("I've been busy, though," she boasted—
"busy writing poetry."
She cannot stop the rhymes, you see!)
Actually, it's the truth. Fenway Bartholomule and I have been writing up a storm over at Fairy Rabbit for the dozens of incredible people who pitched in to send him to the Mount Vernon Veterinary Hospital for reassuringly normal x-rays!
I promised a blog about our one green acre, about life, about family, about the garden and the goats and the chickens and everything else that doesn't fit on Brays of Our Lives, but tonight this is where my head is:
Right there, on that off hock.
It's a happy thing, really—I felt unsettled, yesterday, with no real answers and a very lame mule. Today, I woke up with a new perspective. Soft tissue damage beats arthritis, OCD, bone chips . . . beats them handily. Clean X-rays are nothing to frown at! I woke up happy, revising my doom-and-gloom outlook to a very optimistic one. Retirement at 15? Not yet. There's hope.
I walked out to a slightly more mobile gelding, a slightly reduced hock (thanks to yesterday's cortisone injection), and, as always, a heartwarming bray. Sound or not, he sure can sing.
This evening, Fenway's hock is smaller yet and his gait, at least at the walk, is normal. What does this mean? It means that the hock was definitely his source of discomfort (seems obvious, but now we're sure). It doesn't, I suppose, mean anything in terms of outlook—after all, cortisone injections can be very damaging to a joint over time and are not something to get hooked on. I suppose it means that there is hope, that if cortisone can reduce the inflammation and make him comfortable then rest and rehabilitation may do the same. I hope so.
On Monday, look for a Everything-But-The-Mule post. Today, drink to Fenway Bartholomule, whose hock may just get better after all, and to the kindhearted readers who helped with x-rays. Read their poetry, if you will.