop my brow. Sing Soft Kitty.” In general he is calm, trusting us to fix his owie, and sucking up as much bedside attention as we can dish out. It could be an reflection of his preference for warm weather [Frightful] or, just possibly, actual progress in getting through to him.

Two horses, two lamenesses, is anyone surprised?
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Gratuitous Kitten Picture

After the first bath.

Liberty Mare

And for the exciting news: nothing happened.

Over the weekend, we finally let Mathilda graze on her own for a few minutes each day. Granted we were both hovering close by, grain buckets at the ready should she decide to get silly.

The goal is to get her less labor intensive. Ironically, this routine means more work for the moment. Hand-grazing requires one semi-distracted individual to follow her about on the end of a leadrope. When I’m watching her at liberty, I dare not get absorbed in a book. I don’t want the first notice of gonzo-mare to be the wind of her passage.

The other downside is that I got to see her from the back & see how crooked she walks. Way better than this spring, but still shocking. I’m usually up front & don’t get to see that angle.

She ate. She came back in. Hubby & I survived the anxiety overload. Slowly we make progress, hoofstep by hoofstep.

….

And then in an unrelated incident, she takes a bad step & is off. Phooey, phooey, phooey, phooey, phooey!

September Whine

I’ve shown you lots of pretty pictures lately and haven’t angsted at you for a while. Time to remedy that.

While I was out of town, Hubby took Rodney for a spin on the lunge line. He – the horse, not the hubby – farted and fussed as you would expect from a horse used to a life of leisure. However, Hubby thought Rodney’s back was much softer. He didn’t have faith in all the woo-woo things I had been doing, but now he had to admit they were having an effect. There were even brief glimpses when Rodney was relaxed and possibly willing to listen. Time to go back to work.

I should be excited.

My reluctance could be a protection from further disappointment. A natural enough response but it feels more than that. If Rodney became a reformed character overnight all I can see are an endless slog of tack fittings, 20-meter circles, and crossrails w/o stirrups. All so I can get up at o-dark-silly to tangle his mane into knots, cart him off to a dustbowl of a showgrounds, and show until I’m so hot my brain melts. It feels as if I am contemplating a dive into a vast sea of pointlessness.

When I have time after our busy show season, I will reread this and & wonder what all the stewing was about. However, one of the aims of a daily blog is to record what one is feeling moment to moment. What I’m feeling at the moment is weary.
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Gratuitous Kitten Picture

Broom or cat toy? You decide.