My Horse Is a Lying Liar, and Other Tales

Ollie is a lying liar.

OK, so you might have recently seen on Facebook that I sent The Dude out for 30 days of training (what, you don’t like me on Facebook? Go like me, yo). He was sent off to Angela Gryzaw$%&!rojarjsdfski  Grazingski Tempus Eventing so he could relearn some manners.  Oh, why was he in training? Well, let’s just say I had one lesson with Angela. That lasted five minutes. And then she called over to her assistant, “Go get me my boots and helmet, please.”

Yeah.

And then she got on him and assessed that he totally needed some manners reinstalled. And she was of course right. So, we looked at her schedule, and off he went about two weeks ago. He totally showed his ass three days into training, but he was showing improvement after Angela assumed her final form on this planet and beat his ass into oblivion he realized he was so freaking wrong.

And then she called to say that he turned up oddly lame in his right front, so off Felicia and I went to pick him up two days later after he didn’t improve with some bute and rest. We decided to stop for imaging on the way home, as he had literally NEVER been lame before in the 3.5 years I’ve had him. Never. I thought it prudent to take this seriously.

 

Head-bobbing lame. And then they did a nerve block, and he was a lot better.

So we did some imaging. They could not find a source of his current lameness, but found a giant, weird red herring that was apparently an old injury.

SERIOUSLY, WTF IS THAT?

Ollie had decided to grow a horn on his hoof. I asked what the hell that was, and the vets there were like “Ummmmm, I dunno. Gosh, that’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like that.”   Because that’s what you want to hear from a vet. But, they were also fairly convinced that it likely had nothing to do with his current lameness. They were stumped, and said to treat it like an abscess for now, and give some bute and soak that giant clodhopper, and follow up with your regular vet in a few days. Alrighty then.

So off we went. Stall rest and…. OH MY GOD, DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET OLLIE-SIZED FEET INTO SOAKING BAGS? It took an act of God coupled with an act of Congress on the final eve of the legislation deadline, plus getting all the cats of the world  to agree to not ever knock drinks off the table, to get his goddamn hoof to cooperate. It was that difficult, and I am not using hyperbole in the slightest. You’re crazy if you suggest otherwise.

Seriously, THE HOOF SIZE.

 

 

So soaked we did, and he didn’t seem to be improving much. Then the vet came out on Friday, three days after he came home. She inspected and immediately had him walk and trot just a little.

NOT LAME. NOT EVEN A SMIDGE.

Put him on the lunge line, and we were going to move him in the better direction first and then test the bad side. He did not stand and stare at me like he usually does, asking, “WTF is it that you want me to do here? Because whatever it is, I’d rather not. Do you have any snacks?”

What did he do? BUCKED AND GALLOPED IMMEDIATELY. WTF, OLLIE. SERIOUSLY, WTF.

“Yeah, I don’t think we need to do the bad direction. He’s fine.”

So my horse apparently had a quickly resolving super ouchy bone bruise. OR HE TOLD A $500 LIE. WHATEVER.

PANTS ON FIRE

I could almost feel him laughing at me. “Hahahaha, mom. I did it. I managed to get out of work while simultaneously getting babied and extra treats. I’m the smartest damn horse in the world. Stupid human.”

But he’s not as smart as he thinks he is. He’s going back to Angela’s within a week, where his ass kicking shall resume. I’ll have her give him 50% more bitch this time.