Yesterday I noticed something was off with the hoofed one as we were getting tacked up for a ride. He acted funny when I pushed him sideways in the aisle so another horse could go past. Kind of tripped. We got all put together and went in to the ring for our lesson. My trainer asked me to trot so she could look at him and he only had to take one step before I knew. He’s lame. Very lame. His front right leg. My trainer looked him over and assured me it was most likely an abscessed nail from his most recent farrier visit… kind of like an in grown hair from shaving. It just gets infected deep inside his hoof and takes a little time to expand to the surface where it pops like a big, horsey zit, offering instant relief. We couldn’t look at his hoof though because he wears horsey sneakers - there is a squishy, shock absorbing layer of foam between the metal shoe and his hoof.
So I grumbled and grumbled and conceded that I would have to break out the checkbook and bring the farrier back in to take off his shoe and examine this alleged debilitating hoof pimple. Done. He came out, looked, tested, and declared that it was not his hoof that was the problem. I stood there, staring at my 1400 pound baby, shifting my weight uncomfortably from boot to boot as he put the shoe back on, wondering If it’s not his hoof, than what the hell is it? After I paid the horse shoe man for nothing, my trainer reassured me that she thinks he’s wrong and that it is indeed just an abscess and cited various reasons why. She went on to say that the hoofed one just needs to stay in his stall for a week, be hand walked for 20 minutes every day, and, if he’s not better in a week, we’ll worry and call the vet for an ultrasound or x-rays. I would have been fine with this hurry up and wait approach since, last time he hurt his big, dumb, five year old, green bean self playing wildly in his turn out field, a week of rest really was all it took. But then she went on to say something she didn’t say last time. I don’t remember exactly what it was but it included the words six months of stall rest. That’s all I heard, frankly. Then my heart fell out of my body and shattered on the barn floor. Really, if we aren’t there yet, I would have preferred to not hear it, even if it is where he ends up.
My first concern is obviously for my beloved steed. I want him to be well, not in pain, ridable because he loves to ride and jump. (If you let him loose in the arena, he jumps the jumps by himself ,in case anyone reading this is of the ilk that jumping horses is cruel and against their nature.) But I’m also selfishly miffed because the first show of the season is just six weeks away and, over a long winter filled with absolutely nothing competitive to do, I have re-come to a conclusion that I was already well aware of. I cannot just do this for fun. Yes it is fun. But I cannot just own a horse and go to the barn, pet him, say Oh pretty horse, and feed him a apple. If I was capable of that I would have owned one again long before I had the means to also go to the shows. I need that motivating carrot dangling in front of my hard hat, the thrill of the point chasing, the satisfaction of going out and doing my best and coming home with a handful of ribbons to show for it. I need the promise and lure of year end awards. I am competitive by nature and this is my outlet, my healthy outlet, that makes me more bearable in the rest of my life.
So he can’t be hurt. My one and only teammate and partner cannot possibly be out until 3/4 of the way through the show season. We came to far last season. We have come too much farther over this winter. We’re ready to move up to the next level. We can’t be set back this far. It’s not even a financial option for me to lease another horse for the interim, pay the board for two of them, so I can stay in shape while he heals. I can’t. He can’t. We can’t. But ok, I’m taking deep breaths and reminding myself to cross that bridge when if we get there. Because my trainer has to be right. She has to be.
