- May 11, 2010
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So, I have a horse who went lame. Since losing my farrier to depression and self medication, I have not been able to find a blacksmith who could be dependable. Due to the lack of equine farriers in my area, this horse has not done well, and the health of his hooves has declined. He needs regular trims, but getting a blacksmith to commit to coming out on a regular basis is like pulling teeth. With fuel prices so high, farriers have to limit their customers. The price of being out in the country. I did find a farrier who came and trimmed the horses. When he left I noticed Bigshot gimping around. I checked his hooves and saw where the 'farrier' had trimmed so close the horse was oozing blood from a sand crack.
Cursing under my breath, I immediately saturated his hooves with coppertox and he seemed to do well. He was gimpy going down hill and I gave him bute every so often to keep him comfortable. Then came the rains, and the mud, more rain, more mud, and I ended up with a horse with a developing abscess. This event is excruciating as the infection is trapped against the hoof wall and the sensitive inner parts of the hoof. Bigshot was in agony, yet he allowed me to raise his hoof and examine it. I sighed and got to work on the abscess regimen all experienced horse owners know about. The foot soaking, poultice applications, the hoof boots. Throughout it all Bigshot never complained. To be honest, I think elevating the hoof eased some of the pain.
Then Stan decides he needed to supervise the treatment. At first, he watched from afar as I gathered all the supplies, the buckets, the injections. Each time he'd come closer to watch me flush the area with peroxide and other medications. He'd inspect the bucket carrying the supplies and take position a couple a feet away to observe. Occasionally, he'd offer advice with an occasional purr, but mostly he was silent.
Yesterday, as I was sitting on my bucket with the horse's hoof positioned on my leg so I could flush the wound, Stan moved in closer.
"Don't you even think about flogging me, Mister," I warned and gave him a glare.
He picked up a piece of straw and looked at me.
I showed him my hoof instrument. "I can cut you."
He dropped the straw and looked at the horse.
I poked, cut, flushed, and was totally focused on the job. Then I saw Stan. He was inches from my face. I ignored him and focused on a suspicious dark area. Stan peered at the wound. He stared so hard he appeared cross-eyed. Without warning he pecked the spot. The horse flinched and pus erupted. Alarmed, Stan stepped back. The horse flicked his tail and Stan retreated several more feet. I got busy flushing and cleaning the area.
A few minutes later, Stan strutted out of the barn and crowed loudly. He immediately went to the girls and clucked, purred, and trilled for all he was worth. No doubt he was telling them how he had to show me where the abscess was, and how his sharp beak came in handy for the final cut. Undoubtedly the horse would have died if he had not been there.
I finished my work, applied the hoof boot, and collected my gear. The horse feels much better now, and Stan has something to crow about. As if he needed another reason to crow!
Cursing under my breath, I immediately saturated his hooves with coppertox and he seemed to do well. He was gimpy going down hill and I gave him bute every so often to keep him comfortable. Then came the rains, and the mud, more rain, more mud, and I ended up with a horse with a developing abscess. This event is excruciating as the infection is trapped against the hoof wall and the sensitive inner parts of the hoof. Bigshot was in agony, yet he allowed me to raise his hoof and examine it. I sighed and got to work on the abscess regimen all experienced horse owners know about. The foot soaking, poultice applications, the hoof boots. Throughout it all Bigshot never complained. To be honest, I think elevating the hoof eased some of the pain.
Then Stan decides he needed to supervise the treatment. At first, he watched from afar as I gathered all the supplies, the buckets, the injections. Each time he'd come closer to watch me flush the area with peroxide and other medications. He'd inspect the bucket carrying the supplies and take position a couple a feet away to observe. Occasionally, he'd offer advice with an occasional purr, but mostly he was silent.
Yesterday, as I was sitting on my bucket with the horse's hoof positioned on my leg so I could flush the wound, Stan moved in closer.
"Don't you even think about flogging me, Mister," I warned and gave him a glare.
He picked up a piece of straw and looked at me.
I showed him my hoof instrument. "I can cut you."
He dropped the straw and looked at the horse.
I poked, cut, flushed, and was totally focused on the job. Then I saw Stan. He was inches from my face. I ignored him and focused on a suspicious dark area. Stan peered at the wound. He stared so hard he appeared cross-eyed. Without warning he pecked the spot. The horse flinched and pus erupted. Alarmed, Stan stepped back. The horse flicked his tail and Stan retreated several more feet. I got busy flushing and cleaning the area.
A few minutes later, Stan strutted out of the barn and crowed loudly. He immediately went to the girls and clucked, purred, and trilled for all he was worth. No doubt he was telling them how he had to show me where the abscess was, and how his sharp beak came in handy for the final cut. Undoubtedly the horse would have died if he had not been there.
I finished my work, applied the hoof boot, and collected my gear. The horse feels much better now, and Stan has something to crow about. As if he needed another reason to crow!
I'm glad that your horse is feeling better, and hope he continues to heal!
