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| Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved. |
I will not ruin everyone's dinner with the kind of play-by-play that only someone fighting to save a horse's life would appreciate. Suffice to say that, unlike yesterday, he has gut sounds from all four quadrants, which indicates movement; his heart and respiratory rates are lower; his gums are ever so slightly paler, though still toxic; and there's been a small amount of fluid passage. He's somewhat interested in water again, and fresh [blade] grass, and he handled the vet visit — and the mineral-oil tubing — like a champ. [She didn't get here until around 4PM, because she had a couple of morning emergencies go sideways, apparently. Yes — it's colic season. In a big frickin' way.]
At any rate, we continue as we are for now. No Epsom salts for him; too dangerous. And no, don't ask me about the bill; I have no frickin' clue what or how. We'll deal with that when it gets here. I've walked I don't know how many miles with him over the last three days, both literally and metaphorically. Trouble is, it's all around and around in a circle in the pen. Well, my tan's kicked in pretty thoroughly. I'll also no doubt be up again at 4:30 in the morning to check on him.
But he's got a hell of a will to live, so what we need now is gut movement (and some softening/solubility would seriously help, too). She says it's likely that this was already well under way when he showed up here, abandoned, starving, and dehydrated, on Christmas Eve. It says a lot about his overall soundness in the face of abuse and neglect, and his willingness to fight to survive, that he's managed to do so well for so long. So I'm exhausted, I've expended a lot of tears, but I'm hopeful.
Please, just keep those prayers and vibes and candles and so forth comin', folks. He's not anywhere remotely close to being out of the woods, but I'm convinced we can get him there.
Chi miigwech and ta'a, from me, from Wings, and from Ice.
