Hank, the shapeshifter

Worrying about my animals is one of my specialties, and when Hank is involved, 

I can raise worrying to an art form. For the past few months, my worry level over Hank

has been a consistent 3 on a 10-point scale. Had it ever reached 4, I would have called the vet.

I imagine that call would have gone something like this:

Me: Hi, Doc, I'm worried about Hank.

Doc: What seems to be the problem?

Me: His nose is getting pointy.

Doc: (long pause) Pointy?

Me: Yes.

Doc: Maybe we have a bad connection. Did you say pointy?

Thankfully, before I embarassed myself and made the call, our farrier showed up

and looked at Hank's pointy nose. He has seen enough snakebit horse noses in his career

to recognize that what is happening to Hank's muzzle is common amongst the bitten.

It's not that Hank's nose is growing pointier, it's that the side that was snakebit 

has contracted and looks smaller.

Oh. Well, that's a relief!

Here is how Hank's nose looked before the snakebite, 

all nicely squared off at the bottom and pointless.

Hank: Do you think anyone will notice? Maybe we can save up for a nose job.

Me: You're handsome enough just the way you are.

 

Because they're worth it

I've had a lot of animals over the years, large and small, and my experience here in New Mexico 

is that the large animal vet bills (horses, donkeys, pigs) are always less than what I expect 

and the small animal vet bills (dogs and cats) are always more. Since most of you overestimated 

the amount of Hank's vet bill in last week's contest, I thought it might be interesting 

to look at a breakdown of the charges so we could all compare and commiserate. 

Also, the procedures appear more or less in the order they occurred, so if you ever

have a snakebit horse that presents with colic symptoms two days post-bite,

this might give you a general idea of what to expect.

Nothing on there seems exorbitant to me, especially when I consider the things

I wasn't charged for, like all the phone calls with the vet in the days between the snakebite

and Hank's hospitalization and the hours that the vets and techs spent at Hank's side,

willing him to eat and drink. Viewed in that light, I'd say I got a bargain.

I really don't understand veterinary economics, nor why small animal vets here
charge more than large animal vets. I don't think the small animal vets are charging too much; 

it's more like the large animal vets aren't charging enough.
Perhaps it comes down to what the market will bear.

In any case, if you're going to have animals, you're going to have vet bills,
but I think we'd all agree, they're worth it.

The Snakebite Report ~ Day 5

Whew. At 8:45 p.m. Tuesday night, Hank finally decided it was okay to drink water. 

Give us all a heart attack, why don't you?

The vet reports that his current behavior (eating fine, then not eating fine because the acid content 

in his stomach changes and he doesn't feel well for awhile, then eating fine again) 

helps confirm the diagnosis of ulcers, and I should expect that for awhile after he comes home,

which should be today as long as: 1) his protein levels are normal and 

2) it doesn't rain and I can get there to pick him up.

All the vets at the clinic agree that Hank is not comfortable in that environment

and shouldn't stay any longer than necessary. Sort of like me when I go to town.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the rest of the herd is anxiously awaiting Hank’s return. 

Lucy, George and Alan are leaderless and seem uncertain of what to do in his absence. 

I shot the following video yesterday, when: 1) they were late coming home in the morning,

2) Alan attempted to leave before I could put on his fly mask and grazing muzzle, 

3) they all stood at the gate wondering where Hank was, 

and 4) they spent much of the day napping.

You might notice a different look to this video. I broke my Flip video camera 

a few weeks ago and had to get a new one. That turned out to be a good thing because 

I’d been wanting a hands-free head-cam for awhile. We’ll be having all kinds of fun with it,

especially when I figure out how to put it on someone’s head other than my own.

p.s. I'll update the Twitter feed at the bottom of this page throughout the day as the situation warrants.

p.p.s. Have I told you lately how much your support and concern and comments 

have helped me get through this?

I don't know what comes after p.p.s. but I'll try to remember to wear the head-cam 

for the Hank/herd reunion. 

The Snakebite Report ~ Day 4

Every time the vet calls, I take copious notes, and here is what I wrote down yesterday:

1. The latest ultrasound showed that his misplaced intestine has dropped down into its rightful position. Can I have an amen?

2. The vets are operating on the theory that all the bute and banamine I had to give him to relieve his pain and swelling caused gastric ulcers. They believe this because he went from uninterested in food to ravenous once pumped full of milk of magnesia – ravenous to the point of eating the stall shavings, which had to be removed.

