Sonny's Sunday

Started with Sonny's FRIDAY. He was pulled out for a bit of a touch up trim in front, and he was his usual self. Which is to say, a big red pain in my arse.

For which he had to go out, and have the wrong thing (trying to toss me around,) hard, and the right thing (holding himself still politely for hoof care,) easy.

Took a while, but he got the point.

After which, I held him to mow the lawn a bit.

All well and good, right?
Meanwhile... back at The Asylum...

DAT, seen above post spay, had an adventure.

We learned several things.
A) Cub is sneaky
B) Cub sneaking away to the house, alone, is Not That Great
C) DAT does NOT work as a toilet brush.

See... Dear Husband was mowing and doing yard work.
Granny was cleaning Boudreaux the Bloodhound's pen, with Cub's help.
Cub got bored, and teleported himself home.
Dear Husband thought Cub with still with Granny, and Granny thought Cub had gone to mow with his Daddy.

Not so.

Dear Husband came home, in the house, and heard a weird noise.... and went into the potty to see Cub trying to stuff DAT into the potty for a swirly.

Yeah.

Oh- where was I? I'm getting there-- keep yer knickers on...
Ah yes. The Cat Under The Porch. She is still here. Cranky old lady cat she is, but she seems to be content to hang out, get attention when we are outside, and practice giving The Hairy Eyeball to all other critters that happen to cross her path. Are you *sure* no one wants an extra cat??



Right-- so where was I while DAT was getting a swirly?

I had to run to the feed store for Sonny food, then the grocery store for people food, then back home to put the cold things away, and then back in the opposite direction to get Banamine for Sonny. Why did Sonny need Banamine? Because the royal red pain in my a$$ decided that yesterday was the perfect day for his annual Spring belly ache.

It was mild, but I am worried to a point- an actual cause of this has yet to be identified, and having something like this left unidentified just *bothers* me quite a bit.

Fricken horse.
So far this morning though, he is fine. Hollering for food, ticked because he has not been yet taken out on his lawn for mowing duty, with that bright sparkle back in his eye that only means one thing: Trouble.

One of these years, we'll get it sorted out. I hope. Maybe. (But I'm not holding my breath.)

I am now off to get another load of hay for His Royal Pain In My A$$, and to cope with whatever else the day should happen to toss our way.

Happy Hoofin to the rest of you....
~MM

Dear Husband Update:
We are waiting, tensely, for his appointment with a gastroenterologist on Tuesday. For the most part, hsi blood sugar levels have been steady- and with in normal limits. However, once they spike, he is in for a rough time. And each round of pain is getting worse and worse. It's been a long, long six weeks, five different doctors, and no answers. So not only do we have an idiopathic horse, Dear Husband has an idiopathic gut. Huh. I wonder if Sonny's idiopathic gut, and Dear Husband's idiopathic gut have any connection... probably not. Probably all in the timing.