Wednesday, the farrier came to check on Jackson and to trim Finessa.
Finessa looks wonderful and is walking about happy as can be on her trimmed hooves. The x-rays were consistent with founder but there wasn't anything truly bizarre that would keep her from getting a thorough trim. I am very, very happy. Our farrier has concerns about her, long term. I have those concerns also; and have had them for quite a few years. But, as long as she remains happy and comfortable, I'm not going to think about what will, inevitably, come at some (hopefully distant) point in the future.
Jackson is doing very well too. Between his meds and his special shoes, he's a new horse. He is in the pasture with the girls 24/7 now and moving well. No more gimpy, prissy steps for him. No sir.
Wednesday evening Lucy followed me around the pasture while I picked up manure. From her standpoint, I come into the pasture to provide wither and back massages. The fact that I have a muck rake and a cart mean nothing. I pull the cart along, stop near a pile of poop, and prepare to scoop. But no, Lucy stands between me and the pile, positioning herself so the preferred spot to be scratched is right in front of me. She twists her neck and wiggles her lips, and sometimes offers to groom my hip. By the eighth or ninth pile, my fingers get tired and I stop complying with her requests.
We were at that point Wednesday evening. She was standing next to me and I was ignoring her, focused on my scooping technique. She darted her head to her flank in a rather violent way, spun and took off. I don't know what bit her, but it clearly hurt. She ran through Pistol and Jackson, who were standing near the gate, and kept going -- screaming as she went. (Yes, she is dramatic). Pistol and Jackson joined in. I stood at the fence line and watched them careening from one end of the pasture to the other. After a couple laps, Lucy stopped. As did Pistol.
He kept running.... and running ....and running. His ears were forward and his mane was flying. I swear I heard him say,
"Look at me! I can run! I can fly!"
He finally stopped; covered in sweat and ridiculously happy. He stood bobbing his head at me before strutting off. Gimpy? Ha! Not this horse. Not anymore.
...which made me wonder.... where did I put his bareback pad?