Alternative title:  Whiskey is not Henry.

I had a lesson at 10:30 on Saturday at my trainer's farm.  I came in to my barn hot at 9:30 that morning (breakfast with the hubs and then a stop for carrots and apples), only to see the BO sitting in his truck outside the boys' pasture.  He waved, I waved, and I proceeded to hitch up my trailer.

Seconds later, he's pulling his truck up next to mine and letting me know that he's gotten a late start and hasn't fed yet.  Why the fuck are you telling me this and not actually feeding?  I essentially tell him to get a move on, as one of my ponies will be in this trailer in less than half an hour.  I am less than pleasant in the face of laziness.

Feeding has still taken too long, so I groom Whiskey in the pasture as he finishes eating.  Then I drag him to the barn aisle, toss his saddle on and start the death march to the trailer.

If you've seen my insta, you know where this is going.

What a beautiful day to miss my lesson because this fucker won't get on the trailer. 😍 #iloveyoubutihateyou #whiskeytheappaloosa #helpisontheway

A post shared by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Dec 23, 2017 at 7:43am PST

I admitted defeat at about 10:15 and texted my trainer.  She said she'd be by shortly to give me a hand.  While I waited, I took Whiskey to the round pen to work on the magical impossible right lead.  Whiskey was not impressed.

When trainer arrived, we went over all the steps I'd taken to encourage him.  Then she popped out a chain and got him on the trailer in about three seconds.  We went back and forth, on and off and on and off, until he was eventually self-loading.  I was amazed.

Having a conversation.

We took a break from all this to run him around a little more in the round pen, this time with a bridle and a saddle, before we did more with the trailer.  By the end of it, we decided to let him hang out a bit on the trailer while she taught a lesson to my two barn buddies and I put up his tack. 



Now this next part, I take all the blame for.  It was my ineptitude.

We'd left Whiskey untied in the trailer, just because he'd been on and off so many times and I don't think it dawn on either of us to tie him.  She took off the lead with the chain and I didn't put the regular lead back on.  When I went to get him off, he had stuck his head below the chest bar.  I unhooked the chest bar and attached the lead, tossing it over his neck.  Then I went around to remove the butt bar.

In the time it took me to get the butt bar off, my little spotted dickhead went through the escape door.

I've heard of horses doing this unscathed.  And I've heard of horses getting injured.

Unfortunately, Whiskey was injured.  He has a very minor scratch on his right hip, but took a literal chunk out of his left hip.  If the cut were a straight line, suturing or stapling might have been an option.  But the cut was a triangle, which generally means (dependent on size, location and blood flow) that the flap of skin is going to die.  So sutures wouldn't have worked.  Of course, I checked all this over with my vet and he said it wasn't worth worrying about.

Bad left.

Not as bad right.

Bad left, day two, with the triangle already dying.

I cleaned with a chlorhexadine scrub, then some proviodine, and finally a topical salve.  I asked the vet if I should forgo the topical so it could breathe, but he said it would be fine.  I gave the guy a little bute and told the BM to leave him naked, so the wound wasn't covered.

I'm going to try to make a more concerted effort to write consistently, now that I have two ponies and a weekly jump lesson on Ox to record.  Fingers crossed.

In this theme, I'm going to recap every fucking thing.

Dogs:
Birgette has been with us for six months and is amazing... except she has allergies and eats poop, but she still gives the best cuddles.

Scarlette's tumor has at least doubled in size in two months, and she's ripped it open, and it's infected.  So she'll have surgery next week.  Between the time of writing and posting this, Scarlette crashed.  This very second, she's at my vet's office, on fluids.  We don't know if she suffered heat stroke or if her cancer has become systemic.  I feel like life is really just various depths of hell.

Savannah is still my heart and still a fucking saint.  Go Banana.

Yes, that is a crib mattress.  No, it wasn't meant for my baby.  It got really good reviews for dogs!

My friend teaching me to flag/sack a horse.

He'll stand right there all day, until I walk over.

Looking at my boys from Ox's back.

Sunday, we brought Whiskey over from the old barn and moved him into the new barn.  Before he had a chance to really settle, I tacked him up and took him on his first trail ride with two of the barn buddies.  This was intentional - I wanted to see how he did when his brain was completely fried, surrounded by new horses, in a new environment.


 And my horse (squee) was a fucking champ.  He led, he followed, he crossed water with his face shoved into a palomino butt, and he led back over the water.  He still walked like a drunken moose, but steering takes time, right?  I was overall exceptionally pleased.

Chill enough to grab a snack.

My saddle on the ground, divots in the dirt.

A tiny bit of road rash on my elbow and a bruise on my stomach.

I like to think that Archie is telling him that if he tries that shit again, his ass is grass.

Archie

Ox

Whiskey

Other Pets

Me.

