Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Someone call horse protection- this is not a drill!
I hate to frighten you but I had to break into the house while the servants are at work to let you know of my dire situation.
(Irish STOP snickering!)
My life up to now has gone pretty well. But last week it was turned around. I was hanging out in my paddock minding my own business when a pick up truck pulled into the yard. A man came out and the male servant (called Ed) came out of the house. I vaguely recognized the man from the spring. He came to do something to Irish' teeth and was very appreciative of my handsomeness. I had no worries when the brought me into the barn and put me on the cross ties. Ed told me that the 'vet wanted to see me'
Ed said that Teresa (my regular caretaker) was on her way home. The vet stood back and looked at me. I waited for the compliments. But did he discuss how well I've grown? How well I take care of my coat by regular applications of mud? no!
He used the 'f'' word. Yes, dear readers, he called me fat. I was too shocked to move.
I'm not fat. I'm fluffy.
Just then I heard the sound of tires and the scattering of gravel as a car pulled into the driveway. A few minutes later Mom came in. She took the lead line from Ed and gave me a scratch. I looked at her. My eyes said 'save me' but she didn't seem to understand.
She asked this so-called-vet "how does he look?"
"he's fat" said the vet.
I waited for her to correct him. I even closed my eyes in anticipation of the blast that this vet was going to get.
"oh" she said. "I was afraid of that"
My world crumbled and I stuck my nose under her arm. There was much discussion of feed and growth and nutrients, but frankly I wasn't listening.
The vet even said that I looked good and was ready to do more grown up activities. It was too little too late. As far as I was concerned this vet was dead to me.
Next it was Irish's turn. I hung out in the stall to hear him called fat. But no! The vet said 'he looks good. Keep feeding him the same'.
Irish stood there looking all perfect and smug.
That night my starvation began. I am getting only 1/2 of my normal ration. How am I to subsist on that? I ate it in about 5 minutes and the sidled over to Irish's side.
"come on buddy, give me some. I'm dying here"
"sorry junior. You wouldn't want me to violate doctor's orders would you?"
Yes, I am still getting hay but I miss my grain. After a few days of this I decided enough is enough.
I've tried staying in Irish's stall to get his feed. So far this is a failure.
I've tried to snag Irish's feed bin (it hangs over the stall and can be removed). If I'm not getting fed then neither is he! But the humans keep finding it and he's still getting fed.
My last act of desperation is to ask my internet fans for help.
I beg you- send carrots, apples, grain anything.
Except for peppermints. I hate those.
You can disguise these goodies in hay bundles or saddle pads.
I won't tell. I promise.
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Sorry Steele, but it is for your own good. ;)ReplyDelete
Happens to the best of us bud - you're not alone!ReplyDelete
Sorry little guy... it was done to me too... I wish I could help you, but I promise it won't kill you. :)ReplyDelete
Steele says that he's glad to know that he's not alone but wonders if his buddies could set up a secret carrot railroad...ReplyDelete