FarmWife came out to feed this morning with a racing pulse and an inexplicable feeling of dread. From the moment she opened the door and stepped outside, she had the terrible feeling that she would find me dead in the field, a lifeless corpse, already growing cold.
She didn't. She found me three-legged lame, favoring my right foreleg. She is now treating me as though I have a stone-bruise or abscess, though she can't find any sensitivity in the hoof. I have a full range of motion with that leg and no obvious sore spots when she pokes around on my shoulder, leg, or hoof. She doesn't have testers but she prodded my hoofie with the butt of her hoofpick pretty soundly and got no response.
I, Fenway Bartholomule, am going to spend the rest of the day standing in buckets of warm salty water alternated with free time in my hoof boots for padding.