Self consumed with the number of hats I will be wearing this week and overwhelmed by the buzzing noises of the outside world all around me, I am so very thankful for my horse sense. Not the sense of knowing a ton of information about horses - although I do. Or the ability to ride. I am talking horse sense. That ability to feel their needs, personalities, moods and well being like a sixth sense. A skill developed day after day, morning feeding after evening feeding for years.
It's my ability to spot a tiny speck of fresh blood while pushing a wheel barrow full of hay through the mud while fending off the would-be dine and dasher. It's that ability to know someone is lame after one step in a herd of five walking in unison. A sense I am so thankful for after last night.
Last Night, my Brown Eyed Girl and I went out to do the evening chores. I love the nights we do this together. She loves on and tucks Miss Kitty into her cat house for the evening while I make the trek out to the barn to feed the horses. Tucker runs wildly chasing bunnies and the three of us meet inside the barn and walk back to the house together.
I loaded up the wheel barrow with alfalfa and started heading out to drop hay. As I pushed the wheel barrow through a muddy spot, I noticed my big old red horse, Skip, was finishing up with a roll on the ground. The horses are starting to shed already and have been very itchy, rolling and scratching against the fence posts. He got to his feet, gave a little buck and scooted out of the pen to the area where I feed every day.
Skip is a pig.
He is 100% motivated by food. I have doctored large wounds and pulled out porcupine quills without sedation and only the promise of a treat or handful of sweet feed. He is a bully at feeding time. He drives the other horses off of each pile until he settles on his favorite. Ear pinning, a little heel lifting, but for the most part he's all talk. He loves to eat and never passes up a good meal.
As I dropped the final flake of hay, I turned my wheel barrow back towards the barn and I noticed Skip walk right past the hay piles and start to lay down again. I knew. I knew in that split second that we had a problem. He was colicing and I had to do something about it quickly!
Colic in horses means "abdominal pain." It can have a variety of causes and treatments. Colic can vary greatly in severity and given a horse's size can be quite the dramatic experience. The horse's digestive system, if stretched completely out, is about 120 feet long. They are sensitive animals when it comes to food and things can go bad quickly.
I shouted down to my Brown Eyed Girl to run in the house and get my cell phone immediately. She sensed the panic in my voice and asked what was the matter. I told her Skip was colicing and we needed to call the vet right away. She darted toward the house and I ran for a halter. I put his halter on and started to walk him. The best thing you can do is get them moving and keep them from laying down and rolling. Easier said than done. When a 1,000 lb animal decides he's going to lay down... he is laying down. All you can do is try to prevent him from rolling and thrashing around and keep tugging and pulling on him, encouraging him to get back up and keep moving. It's exhausting, I am not going to lie.
My Brown Eyed Girl came racing into the arena with my phone and I left my amazing vet a message and paged him. We kept walking.
Within the time it took for Handy Man and Mr Blue Eyes to venture outside to see what all the commotion was about, Skip was transitioning from mild to moderate colic. He started sweating on the underside of his neck, his breathing labored, he was attempting to lay down and roll more frequently and I knew this was not good. I suddenly remembered that I might have some medication in the house for colic and by the time Handy Man walked up to me I handed him the lead rope and said, "I am waiting on the vet to call me back but I think I have medicine. Can you keep him walking and if he lays down try to get him back up. But whatever you do, don't let him roll over on his back from one side to the other! This is serious!"
Deer in the headlights. That was Handy Man's look.
I didn't have time for any objections (my poor Handy Man is NOT a horse person) and I sprinted into the house. In a box with miscellaneous old pet supplies - like Boji's leg splint from when he tore a tendon in his back leg in 2006 - I found the medication I was looking for! And, it expired in 2013...
Contemplating it's validity, my vet sent me a text message that he was on his way. He told me to go ahead and give Skip 10cc of the meds orally and I said ok!
A syringe.... got it.
Needle.... check.
Houston we have a problem. The mis-matched syringe did not fit onto the end of the needle so I could draw out the medication from the vial. Several choice words and a comical attempt at trying to convince myself I could hold the syringe up to the needle in the vial and still create enough draw to pull the meds out... and I raced to the barn and started tearing apart my tack room. A smaller syringe... a bigger needle... Coooommmmmmeeee ooooonnnnnn!
Desperate times call for desperate measures and I did what any reasonable horseman would do... I found a dirty old pocket knife, cut a big old hole in the rubber stopper and got the 10cc I needed!
By the time I sprinted out to Handy Man, Skip was dripping with sweat from head to tow. He was panting and grunting - a complete mess. Skip had transitioned to severe colic. Handy Man looked irritated. He held his head while I administered the medications and we waited. The vet was still about 20 minutes away. We tried to walk again and he laid down, again. By now he was miserable. His eyes were straining, he was contorting his neck and posturing abnormally. Deep down, I got scared.
I could feel Handy Man's eyes on me. When I returned his stare, no words were spoken while our Brown Eyed Girl and Mr Blue Eyes stood watching. We both knew what was very likely to happen tonight and Handy Man suggested we try to walk Skip up into the pasture, out of the mud. I led him though the gate and I prayed it wouldn't be for the last time.
It was everything I could do not to cry. We had just been talking about sending Skip to a trainer for 30 days to get him ready for our Brown Eyed Girl to start riding this summer. I just kept thinking to myself and hoping he could hear me. We have such big plans for you Skip. I'm not ready let her see another go this soon.
He laid down in the field and just stayed there. Not trying to roll. Exhausted.
I pet his sweaty and muddy coat and just talked to him.
My Brown Eyed Girl knelt down beside me and we talked about colic. She asked me, "Mom, if he has to go to the vet's office tonight, I want to go with him."
I looked at her and I said sympathetically and truthfully, "Honey, he won't be going to the vet's tonight. If Dr. Tom can't help him here, tonight, we will have to put him down."
Her mouth fell slightly open, but she didn't shed a tear. She just nodded and said, "ok."
I took her hand and said, "I promise I will do what we can for him but the surgery is very expensive and the outcome is not always great." She nodded not truly understanding but accepting and we both silently kept praying.
Handy Man and Mr Blue Eyes left us in our moment and went back inside.
A minute or so later Skip stirred a bit. His coat felt as if the sweating had stopped and his breathing was less labored.
Then he tried to eat the grass.
A few moments later he tried to get up. He shook of some mud and took a deep cleansing breath. Headlights rounded the cul-de-sac and Dr. Tom pulled into the pasture and drove down by the barn. We led skip to the barn and by the time we got there I said, "He is not the same horse he was 10 minutes ago.."
Dr. Tom could tell by all of our disheveled appearances that the last 40 minutes had been hard on everyone. We moved into the barn, he took Skip's vitals and we agreed he looked like he was pulling out of it. We chatted about colic, the state of the world and watched Skip for another 30 minutes.
Dr. Tom said he thought were were out of the woods. I agreed to check on him one more time that night and first thing in the morning with reports.
My Brown Eyed Girl smiled and we almost skipped back inside.
Handy Man was waiting and when we entered the living room, dry eyed, and he was confused. I announced that Skip was better and he should be ok. Hand Man was in complete shock. He kept asking how that was possible. He said he literally thought he was watching Skip die before his eyes. I said had I not had the medication or the vet on his way we might not have been so lucky. He just shook his head and said he was glad his little girl didn't have to do that all over again.
10:00 pm he was standing quietly with the others and I whispered goodnight.
6:40 am as I stepped outside this morning, the sun coming up, he nickered softly and although I couldn't see him right away, I knew it was him. I rounded the bend and there he was.
Dirty and hungry.
But all was still right in the world... well at least my little world
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