About a third of my hay supply this year isn't as clean I'd like – it contains some cottonwood fluff and dried leaves.
Since a possible cause of Hank's mysterious edema could be an allergen,
I'm thinking maybe Hank is reacting to this hay. Maybe not.
To play it safe, I'm feeding him separately now.
Hank gets the squeaky-clean hay and Lucy, George and Alan get the dregs.
Don't feel sorry for them. Donkeys can get fat on air.
Lucy's not complaining about the quality of her hay, but don't get her started about the quantity.
Lucy: You're starving me. My hay tub is empty and Hank's still eating
and I'm going to shrivel up and die if you don't give me more to eat this very minute.
Me: Nice try, toots.
Feeding Hank separately means four extra trips to the barn each day
to let him out of his stall, but I don't mind.
That's four more opportunities to hang out with the herd ... even if they're mad at me.