Poor Emilie. First she got moved away to a new home and had to find her place in a new herd. The weather got to freezing and maybe she didn’t drink quite as much as she should. Then the grumpiest couple of mares were taken out all day and she saw her chance to go nuts on a 100 kilo hay bale.
For the record, the latter was not a good idea. She’s spent the last day and night watched over for colic. Two vet checks, paraffin oil treatments, the works. Arms up her rump. Hose down her nose to feed the oil and fluid with salt and electrolytes.
It’s not fun to be pony this week.
I am so impressed with her, though. Every damned thing, she takes it in stride. Do you need to do this? Okay, then. I’ll tell you that I don’t like it, and then we do it. Because if you say we have to do it, then we gotta do it. She’s freaking four years old, I expected her to be more, well, childish about things.
Alvin spent the night with her but vet has cleared her for being alone tonight. It’s one of those colics that take frustratingly long time to pass but does not pose a real risk of more severe injury. We’ve got her covered on painkillers and mashes with more water than grain, and hopefully, she should be all right, if tired, tomorrow.