3. Hank convinced the staff that he is claustrophobic and demanded to be moved from an enclosed indoor stall with a great big fan to an outdoor pen, where he prefers to stand in the unsheltered portion, torrential rain or shine. I'm told the vet went out in a storm to move him under the shelter and he promptly went right back into the rain. That's my boy.

4. He makes everybody laugh.

5. He appears bright-eyed, comfortable and content. Were it not for his still-swollen muzzle and the fact that he's not drinking any water, the vet would allow him to come home.

I told the vet that Hank has been known to be a finicky water drinker; when I used to take him on weekend trips, I hauled water from home and he still wouldn't drink for the first 24-36 hours. So is he not drinking now because he can't or because he won't? Perhaps I need to take Fish to the clinic to poop in his water so that it tastes right.

Anyway, they'll continue to work on getting the swelling to go away, using low doses of dexamethasone instead of the stomach-irritating bute and banamine. And with any luck, he'll start drinking on his own. Because I live so far away, they don't want to release him until they're positive he's ready.

I'm breathing big sighs of relief, and I hope you are, too. Thank you all for your support and concern.
I'm confident Hank will be home soon in all his handsome glory.

The further adventures of Hank and the snakebite

Hank is not a happy camper. Though the swelling from the snakebite gradually decreased

as the weekend progressed, other symptoms began to appear Saturday night: 

he wasn't interested in his food, he wasn't drinking enough water, and he sure wasn't himself. 

Late Sunday afternoon, I told him if he wasn't significantly better by Monday morning, 

he would have to go to the vet. Then I looked at the weather forecast for Sunday night 

(70% chance of heavy rain) and said nevermind, we're going now while we still can.

His reaction to that news was not surprising.

Anyway, to the vet we went. The vet poked and prodded and ultrasounded and

tubed him. There might be an impaction further into his colon than the vet's arm can reach,

and there's some question about whether a section of intestine is misplaced. 

All of that is secondary to the snakebite, but undoubtedly a result thereof. 

So Hank is still at the clinic, being pumped full of fluids and stronger anti-inflammatories 

than I was able to give him here. I'm not extremely worried because I know he's getting 

the best possible care. On the other hand, I'm still worried because...because Hank.

The one where Hank gets bit by a snake

Spoiler alert: As I post this Friday evening at 5 p.m., Hank is doing well. 

Remember that as I tell the tale.

It was Thursday around 5 p.m. I walked out to the barn, only to find George chasing the chickens

in the front yard. WTF and how did he get in the front yard?  I tried to herd the chickens

out of harm's way and was having no luck, so I ran to the feed room to grab a halter and lead rope

for George. I passed Hank on my way and had another WTF moment. 

His muzzle was swollen up like a balloon. I knew in a heartbeat 

that he'd most likely been bitten by a snake.

I've probably read every article about snakebites and horses that's ever been written, 

recognizing that some day I would have to deal with one of these emergencies, 

but all that knowledge didn't matter one bit. When you are staring into your own horse's 

swollen snakebit face, you forget everything you've ever learned, and the first thing you do is panic.

The second thing you do is get your vet on the phone. Then the vet talks you back from the ledge

and comes up with a plan. In Hank's case, the plan was: ice if he would tolerate it, 

10ccs of banamine, 2 grams of bute, keep him calm and quiet, and above all, 

don't let his airways close up if the swelling gets worse. That would mean 

having to stick a long hunk of hose up Hank's nostril, and I truly doubted 

if I could do that safely by myself. 

Once I got all the anti-inflammatories in him, the all-night vigil began, watching and waiting, 

hoping and praying that I would not have to stick a hunk of hose up his nose. 

I've circled the area of the bite in the picture above - there are two tiny punctures. 

I have no idea what kind of snake bit him.

I contained Lucy, George and Alan in the corral so that Hank wouldn't panic in the absence of his herd.

Throughout the night, they never left his side. I was touched by their attentiveness

until I figured out what they really wanted was to slurp up the slobber and whatever else was

coming out of Hank's nose. That's Lucy standing behind Hank, licking slobber off the pipe.

Alan is waiting for the next batch to drip out his mouth. It was all very weird and disgusting,

but it gave me something to focus on besides Hank's swollen face.

I took pictures throughout the night to help me figure out if the swelling 

was getting worse or better. 

