The Wars

Whichever barsteward it was that said bad things come in threes was correct, and I'd like to ask them if they could just keep any further observations to themselves in future. Kthx.

It's been a very turbulent few days here at Luso Towers. On Sunday night we really thought Alfama was going to pop, so quickly rigged up a temporary CCTV connection to the TV while we await the arrival of the PC and capture card. By the time it was done and we had sat, gripped, agonising over every tail lift and glance at her belly, for a suitable period, it was 1am and way past bed time. Knickers volunteered to take the first foal watch and off we went to bed. Next morning up as normal and was just going for a final look before leaving for work when I noticed she was looking very unsettled and her belly had dropped noticeably. "This is definitely it this time!" I thought, for the five thousandth time. All you experienced equine midwives out there will doubtless be sniggering at this from behind your cloak of nonchalance, but I can tell you for the first timer this is nerve-wracking stuff. I just couldn't leave, convinced I would miss all the action, and my boss kindly allowed me to work from home. It was rather nice actually sitting there on the sofa, beavering away and having only to glance up and see how she was doing. At least until they went out, anyway, but even then just a glance out the lounge window confirmed all was still respolutely un-popped. Argh.

Monday evening I took the dogs for their constitutional around the field and Willow managed to bash her leg jumping over a fence, to then run around howling on three legs. Oh God. I know she's a wuss but even so, I was worried she'd done herself a real mischief. Took her back indoors and went to finish off the yard, wondering why Jim wasn't back yet. Went out and called for him, then saw him lying next to the garage, which is unusual. It quickly became apparent that he had done himself some damage again and was barely able to walk :( so we reassembled the crate from last time and put him in there. I was able to get him to the vet next morning and promptly burst into the tears as soon as the vet said "so what's he done then?". I could feel the wave of emotion heading my way like a giant truck, powerless to stop it in spite of how much I clenched my teeth or gave myself a talking to. The vet thinks he has bashed himself again and rest and anti-inflammatories is the best thing. Poor Jim, I really can't bear it. He is a good patient though and has been to the loo, so I am keeping everything crossed. We may need to consider keeping him inside or making a pen for him to go outside if he is going to continue to be susceptible to these types of injuries. We'll just have to see.

Next, the afternoon off to take T to the vet clinic for his work up. In spite of not having been anywhere for ages he loaded and stood on the trailer like an old hand, and travelled really well. He was an excellent patient during the three hours we spent at the vets, submitting to nerve blocks and x rays and finally only having to be sedated to keep him still for the ultrasound, as he was getting bored and a bit restless by then. The upshot is that he has a strain in the fetlock area and is prescribed 4-6 weeks' box rest - in the first instance. So the good news is that it's soft tissue and treatable, but the bad news is the box rest. I really hate keeping horses in and he's now used to being a free spirit, so it will be hard on him. I'm reliably informed that he was caprioling in his stable today so resolved to investigate anti-boredom devices. We have a polished steel mirror that was originally intended for trailer but which has now been commandeered for his stable. Not unexpectedly he found this quite exciting and spent some time alternating between levade and capriole while sporting a giant stiffie but when I left him he was standing more quietly by it, so we shall have to see if it helps or hinders.

Tonight Jim is a little better so I am hoping that rest will be the thing for him. Willow has made a full recovery and is galloping around like normal, so that's good. Someone did however have a very dodgy (and if you're eating, I advise you not to read this next bit at the same time) arse and this morning when I arose at 5:30am I was greeted by not one or two but Three Lakes of Diarrhoea, one of Loch Nessian proportions, all over the kitchen floor. The only good thing one can say about such a predicament is that at this hour, one can proceed pretty much on auto pilot for the clean up operation.

Fingers continue to be crossed for Alfama, who is plainly very uncomfortable; for Jim, who is at present stoic on crate rest; and for T, that he can cope with his box rest.