I have some questions. Why must you nearly slice your pastern in half on the only sharp piece of metal in sight? Why must you rip your bandage off at 19:00 as the sun is going down, and there are no lights in your pasture or shed to put it back on? Why must you refuse to eat beet pulp and bran mash when your colon most definitely needs it? You are, in fact, the only one in the stable who doesn’t have the palate for it. How do you arrive at the hospital for a standing dental extraction, only to extend your stay because you’ve developed an indolent corneal ulcer? Why must you get so scared that running through a fence seems like the best option? How do you walk normally with a septic carpus but can barely move when you bruise your hoof? How do you undergo cervical spine surgery, do well for multiple days, but then colic the night before you are being discharged? I understand you are a flight animal, but the hot air balloon was handling that job well.
One of the many things I have noticed during my time on the equine rotations is that if something can go wrong, it likely will. Horses find ways to not let anything go according to plan. I’d say only about 25 percent of my patients were discharged on the expected date. Cases in the equine hospital felt like hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. But sending a patient home with their family is extremely rewarding, and makes the frustration all very much worth it.