By daybreak, it was definitely worse but had moved toward his jawline; 

Hank's left nasal passage was still relatively normal. We both breathed a little better 

thinking the hunk of hose would not be needed. I checked in with the vet, who said

I could give him more pain meds and offer him breakfast. 

Eating was difficult but Hank being Hank found a way. I felt comfortable enough with his progress

to leave Lucy in charge while I drove to the vet clinic for antibiotics, which would ward off 

any infection from the bite. My new concern at this point was that Hank hadn't pooped 

since this all started 16 hours ago. Then again, he hadn't eaten, so I figured he would poop eventually.

It was a four-hour round trip to the clinic, and even though I knew Hank would be okay

in my absence, it was still a huge relief to find him bright-eyed and standing when I got home.

But he still hadn't pooped. Ugh. I would worry about that next. 

First I had to worry about injecting 30ccs of penicillin in his butt.

I give Hank injections all the time, but in his neck and 10ccs at the most.

This procedure was more involved because of the amount and the risks,

and because I could barely get my hand around the huge syringe.

But being the trouper he is, Hank stood like a statue while I bumbled around his behind

and we got 'r done. He'll get the penicillan shot two more times, 

plus he'll also be on oral antibiotics for a week.

So now it's almost 21 hours since he's pooped. He's been eating, albeit slowly,

and what goes in has to come out, and if you're a horse, that usually happens

a dozen times a day. I decided to take him for a short walk. We hadn't gone more than

ten steps into the corral and voila! Why didn't I think of that hours ago?

Apparently Hank's a neat freak and doesn't like to poop in his stall. 

He still surprises me after all these years.

It's now 24 hours since this adventure began. I think/hope the worst is behind us.

Snake bites are a fact of life for equines who are turned out on rangeland. 

Frankly I'm surprised it's taken 10 years for us to experience our first one.

Maybe those awful grazing muzzles I force the donkeys to wear have helped improve our odds.

Gimpy, Grumpy, Mopey, and Droopy

The herd got their spring vaccinations on Saturday and, as usual,

Lucy, George and Alan are feeling the after effects...or maybe they just miss Ethel.

Droopy is walking around with his head lowered and 

a lump on his neck at the injection site.

 Mopey is generally listless,

 and Grumpy isn't helping matters by spreading her ill will to whomever will listen.

Since this happens with the donkeys every stinkin' year, I don't panic anymore,

but I still worry and fuss over them until they're back to normal.

Meanwhile, Gimpy's knee has been bothering him for a week, 

probably because of the wet weather we've been having.

 Everybody is confined to the corral until he's feeling better.

When Hank's not happy, nobody's happy.

Johnny: I'm not getting near any of them. Call me Scaredy.

George thinks I worry too much

I took these pictures Thursday evening. Lucy and the boys were hanging out on the back 40, waiting for the grass to grow.

From a distance, everyone looks healthy and relaxed.

Upon closer inspection, we can see that there is trouble in paradise.

Hank, aka Lumpy, is covered in hives.

The bumps showed up on Wednesday. At the time, there were more on Hank's left side than his right, there were some on his face, and there were none on his legs. He was acting perfectly normal, but I called our vet right away because that's just how I am. The vet said there was an outside chance that the hives were a reaction to vaccinations he had received a few weeks prior, but there was a greater likelihood that they were an allergic reaction to something with which he had come in contact. I came up with a short list of possibilities: barn-cat hair/dander that got on the hay he eats; juniper trees (Hank loves to rub against them); something in the pasture that he normally wouldn't eat but is eating now because it hasn't rained in for-freakin' ever and there isn't any fresh grass. Whatever the cause, our vet thought a low weekly dose of the steroid dexamethasone would make them go away. I would go to town on Friday to pick up the pills and we'd all live happily ever after. All I had to do was get through the next 48 hours without worrying myself to death ... 

because that's just how I am when one of my animals is not quite right.

Lucy and George did not share my angst.

George: You worry too much. Hank will be fine. Roll around in the dirt. You'll feel much better.

George: This time tomorrow, I'll be saying "I told you so." You know I'm right. 

Now just relax and take a picture of my cute self.

Sure enough, as I write this post on Saturday night, after one dose of dex, Hank's hives have disappeared. 

He will get four more weekly doses to make sure they don't come back, 

and I've got extra pills on hand just in case this is a seasonal allergy

George: I told you so.

