So, Chief decided to start colicking Thursday night.
By Friday morning, we knew we were in trouble. We worked with him all day, our Dr. Brown came out twice. Administered a vat of mineral oil via nasal tube, leaving the farm the last time at midnight.
Brock and I kept at him, nursing him, walking him, taking him for trailer rides, until:
The holy grail: poop. After 30 hours without a bowel movement. Horses can't go without 6-8 poops a day, they are beautiful to look at, but on the inside they are a frail network of wonky intestines.
More trailer rides and more doodoo. I buried an ox this week, no frigging way I was burying a horse too.
In the mayhem of all this I managed to pick up a companion for Daphne the day after Tommy died.
A client of Dr. B's offered me her pet goat, to keep Daphne from going off feed from grief.
A loaner goat.
The new guy is called Bumble. He's a hoot.
Super personality, Daphne could learn a thing or two...
He's a people person! He's not so sure about the surly bovine pasture mate.
Finally, Daphne accepts his company and all will be right in the world for the next two weeks.
Just a minor detail that Peter cannot go unsupervised in the front yard anymore.
He earned the reputation of Goat Slayer at the Vet School for his berserk display of aggression towards a fellow patient: a pygmy goat.
Seems Bumble is on his menu. Just one more thing to contend with...
Not to mention the ridiculous +100'F heat indices we've had and will continue to have through next week. Makes one prone to homicide.
My personal method of conveyance: my 9 seater golf cart, the Executive Cruiser, has been playing games with me. It starts one day and then goes on strike the next. One day, I was tinkering with it for 15 minutes and only realized later that a baby rattlesnake had been underfoot the entire time.
Never moved, just sat there and watched me.
I watched it get escorted away.
My least favorite mode of transport: bicycles let me down this week too. One of my mountain bikes has a blown tire and the one I use every day to exercise the dogs blew a tire going down the trails.
Guess which two dogs got way out of their 1/2 mile collar range before I could page them back. I can't run yet, but I can do a mean limping trot. I finally got within range of Dax's collar and he lead Micah back to me. I thought I was going to have a f&%#ing heart attack. Losing both my boys in one day, oh hell no.
I ordered a Garmin GPS 2 dog tracker.
Not being a millenial, it may take me 2 months to figure out to to turn it on!
