Four going on an eternity.

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Today marks the one month anniversary of the day in which life as I had known it, disappeared. One month, four weeks, thirty days – say it anyway you’d like and it still feels like it’s been forever. Gone are the days of pulling up to the barn 10 minutes before a lesson, brushing the dust off, and trotting up to the ring. No longer are we going to meander around the farm exploring as we cool down from a hard gymnastics lesson. Running to the barn in tears so Tazzy could take care of me and mend my worn down heart, is no longer in the cards. Instead, I’ve spent the last four weeks running to take care of him. I tend to his sores, fret over even the mere thought of any heat in his hooves, and make sure he gets his daily dose of vitamin D. Today, I get excited to hear that his pain medication has been reduced. I’m thrilled when I know he spent more time standing, than laying down. Seeing an almost-empty water bucket is a celebrated accomplishment.

My timehop is a constant reminder of the ten years worth of memories we have created together. I’m reminded of the countless girls he has taught to ride and showed with. That blue ribbon he won all by himself because his beginner rider was too nervous to actually steer. The fox. The f*$&@%$ fox that jumped out and caused us to dive through a corner during the most important class of the week. Often times, these reminders are bittersweet. What I wouldn’t give for another gallop, another go at the “boob” jump, and even just one more chance to hear my trainer yell about at least attempting to bend through the corners, and using my outside rein. But when I get too down about all the fun we’re missing, I’m reminded that we’re just happy he’s here. I still have my best friend. We may no longer be “whoa-ing” down the lines, but maybe one day, soon, I’ll have to yell “Whoa” because he feels well enough to make a run for it.

We are not yet out of the woods. Actually, I’m not even sure that we can see light. He’s had his shoes on for 2 full weeks and has 3 more to go before we reset them. One month of ups and downs has felt like a never ending emotional roller coaster. But as long as he’s willing to fight, so will I. We will do more radiography when we re-shod and hopefully see that the sinking has stopped. We are praying that we don’t run into any additional implications – abscesses are not uncommon with foundered horses and can cause excruciating pain to the already sore hooves. He still spends quite a few hours a day laying down to rest. Although nerve-racking, I know it’s good for him to rest his piglets and take some of the pressure off his strained laminae. His bedsores are a constant battle. His left hock is nearly bald, and although they are superficial sores on the surface of the skin, they still make me worry. I don’t know if in another thirty days I’ll be writing a “2-month” post-founder post, or if I’ll be writing his eulogy. I’m trying my best to simply live in the now.

A few weeks ago, I thought I’d soon be mourning the loss of my best friend. Today, I’m able to kiss his velvet muzzle and split a package of Twizzlers. None of this would be possible without the people that have come together to support us. Getting constant updates and pictures of a happy, or sleepy, or usually grumpy yellow horse, literally makes my day. My barn owner, vet, farrier, trainer, and barn family have shown the true meaning of being “horsemen.” They’ve all gone out of their way to ensure that we are always dealing with a comfortable Yellow. His well-being has been at the forefront of every conversation and every decision. There is no better support system. I could not have asked for a better team.  #TeamTazzy

(Don’t forget to hit HD in settings.)

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