Purple Tongue Disease

Me: Hank, please don't eat that. You know what's gonna happen.

Me: Stick out your tongue and show the folks at home what I'm talking about.

I'm not sure what they call this in veterinary school; I call it Purple Tongue Disease.

I practically passed out the first time I saw all four equines come down with it, thinking they were all going to die.

Then I figured out that the tumbleweeds they love to eat contain something that stains their tongues.

An unsolicited testimonial for Vetericyn

A few months ago, I was at the vet clinic to pick up Hank's medicine and used the opportunity to ask our favorite vet if this Vetericyn stuff I'd been hearing about was any good. Vetericyn, a "one-step wound and infection treatment," is being advertised heavily on RFD-TV and in all the horse magazines, and it sounded to me like it was way too good to be true. Safe as water! Designed to replicate the actions of the animal’s own immune system to heal wounds and fight infections! Call me a skeptic. But when our vet said, "we're using it here," that was good enough for me, and I bought a bottle to have on hand if when one of the boys wounded himself.

Ironically, George wounded himself on the way to the vet last Monday. He managed to rub off the hide at the base of his tail during the trailer ride. The wound was almost bad enough to make my houseguest swoon. When we got home, I pulled out the bottle of Vetericyn and gave the area a few squirts.

There are several really cool things about this product, aside from the fact that it works, which I'll get to in a minute.
1. The stuff sprays out of the bottle as a liquid but turns to a gel when it hits the wound, so it stays put and doesn't drip.
2. The spray bottle works at any angle, even upside down, and is the best spray bottle I've ever used. Whomever invented this spray bottle should be given a Nobel prize. If fly spray came in this kind of a bottle, I would be the happiest horseowner on the planet.

Here's a picture of George's wound about 20 hours after the injury, as I'm spraying Vetericyn on it for the second time:

About 12 hours later, I took this picture:

I was amazed at how quickly the wound was healing, and Vetericyn is not paying me to say this. There will always be a bottle of this stuff in my equine first-aid kit.

Here is a link to their website if you're interested. I bought the Vetericyn VF Veterinary Formula HydroGel - it was $32 for a 16 oz bottle at my vet's office, which seems like a bargain considering its effectiveness...and the fact that I'll be able to recycle the perfect spray bottle once it's empty.

Smelly Horse Treats

Hank decided to add a little drama to the holiday weekend by coming up lame. He has a bad knee and reinjured it doing who-knows-what on Saturday. He's been confined to the infirmary pen since then and is making a rapid recovery, to my great relief. But it pains me to see him in pain, so I've been doing whatever I can to keep him comfortable and happy during his convalescence.

Justina had posted a recipe for horse treats awhile back, which she had received from C in WI. I had never gotten around to making them, but Hank's solitary confinement seemed like the perfect excuse to whip up a batch.

I was going to go all food-blogger on you and post step-by-step instructions for making Paco's Favorite Treats, but my kitchen was trashed in no time. For a recipe with only four ingredients, I'm amazed at the mess I made. I blame it all on the smell of the molasses. It stinks. Unless you're a horse, you will not be tempted to lick the spoon.

Paco's Favorite Treats
1 cup bran cereal, smashed
1 cup grated carrots
1 cup molasses
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

Mix together, standing as far away from bowl as possible to avoid the fumes. Drop teaspoon of dough on greased baking sheet. Flatten with fork and sprinkle with sugar (like Peanut Butter cookies). Bake at 350 for 15 min. Unless you're one of those people who likes the smell of molasses, go outside while these are in the oven. Makes about 4 dozen.

Here are the treats, stinking up the kitchen on their way into the oven:
I suppose I could have left off the sprinkled sugar, but they smelled so bad, I was afraid Hank might not like them. The sugar was insurance that my baking efforts and trashed kitchen would not be in vain.

Ok, Hank, see what you think of these. I think they smell funky but what do I know?

No, Hank, you may not have another one. Now wipe that smile off your face.
I don't care if they're the best treats you've ever tasted, we've got to save some for later.
Yes, you do have to share them with George and Alan.
Don't you dare hurt yourself again just so I'll make more!

For the record, as much as Hank loves these treats, George and Alan love them even more. I think I actually saw them jumping up and down when they got their first whiff.

