Dear diary,
So what a week! It started last Sunday when as I told you I was whisked off to horsepital by mother and dad and a worried-looking mini-mother. Aunty Em came to say goodbye and the atmosphere could be best described as sombre. I decided to lighten the mood (and the load) by excessively pooping all over the ramp to the trailer mum had borrowed on my way in and then danced about in it while mother and Aunty Em attempted to clean it up. I found me positively hilarious — not sure mother did…
So it was a bit windy all the way to the horsepital and I arrived feeling a tad seasick — does that by the way make me a sea horse? I was met by a very nice lady and escorted into a large barn along with two very highly strung mares who were also in for supposed leg problems but who were leaping about with gay abandonment. Mother fixed me with an icy glare that even that Elsa bird would have been proud of, so I wisely refrained from letting go or in any way joining in. This instantly won me the reputation of being the “calm one” and gradually the mares looked upon my calm, manly demeanour and calmed down also. I have this effect on the ladies; what can I say?
So after cuddles from all the mares’ parents, a pat from the vet, a manly hug from dad and mother snotting down my neck, I was left alone, abandoned in the deepest confines of the horsepital; alone apart from two grateful mares and a stack of hay and haylage. ‘Twas hell. Honestly…
So Monday came round and my transformation into a super hero commenced. I was injected with radioactive hero making substances and while the vets pretended to look at my leg I mutated into the super beast known as Hoverine. I have yet to discover all my new superpowers but emptying mum’s bank balance and stressing her half to death appear to be two of them…
The scan showed that whatever the problem is, it’s definitely bony, but beyond that I was still a walking (or should we say hobbling) medical mystery. So due to our radioactive superhero preparations, myself and the other mares were confined to barracks all day on Tuesday and Wednesday for fear of others feeling inferior. I was hoping that the mares might break out the spandex and hot pants but sadly this didn’t occur. Maybe they need a horsebox to get changed in? That said, my cape hasn’t turned up yet either, so until it does, I am eyeing up a pair of scrubs and wondering if anyone will mind if I borrow them and whip up a DIY outfit? It’s either that or the reception curtains…
So Thursday saw me having yet more X-rays which seemed to cause even more confusion with the vets, apparently make mother snivel down the phone and made Herman consider changing his number as mother moved from being mildly annoying to being a pathological stalker. If the woman rings him any more she might as well move in – although to be fair I do think she has paid for at least the guest wing of Herman Towers so she probably does have rights…
So as you’re reading this I’m hopefully having an MRI scan if they can get the coil to go around my magnificent, manly leg. Last time they tried on my foot it didn’t happen, so mum isn’t holding her breath. Herman is very grateful for this as I suspect the thought of giving mother mouth to mouth ranks about as highly as having to deal with the man parts of a Shetland…
If the MRI scan shows anything then they will make a decision if I can go home or not. Either way it’s looking like a long, long, boring time on box rest, lots and lots of very expensive drugs and mother having a nervous breakdown for the next 12 weeks. Deep joy.
Boredom breaking ideas, a bevy of fit mares, bags of carrots, magnets, healing vibes, a flat screen TV so I can watch Black Beauty and a new left hind leg would be appreciated. Failing that, lots and lots of drugs of the sedation variety — no not for me — for lady snot-a-lot. Seriously, if I could figure how to get ketamine in her cornflakes, I’d be on it like a toad at a leap frog contest I can do 12 weeks box rest — just not sure mother can.
So wish me luck for the MRI, stay posted to my Facebook pages for more updates and I’ll catch you soon. Well, as long as you don’t run too fast as that would be unsporting…
Laters,
Hobbling Hovis
