In the horse world, probably one of the most dreaded words of all. Colic.
On Sunday, I had gone home from a morning of mucking, turnout, feeding, feeling like manure (aka shit). I did spend a bit of time brushing Bailey, trying on his new bridle with an eggbut snaffle, and walking him around in it. He was an angel, and seemed like his regular self. We did a little flexing with the reins, and halts, and he was good. Maybe a little on the quiet side, but I didn’t think anything of it, I thought he was just accepting another ‘weird’ thing that I’d asked of him. I had planned on deworming him, which I did, and then finished up. Bit of sweet feed to get rid of the yucky taste of the dewormer, blanket, fresh water, more carrots and some more hay. When I left, he was munching his hay.
A few hours later, I got a call from Nadia at the barn, that Bailey had been down in his stall, cast, and was freaking out. They managed to get him up, but he was sweating like crazy, trying to roll, and basically throwing himself sideways. Tom, a boarder at TT, was walking him, and Nadia was driving him forward with the whip to keep him up and keep him going. I got there just as the vet was pulling in, thankfully. Doctor T listened to his heart, his gut, his breathing, and immediately gave him a shot of something Latin. I walked him around a bit as per orders, to get things moving in his system, and then he got shot of something else latin. As these drugs hit, Bailey was starting to walk like a drunkard. And then you could tell the pain had lessened, cause he got the munchies for the grass he was walking on. You try telling an inebriated 1000 pounder he can’t eat! One more long lasting shot (this time I think it was Banamine), and more gut listening, heart beat counting, and the vet thought instead of walking him, I should put him in the paddock to see how he’d move on his own.
You would have thought Bailey was off to the races. He started booting around and looking like the racehorse he was bred to be. Of course, he was not happy about being alone in there, so we brought over his paddock buddy and big brother, Youpi, and then all was right with his world. They cantered around, trotted together, and when Youpi said enough, lets just chill out, Bailey said ‘You the boss, man’ – cause Youpi is older and more experienced, and definitely the boss. The vet gave him a last check over, and left me with another shot to give it at night. He had another emergency call to catch, a horse with a spike in an eye (oh my, ouch). I left a few hours later, Karen promising to call if there was anything, and willing to give him the late night shot, as she lives there and does the night check anyways. I had already taken today off, but called in the morning to check on him, he was fine, although a tad hungover. I went out this afternoon to walk him a bit, and he seemed like himself.
What caused his colic? The vet didn’t think it was the dewormer, unless he’d been massively infected with worms to begin with, which I doubt was the case. Stress from being cast in his stall, and overheating with the rainsheet on as he struggled is a possibility. This is the third time he has managed to get cast in his stall, although I have only been told about it, not seen it first hand. How on earth does he manage to do that? What can I do to prevent it, besides banking the sides of the stall? Moving him to a bigger stall is probably not an option, I don’t think anyone in the middle barn would be willing to trade stalls with me. And it’s not like the stall is that small. But I wonder perhaps if he is getting too much grain, and that is partly to blame? He’s not really working, and he actually has not been finishing his beet pulp at lunch. He doesn’t leave a lot, just a few handfuls, and that can be a sign that either he doesn’t like it or he is getting too much. Or there is something wrong with it. Lots of things to look into, and I am going to do a sand fecal test, just to rule that out, tomorrow.
When something like this happens, you realize how powerless you are. And how much you adore that wonderfully smelly four legged beast. And that you would gladly kiss the vet, the one that shows up quick as he can, cause it really is an emergency. On a Sunday afternoon.