Here are the cookies stinking up the refrigerator. Have I told you I hate the smell of molasses?
But they do look good in the new bowl, which I won from petsblogroll.com, a new community of pet bloggers. Click on the link for more information about adding your pet blog to the group.

p.s. Blogger is doing something weird with comments this morning - if you add one and it doesn't appear, Blogger may have swallowed it temporarily.

Doing right by Hank

I've been treating Hank for osteoarthritis in his right knee since 2005. He had been getting along fine until 10 weeks ago, when I went out one very snowy morning to find him barely able to walk. A week of stall rest and adjusting his pain medicine got him back to normal, but our vet recommended new x-rays to see how the arthritis was progressing. On Monday, Hank and I made the trek to get the inside scoop on his knee.

Not surprisingly, the changes since his last x-rays in 2005 were pretty significant. In one area where the cartilege has deteriorated completely, bone is striking bone. We also saw evidence in one of the carpal bones of a fracture that has healed over – the vet suspects this was the cause of Hank's lameness in January.

Given all that's going on inside his knee, I'm surprised Hank gets along as well as he does. He's been getting a daily dose of Previcox to manage his pain, and that will continue. There's nothing we can do to add cartilege back into the joint, but as long as I can keep him comfortable, I'm totally ok with him being a retired pasture ornament living the good life in the comfort and safety of the 7MSN.

As the exam was winding down, our vet happened to mention a horse he'd been treating whose knee problems were very similar to Hank's. That horse was also on Previcox and had been comfortably enjoying his retirement. Then the owner brought home a new horse.

"Turns out that was the worst thing she could have done," he said. All the maneuvering and sorting out between the two when the new horse was introduced did fatal damage to the older horse's knee. He had to euthanize the horse within a month of the new guy's arrival.

That sound you hear is my bubble bursting.

I know it's possible that, just by being a horse, Hank could damage his knee beyond the point of recovery. But it's probable this would happen if I move forward with my plan to bring home a new horse. So it ain't gonna happen.

Though I didn't know it at the time, Lyle's subdued behavior over the last three months of his life could very well be what kept Hank out of trouble. Before then, when Lyle was feeling good and full of himself, they used to play like this all the time:


Mercifully, Hank doesn't play this way with the burros, and if I maintain the herd's status quo, maybe I can keep Hank comfortable for years to come.

He will adjust to being an only horse, I will adjust to not having a horse to ride, it's not the end of the world, and the sun will still come up tomorrow. I was raised to believe things happen for a reason and it was meant to be. So I will proceed under the belief that for whatever reason, I'm not supposed to have a new horse at this moment in my life. And I will be ok with that. It's not what I want, but it's what Hank needs.

Remembering my Skippa Little Lyle

You aren't going to believe this any more than I am able to. My buddy Lyle is gone.



The last 48 hours are still pretty much a blur, so I'm going to try to recap the events chronologically, for those of you who want to know what happened, and for me, so that maybe I might finally believe it by the time I get to the present.

Friday
6:50 a.m.
Went out to feed. Watched Lyle lay down instead of follow me to the feed room. Uh-oh. Moved him to a pen and fed everybody else.

7:10
Lyle was laying down, then getting back up, laying down, getting back up. Got a shot of banamine in him and moved him to the round pen where he would have more room.

7:40
Banamine having no effect. Got through to on-call vet. She said to give him another dose. If there was no improvement by 8:30, he would need to be examined.

7:45
Hooked up horse trailer just in case. Watched Lyle still laying down/getting back up. Gave thanks to weather gods that sun was out and road to highway was passable.

8:00
Lyle poops! A good sign.

8:30
Called vet and said we were coming in and should be there by 11. But how do I trailer a horse who wants to keep laying down? "Don't tie him...if he needs to go down, he will," she said.

8:45
Lyle's loaded and we're on our way.

9:20
Made it out to the highway in record time. Gave thanks to county road crew for grading road a few days earlier. Stop to check on Lyle - he's still standing.

10:45
Arrive at Albuquerque Equine Clinic. Lyle's still standing. Unload him and he immediately tries to go down. The vet and her techs move into action.

11:00
Initial exam report: sizable impaction, dehydrated, heart rate normal, temp normal. Since impaction is preventing ingested feed from passing out the back end, Lyle's stomach is full and causing him great discomfort. Vet places 10-foot-long tube up his nose and down into his stomach to suction out the contents. Since horses can't vomit, the tubing process allows the vet to "vomit for him." Not the prettiest explanation but one I understood. Vet pumps out three pail's worth of Lyle's stomach contents and tech takes them outside to fertilize tree in parking lot. We all agree that the tree will grow great this spring. Levity is very important in times like these.

