As many of you are painfully aware--because you caught wind of my weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth--Pookey Bear is once again under the weather, having suffered for several days with intermittent colic.

Not to worry! We are now throwing everything but the kitchen sink at him, confident that he will mend.

In the meantime, no new photos--just like those celebrities, he doesn't want to be caught not looking his best!

But we felt it was important to celebrate his birthday with an artist's rendering (courtesy of his 'auntie') and a few words about the glowing report he received at his recent doctor visit.

Thanks to top-flight veterinary care, a fabulous farrier, and an incomparable nurse (that would be me) Pookey Bear's feet are finally starting to look better, both inside and out. He has been feeling better for several months, with most days being completely painfree, and his gait (in boots) being very relaxed and relatively sound. But yesterday's radiographs showed that he is also improving on the inside: he is growing good sole on both feet, his medio-lateral balance is improving, and he grew enough toe in four weeks that Joe actually had to put some muscle into the nippers!

Amazingly, he walked on the concrete at the clinic completely barefoot, and looked very comfortable doing so. It is amazing because it is just eight months after his tendon surgery, and just a few short months since he was still battling acute pain from abscesses. Dr. D and Dr. W have okayed more hand-walking and light hand-jogging to rebuild lost muscle mass. (I assume that will be working for me, too? If Pookey winds up looking like Obvious Conclusion, am I going to wind up looking like Flo Jo? Or is it likely the best I can hope for is Billie Jean King?)

If Pookey could talk (my other half insists he CAN'T!) I know that he would like to thank his farrier, doctors, banker, owners, and friends for all of their help and support.

But I suspect that he might also add the following:

"Today was my 12th birthday. I was hoping for some carrots and a cake. Instead, they hung a bag of fluids on me, threw me in the trailer, hauled me for hours, rasped my achin' dogs, and bombarded me with yet another round of gamma rays. Then one of my doctors--who has always been so nice to me!--stuck his arm someplace I didn't like, and as if that wasn't enough, my caretaker stuck a garden hose someplace else I didn't like after I got home!

"They say they are trying to help me. Yeah, right...thanks a lot for the help! What's gonna happen when I turn 13, a catheterization and a colonoscopy?"

A rope, a round pen, and a little magic

Saturday morning I left Pookey Bear at home munching timothy, and ventured eastward to witness an amazing demonstration of horsemanship.

Our friend Dwayne Rhea, a clinician from Sulphur Springs, was conducting a mini-clinic at a veterinary hospital open house, using the black filly pictured above as one of his subjects. We arrived early enough to see her in her natural state in the round pen, wild-eyed, shivering in the howling wind, petrified of everything that moved.

I figured Dwayne had his work cut out for him. It seemed to me as if getting her to lead--or just to drop her head--would be amazing enough, but getting her to load willingly in a trailer, as the demonstration promised? I'd have to see it to believe it!

Amazingly, in a little less than an hour, he did just that. Not only was the filly quiet and relaxed through the head and neck, and following him around like a puppy dog, she also loaded happily into the trailer, multiple times, without a hint of fear. Most remarkable of all, the final time he loaded her, he did so after removing her halter and lead!

To someone who has to beg their been-there-done-that gelding to please, please, puh-leeze get in the trailer (Puh-leeze? Where are the carrots? Where are my helpers? Where is the broom, and the buggy whip?) it was an incredible feat. And he did it all without whips or pulleys or gimmicks--simply by gaining her trust, and showing her what he wanted.

No question about it--as soon as Pookey's feet grow out another couple of inches, we are working on loading, and--if the stars align--maybe even on backing out of the trailer! If I can get him to do that happily, willingly, and calmly, I figure I might just take my show on the road.

Dwayne, could you use someone to 'open' for you?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Asking her to move her hindquarters

"Oh, so that's what you want!"

The Reward

Me, not so much...

Pookey Bear had an absolutely wonderful, stupendous day yesterday!

Me, not so much.

I woke up at the crack of dawn to head over to a surgical center in Fort Worth, where I was taking my sister to have her gallbladder removed. This brought back a flood of unhappy memories from my gallbladder surgery 20 years ago: suffering the agony of repeated attacks, writhing in pain in the hospital bed while they waited for my lab numbers to get decent enough to operate, enduring life-threatening complications after a botched surgery--and, to add insult to injury, sticking rigidly to the recommended diet afterwards, only to pack on 45 pounds in one year.

Not a happy time!

Fortunately my sister was in good health to start with, and--as the doctor predicted--her surgery went great.

So great, in fact, that within twenty minutes of being wheeled into recovery, she was standing up and drinking a Coke!

When the young doctor bounced in with photos of her innards, he spent a great deal of time waxing eloquent about what incredible shape she was in, how absolutely remarkable that a woman her age had such a youthful body, that he had called over other doctors and nurses to share in his amazement, and that they had all insisted upon seeing her chart, to verify that she was in fact not a twenty-year-old, which her lithe, athletic frame seemed to declare.

I stood silently by, trying to blend my pasty, wrinkled, XXXL frame into the wallpaper, hoping I would escape the scrutiny of the flat-bellied medical team.

But no! One of the nurses turned to me with my sister's bag of belongings, and said,

'Here, Mom, why don't you hold onto these while your daughter gets dressed.'

Mom?!?

Given her age, that would put me in my seventies!

Needless to say, this facility will not be receiving a donation from me during this year's fund-raising drive!

It's official!

Yes, it's official!

Pookey Bear is on the mend.

His visit to the doctor/farrier last week went very well, and Joe just sanded off a bit of hoof here and there, working mostly on his long toes. Then, when his appointment was over, he was able to walk barefoot on the concrete, and he has been walking sound ever since!

We even got the go-ahead to practice a little bit of showmanship just for fun, and to start the process of weaning him out of his Soft Ride boots while he is in the comfort of his deeply-bedded stall. That process is going very well; he is up to about an hour a day completely barefoot with no ill effects. I also have increased his 'turnout' time in the round pen, but I am battling the grass, so he still must wear his muzzle.

Why is it that grass will grow everywhere you don't want it to grow, but it refuses to grow where you want it?

At any rate, we are thrilled with his progress, and have been celebrating each small milestone along the way!

Now, for some photos. The first is Pookey today, in all of his sleekness. The second shot was taken exactly one year ago, just a few weeks prior to his founder. Note the dapples, the apple rump, the cresty neck, and the 250 extra pounds he was carrying!

For all of you 4-Hers, 4-H parents, and other competitive adults: take a shot at guessing his body condition scores, before and after.

The official answer will appear in our next post.

The judge?

Pookey's banker, Dr. Allen.

The prize?

A week's supply of beet pulp!

May 2011

May 2010