**Warning: Some graphic pictures towards the end.
I wouldn’t look if you’re squeamish about bruises at all.**
I feed these two horses, Colt and Moose, twice a week.
Moose belongs to my guy’s mom.
He’s really old.
Moose is the dark one.
He’s a sweetheart.
Colt, I’m convinced, is part camel.
As in he slobbers and spits and licks.
It’s so gross.
But I love it.
I love my time with the horses.
Recently, there were some new additions to the pasture.
The old gray one whom I call “Lady”.
She thinks she’s pushy, but she’s the only one that Moose can push around.
There’s the beautiful cream colored mare whom I call “Duchess”.
She really is pushy, but if I yell at her or run after her, she’ll take off.
And then there’s the one I call “Mama Bear” because she is believed to be pregnant. She is the pushiest horse of them all.
She pushes all the other horses around and stands toe to toe with me.
See, the problem is I only feed Moose and Colt.
The other three are someone else’s responsibility.
I feel bad for them sometimes but they really do they best to make my job as difficult as possible. I always get my workout there.
The other day I was out feeding the horses and they all seemed more high strung than usual.
They were all very pushy and fighting to get to the food.
Usually, I hop right into the pasture and chase after the girls as necessary, but it was really muddy as we were in between storms.
(I think that’s part of the reason why they were so aggressive that day.)
Because Moose is so old, I have to make sure that he gets his share of food.
If the other horses are scaring him off, I will take his bucket of feed out into the pasture to feed it to him.
Well, I did that the other day and unfortunately got caught in the crossfire of a couple horses kicking at each other.
I got kicked, knocked down, and then stepped on by at least two horses.
I saw stars!
My first reaction was that they pissed me off.
I couldn’t believe that they had the nerve to kick me when I was trying to feed them. (I do give the girls treats.)
I told them all they could fend for themselves.
I stood up carefully and picked up the buckets then climbed over the fence and out of the pasture.
I limped up the hill to the supply shed not wanting to waste my adrenaline all the while chanting to myself “I’m okay, I’m okay”.
I put everything in the shed, locked it, changed out of my rubber rain boots and into my tennis shoes, got into the car and then freaked out.
I could feel the adrenaline draining and tried to quickly think of a game plan.
I knew how to get to where I was, but I didn’t know the address, so I didn’t think it would be helpful to call for help.
I decided to go to my guy’s mom’s house.
It was only a couple miles away and I figured it wouldn’t take that much strength to push the pedals of my car.
Well, I managed to get there. Barely.
I was really sore and really scared by the time I got there.
I called her from her driveway and asked her to take me to the hospital.
Three hours later (fast, I know) I had been drugged up and x-rayed and it appears that I don’t have any breaks.
I do, however, have lots of bruises, some of which go down to the bone.
This was in the hospital. It was much more swollen than it looks.
The day after.
The bruises were starting to look real pretty.
This is me, looking for another mover to watch.
Day Three: My knee is quite stiff and sore.
My ankle, though you can hardly see the bruise, hurts whenever it’s touched.
And my girls keep accidently kicking me.
The still swollen bruise on my arm and the big lovely on my thigh.
I think that one’s my favorite.
Three days later, the swelling is mostly down, but the bruising seems to keep showing up. I’m on crutches until I can put all my weight on my leg.
I got incredibly lucky and I know it.
I am so very grateful.
In the meantime, I am busy laying in bed cleaning out the files in my computer.
I’ll have several posts this week with old pictures that never made there way to the blog.