11:30
Blood is drawn for a CBC. Tech beautifully braids Lyle's mane to keep it out of the way. Vet places a cathether in his neck. Countless liters of fluids are administered into his vein to rehydrate him, get his gut moving again, and try to soften the impaction. Vet shaves off some strategic spots of Lyle's winter coat to get clearer pictures during the ultrasound exam. I watch the monitor over her shoulder as she looks inside Lyle's abdomen and explains to me what she's seeing. I've not had the chance to work with this vet before and keep saying to myself, "damn, she's good." She's thorough, understanding, and really really smart. Lyle's in good hands.

12:30 p.m.
I walk Lyle to an outside pen; he doesn't seem to be in pain. Blood work comes back and the vet explains that the numbers look pretty good. The plan is to pump his stomach out and give him more fluids at 2:30. Lyle stands quietly in the pen. He's not interested in drinking any water, but at least he's not restless and trying to lay down.

2:30
More stomach pumping and more IV fluids.

4:15
I take Lyle for a 15-minute walk around the parking lot to see if we can help get his gut moving. He seems to be alert and not in any pain.

4:30
Vet explains the plan for the next 16 hours – she will repeat the stomach pumping/IV fluid treatment again at 6:30, then throughout the night as necessary. I'll go home and take care of the rest of the herd, then come back Saturday morning. She'll call me if anything changes, but if I don't hear from her, no news is good news.

6:45
I arrive home. Hank meets me at the gate, calling for Lyle. He doesn't seem to understand my explanation of why I didn't bring Lyle home. There's a message on the answering machine. The vet thinks Lyle's impaction might be softening up, based on the latest rectal exam. She also said he got really mad when she did it, which she took as a good sign.

9:30
I lay in bed hearing Hank call out to Lyle every 5 minutes or so. I hear him gallop to the corner of the ranch nearest the road, then gallop back to the barn. It's going to be a long night for all of us.

Saturday
6:30 a.m.
I leave for Albuquerque - the clinic will open at 8:30.

8:20 a.m.
Arrive at the clinic. Lyle is inside being worked on by our regular vet. He tells me that things have changed. Lyle's colon is moving and working and doing what it's supposed to do - the impaction has cleared. But something else is going on because Lyle's stomach isn't working - the vet is still pumping out pails of foul-smelling stuff. And the protein levels in his blood are sky high. Yesterday's colic was caused by the impaction, but the impaction was caused by something else. Now we've got to find the "something else." He shaves more of Lyle's left side. The ultrasound exam shows the large and small intestines working, but the stomach is very distended. He shaves more of Lyle's right side. We can see Lyle's stomach from this side, too ... but that's not normal. As he moves the ultrasound further up toward Lyle's head, he sees something that doesn't belong there, something at the front of Lyle's stomach. The something is pressing down on the stomach, preventing it from functioning normally.

10:30
The vet fires up a program on his computer called "The Glass Horse" - it shows sort of an animated view of what we've been looking at on the ultrasound. Even if I'm powerless to do anything to help Lyle, I understand what's going on and say a prayer of thanks for having the best vet on the planet.

We talk about what the something could be: an abcess, a mass of some kind, an enterolith, a tumor. We review Lyle's recent history again, the grumpy attitude that came on so suddenly in November that we've been trying to get to the bottom of. We talk about options.

11:00
The vet does an abdominal tap, drawing out fluid that he can examine under his microscope. The results are inconclusive.

11:30
We talk about what we could try next: if the mass is an abcess, antibiotics might shrink it...over time. But we don't have time – Lyle's stomach isn't working. We could do an endoscopy, sending a camera down in to his stomach to see if we can find anything abnormal, but the mass appears to be on the outside of his stomach. We talk about Lyle's chances.

11:40
I take a walk to think things over, but I already know what has to be done – I just have to come to grips with it.

11:45
I tell the vet that we're going to stop treatment. I take Lyle for a long walk, then let the vet know we're ready. The vet asks if I want to be with Lyle when he gives the injection and I say yes. I did not stay with Lyle's mom when she was euthanized, a selfish decision I've always regretted.

12:20 pm
Lyle's heart stops beating.

