Let's start this post off with a game!
The game is called:
Pregnant Mare or Headed for the Dry Lot Life!!
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Good lord. |
Hint: she's in heat. And she doesn't have a date.
Yeahhh. She's been up in the north pasture, full of clover, for a couple of months and we've all been either rained out or unmotivated to walk that far, so nobody had really clocked just how fat she'd become. Vet spotted her during pregnancy checks last week and flat-out said she needs to lose 300 lbs. As soon as there's a spot, somebody gets to live in the dry lots instead of the ungodly lush pasture, and if I thought there was even a quarter of a chance of her keeping a grazing muzzle on, she'd have one this weekend.
Also, please do not look at the tail. Ms. Tail and Mr. Cowboy Magic and Ms. Water Hose and Mr. Comb all have a date next weekend, and in the meantime, we are all going to pretend that that is a perfectly ordinary tail and not a hellish baseball bat of hair and nasty-ass sharp seed pods from under the trees. (I don't know what those bastards are - some kind of devil's claw, maybe - but I haaaaaate themmmm, and she apparently loves them so much she has to carry them around in her tail. Regularly. She's lucky it's fly season, because I'm not above banging it off as high as I can if she does this again when it's not.)
In other news, there are two pregnant mares I'm very excited about (see also: awesome BOs), but the process of getting there has been something of an adventure.
First there was "oh, Best Broodmare gets pregnant if the stallion looks at her." Yeah, well, her daughter did... her, not so much. So BB got a shot and another round of stallion time. Then, first ultrasound, she a) had twins b) that were already implanted c) too close together. Try number three, twins again, but this time one of them could be pinched off, so we're good there. I think. Today was supposed to be followup ultrasound #2 to make sure the unpinched baby stayed put.
Then there was the adventure in horse hauling. The trainer we use is three hours away from the barn, and since she was willing to haul, the BOs paid her to haul one batch home and another batch away from training (including two of the three stallions). We were also planning a cookout for that evening.
So the husband and I are getting our stuff together to head up there - finding shoes, preparing steaks and grabbing BBQ supplies, that kind of thing. First I get the can you pick up these sides text.
Then I get Want to be a hero? Trainer is stuck with 2 dogs and a trailer full of horses right by you. Horses are fine, humans and dogs need some water. Can you bring her some bottles or something?
What else do you say to that but Sure!
So we grabbed a pitcher, an old dog bowl, and a couple of cups, and drove the mile or so around to go help out. Introduced husband and trainer, petted dogs, chatted... watched the mastiff lay down with his nuts in the water dish, laughed... you know. Good times.
Trainer's husband, who was following her anyway, showed up after maybe 20 minutes, and they got the truck going and hit the road again. We headed home to get back to loading BBQ supplies.
As we were picking up sides, I get another message. Truck broke down again. We may have to pick them up.
Five minutes later: Wait, problem fixed.
Ten minutes later: Damn. Truck broke down again. Need to pick them up.
They hadn't made it more than 10 miles from me by then, and round-trip with the trailers would have been an hour and a half, sooo... we mostly called off the cookout. (I say mostly; when trainer, husband, dogs, and horses finally arrived at the barn, she had had a single banana to eat all day, so there was something of an impromptu "we have burgers and hot dogs and you're going to eat before you drive 3 hours home" cookout.)
Fortunately, between the three husbands that were at the barn that night, they managed to diagnose and repair the truck so that the ride home was much smoother. And I hear the herd sent down for training are doing great. :)