When you go out to give an apple to the horse that you think might be The Next Horse, only to meet his surprise new owners on the way. #fml #nomorelosses #appaloosa #whiskeythehorse #ineedsomegoodnews

A post shared by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Apr 27, 2017 at 7:39pm PDT

Grass.

I've never seen Archie play in his water. 😍

A post shared by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Apr 24, 2017 at 11:31am PDT

April 13th on top, last night on bottom.

The vet squeezed her in later that day.  When I showed the spot to the tech, she was immediately alarmed more than a hot spot warranted.  Had I actually touched the spot?  Nope.  Under the blood was a hard mass.  She has a fatty lipoma on her right hip, which is soft and rather malleable.  I racked my brain quickly with the possibility of a fatty lump exploding, of an abscess being that firm, and finally, you know, all the horrible things it could be if it weren't a run-of-the-mill lipoma.

This took forever because I wanted to use my iPad to draw.

Things I will eventually write about, promise:

• D's birthday/our anniversary weekend (a month ago!)
• riding the ponies

Her little canines should be poking on the edges of that tongue.

Since the visit, we've seen improvement in both her physical ability, as in we keep the exercise limited but she's still not limping, and in the condition of her eyes.  I had to talk to D about high-value treats and that the hot dogs only came out for eye drops and were immediately dispensed after eye drops, but this girl has been a champ for them.  Next up for her is a recheck and scheduling a visit for a dental specialist.  I want to get her eyes settled first.

This is exceptionally hard to write, because I am both acknowledging that I had hopes and dreams, small though they were, for my old gelding while simultaneously acknowledging that they will never happen.

And I'm on my third glass of wine, so forgive me any inconsistencies or errors or lapses into James Joyce-esque stream of consciousness.   Thank god I'm not at work right now.

The vet came out today.  While I was grazing Archie, the boarder who had confirmed on the ground that Archie was NQR asked me what I had called the vet for.  So I went into this visit thinking that I was paranoid, and paranoid when it comes to veterinary medicine is a much better place than "right".

Fuck me, I was right.

I'd texted my vet that Archie was intermittently short of stride in the sand and that I thought it was the right front.  We put Archie on the lunge, for the first time in like a freaking year (I don't lunge), and he watched Archie in both directions and confirmed my right front.

Good news:  I was right!

Bad news:  I was right!

The next step was blocking Archie's right front hoof.  This showed no improvement, thus eliminating like... something.  Navicular?  I told my vet that I was particularly fearful of nav, considering Archie's pancake feet.  And Carlos.  :(

Then he blocked Archie's pastern and we saw a little bit of improvement.

I'd already told him that I wanted to get rads to double-check the progression of his ringbone, because that shit has been following me on every ride like a little gray balloon attached to my wrist and you just can't fucking get away.  Since the diagnosis in 2012.  No wonder I'm a little crazy.

And the radiographs proved that the ringbone has progressed significantly.  At least, in his right front.

We immediately injected the right front pastern. We also talked about injecting his hocks as well, but both acknowledged that the priority was getting him sound on the front end.  And now I'm broke anyways.

The next step is leather pads, a shorter toe on that right front. and Pentosan.  I requested Pent because we tried Adequan years ago and it was no bueno for the Archer.

And, oh, yeah.

We're retired from jumping.

It's like a little stab in my heart every time I think it and I start crying automatically.  And before you think, asshole-ishly, you jerk, that all we jumped were crossrails:  fuck you.  I've got a jumping horse tattooed on my goddamn leg.  We loved our crossrails. We loved our little two foot fences.  We didn't have much but we had something and now that's gone.

Here's how it went:
Me: So, flatwork?
Him:  Yeah.
Me:  Permanently?
Him:  Well, that's up to Archie.  If he feels okay for a jump now or then, I've got no problem with it.

I think I went into shock when the vet and I were having this conversation because little bits and pieces came back to me later, sitting catatonically at my desk following the appointment.  We can't do circles.  Circles put too much pressure on the part of the joint that is fucking up.  I don't know if this is permanent or until the Arch gets comfortable.  I'll clarify tomorrow when I ask my vet to resend the rads.  You know, so I can show you what ringbone fucking up a pastern looks like.

But if it's permanent, then that not-so-much-a-joke about transitioning into dressage is a no-go, too. It kills me to think that our peak may have come and gone and I didn't appreciate it at the time.  No more little schooling combined tests, because my horse can't jump a course.

And while I whole-heartedly agree that it's fucking phenomenal that my eighteen year old OTTB is still sound for undersaddle work, I want to take a moment to acknowledge what we've lost.  So, here, let's bury some courses.

I started writing this post when I saw the light at the end of the kick-from-hell-tunnel.  And then Archie got cellulitis.  And then Archie got caught up in an electric fence and caused his leg to bleed and I wondered if he were going to have another bout of cellulitis.  So I waited.  I didn't talk about the leg-fence because I was pretty much done at that point.