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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,
FenBar
You poor thing. What a tease! I hate to say it, but FarmWife may know best.
ReplyDeleteHHM Mr. Blondie, himself not in danger of being mistaken for a Bataan Death March survivor, points out to FarmWife that the calcium in alfalfa is very soothing to his tummy. To the extent that when he gets 3-4 handfuls (more if he's lucky) with his evening bucket, he does not crib. Otherwise, he cribs after consuming his bucket.
ReplyDeleteSo, really, the alfalfa is a VERY, VERY, VERY MUCH CHEAPER alternative to Ulcergard.
Just sayin', HHM Mr. Blondie says.
Fenway,
ReplyDeleteHumans do not understand the importance of food to us equines. I mean, have you SEEN the stuff they eat? The only thing Mother's ever offered of hers that was reasonably tasty was the potato chips. I have even see her trying to sneak a little of my Mrs. Pastures cookies!
They just don't understand the joy of great hay. And with their woefully underdeveloped molars, they never will...
Yours in pathetic sympathy,
Boyfriend