FUCK YOU, THE COUNTRY.
I was down at the end of my driveway that morning sticking a show entry in the mail and collecting my garbage can when, from the power lines right behind me, I hear a massive bird take off. I glance up only semi-interested assuming it's nothing more than a turkey vulture, see that it's a big brown bird, and think nothing more of it.
Back in my kitchen, I'm getting myself a bowl of cereal when I hear the dogs sound the "Invader!" alarm. I look out the window to see if someone is pulling in and see the massive bird dive-bombing my cat who was busy playing with a bug on the back patio and is now flat against the ground in terror. Fortunately, my dogs are bad ass ninjas and were leaping in the air trying to attack this mother fucking bird who I now realize is one of the baby eagles from down the road.
|these little alien bastards who are now exceptionally larger and all brown.|
I run out the door yelling and waving my arms, and the bird finally gives in and flies off. I chuck the cat inside and tell my puppies they're the best puppies in the whole word. I haven't seen any of the eagles since, but poor Stripes--who loves being outside during the day--refuses to leave the covered front porch unless someone is outside with her.
And that is another reason logged in my book of why the country sucks.
On the Bobby front, we rode in the freshly dragged outdoor Saturday with S. The footing was pretty deep from all the rain we've been getting at night so Bobby wasn't really feeling it. He was stiff as a board and didn't want to move forward. We walked the majority of the time before heading out on a short trail ride with S. First thing we saw on the hill?
|more my style of bird. turkeys don't eat cats.|
Bobby doesn't have the best history with turkeys--or really any small animals--but he behaved himself Saturday and continued to politely trudge on. The rest of the ride was uneventful, and he got Sunday off after four straight days of walking hills.
Today I was back out at the barn. BM reported that he looked pretty good coming down the hill in the morning, but because she was looking for something she did see the little hitch in his giddy-up. I did feel like he was getting better every day I rode him, but I obviously wasn't expecting him to return to normal in less than a week.
I saddled him in his stall, then stood in the aisle talking to BM before bridling him. As I watched him, I could see him shift his weight to that RH, then it would be like his hip almost buckled before he'd catch himself and he'd stand square again. Very weird.
|friday trail ride, listening to deer crashing through the bushes.|
I clipped the lunge line on him and gave him a spin first thing. Aside from looking a hair short on the RH right off the bat--and I was looking hard for it--he went beautifully. No sass about moving out, canter looked great, tracking up at the trot, yada yada both ways.
I got on him and felt nothing at the walk. At the trot he immediately felt off. Again, he moved right out and didn't seem, I don't know, distressed or whatever, but the RH was definitely the culprit, and it still feels like stifle to me. I trotted him a couple laps each way to see if he'd work out of it all, but when he didn't I quit and got off.
BM and I poked and yanked and groped every part of his RH and got zero reaction from Bobby. Usually he's extremely reactionary if he's hurting somewhere. He hasn't even given me a grouchy look since I've been back. Obviously something is going on. He wouldn't be lame if there wasn't. But what the fuck is it?!
BM gave me a DMSO mix to paint on his stifle for the rest of the week. If that doesn't give us significant improvement by Friday, I'll have the vet out. I don't even want to start thinking this is an N-word problem.