|Image from www.mccrackenhay.com|
Here is the thing about Missy: she's still a wee bit thin, even four months after her serious illness. You my remember that she was down for two weeks, and came so near to dying that the humans actually replaced her (with B.G., who is still here too). I don't begrudge her the extra calories. I can understand why the humans want her to have free choice orchard grass, daily alfalfa, and alfalfa pellets with black oil sunflower seeds with dinner.
I just don't understand why I can't have some too. More of me to love—really, what could be bad about that? FarmWife throws around terms like "cushings," "founder," "colic," and "insulin resistance" as arguments against letting me eat whatever I want, but I have none of these syndromes. I have been healthy all my life, and excepting last summer's puffy-hock thing, I have never been ill or unsound. Personally, I am of the opinion that my hock would have been dramatically improved by fifteen pounds of sweet feed.
My grass hay is alright, don't get me wrong. I'm lucky to live in a place where the local cheap stuff is green, clean, fresh, and sweet. I am such a very good boy, though, and I just don't understand why I can't have the equine equivalent of whipped cream and a cherry on top.
Yours in plumpish hunger,