1:00
The vet asks my permission to examine Lyle's body - he would like to see what the mass was. I tell him of course.

4:00
I pull up to the gate with the empty horse trailer in tow, and Hank is certain I've brought Lyle home. I didn't think I had any tears left. Wrong.

5:30
Chores are done and I sit down to go through this blog, reading every story I've posted about Lyle and smiling at the pictures. I've never been so grateful for being a blogger.

Sunday
7 a.m.
Hank keeps looking out toward the road; I wonder how long it will be before he stops waiting for Lyle to come home.

11 a.m.
The vet calls. "If you had any doubt, you did the right thing." The mass was about the size of a softball, attached to the exterior of Lyle's stomach - a lympho sarcoma. He told me that the body - human or animal - throws off cancer cells all the time and the normal immune system – the t cell function – kills them off. For whatever reason, Lyle's immune system allowed them to grow.

2:30 p.m.
Hank, George and Alan are huddled together next to the tree in the corral. I've gone out to join them many times today and will head back out there now. We'll get through this together.

Tell me what's wrong, little buddy

Why the long face, Lyle?

I know you're not yourself. I've known since Thanksgiving. Remember that day? When I adjusted your cinch and you turned and lashed out with your hind leg like you wanted to kill me? I apologized, thinking I had pulled it too tight or too fast, then we had a great ride. But you lashed out again later when I picked out your feet. You wouldn't even let me brush you. That was not the Lyle I know and love. Something was wrong, and I couldn't get on the phone with our vet fast enough.

"So, Doc, what could make Lyle suddenly sour?"

Could be ulcers, could be lower back pain, could be sand in his gut, could be...and the list goes on and on. We came up with a plan to start knocking things off the list one by one. And over the course of the last six weeks, we've determined it's not ulcers, it's not sand, and it's not any pain that previcox might ease.

So what it is, little buddy? What's making you grumpy? We all know you're not yourself...just ask Deets!


The vet was pleasantly surprised when he saw you on Tuesday. He couldn't believe how smoothly you moved, despite your foundered feet. I was a little worried when he asked me to ride you right there in the parking lot. Thanks for not getting western and embarassing me.

You weren't too happy when he was examining your lower back, though. So the next step in our plan is a visit to the chiropractor. And we're not ruling out behavioral issues either...you're a smart one, and we wouldn't be surprised if you've figured out that acting grumpy gets you out of working.


We'll get to the bottom of your issues sooner or later. In the meantime, Doc says to start riding you again - we may have to make whatever is bugging you bug you some more in order to figure out what it is. Now if he could just prescribe us some warmer weather...

Saying goodbye to Mr. Crankypants

Lyle and I have returned safely from our big adventure, and I think we may have left his evil twin, Mr. Crankypants, back in Albuquerque. The clinic was just the therapy we needed to take our partnership to the next level. My brain is so full of new information, it hurts...but it has lots of company. I'll be back with an illustrated report on Lyle's – and my – attitude adjustment in a day or two.

Bury my heart at wounded knee

Whenever I've posted a picture of Hank sleeping, you may have noticed that his right leg is always stretched out. It's not because he needs a pillow - it is because he has osteoarthritis in that knee. It pains me to see Hank in any discomfort, so I've been working with our vet to find the right combination of joint supplements and pain medicine to help him.

A daily dose of Advanced Cetyl M seemed to help initially when the arthritis was first diagnosed, but in the last year, I've noticed that Hank lies down to sleep much less frequently than he used to. In fact, I've watched him lapse into a deep sleep on his feet and practically do a face plant. Laying down and getting back up must hurt him enough that he'd rather stand.

About four months ago, I started Hank on an every-other-day dose of Previcox, which offers the pain relief of bute without the side effects, and it's making a difference. Our vet suggested I might also want to try injectable Glucosamine instead of a feed-through supplement, so that's where we are now.



Once a week, I pretend I'm a vet tech and draw up a 10 ml dose of this stuff to inject into Hank's neck. Now, three weeks into the treatment, I can report that I have pricked myself four times and dropped one syringe in the dirt. But when it comes time to stick the needle in Hank, I manage to do the deed. He couldn't be more cooperative and forgiving of my clumsiness.

The vet says it will take at least 10 weeks before we can expect to see any results. I'm certainly not looking forward to weekly injections ad infinitum, but I'll cowgirl up and do it if it means more sweet dreams for Hank.