One Step, Two Steps, Breathe

"One Step, Two Steps, Breathe." That's the mantra I repeated as I slowly hand walked Cupid around the farm.

"One Step, Two Steps, Breathe." Don't focus on the fact that my partner is in pain, don't obsess about the horrible outcome that could arise if this didn't resolve itself. Just focus on walking, breathing, and talking to Cupid.

Sunday started like any other Sunday for me. I woke up, made some tea and a bagel, and left for the barn. I arrived at the barn around 8:30 and took a minute to watch a pair of woodpeckers on a light post. Their little feet quickly moved them around the post as they investigated it for potential food sources. Eventually they fluttered away towards a tree in search of a better meal than the light post provided. Watching those woodpeckers in a memory seared into my mind. Just the peace and simplicity of seeing the joy they took in climbing that post.

I got the girls fed quickly and set about doing basic chores while they ate. After about 10 minutes I walked over to their feeding stalls to find Cupid performing a Flehmen response and pawing at the ground. Instantly, I knew something was wrong and let her out of the stall. She walked over near the paddock gate and laid down. As I saw her go down I felt my heart stop.

The droopy ears and flared nose killed me

Thankfully, she just laid down and did not try to roll immediately. I quickly grabbed her halter and by the time I returned to her side she had begun to roll. All the hours we had spent training together came in handy as I quickly got her haltered and asked her to stand. From the look on her face I knew she did not want to rise but she did so because I asked.

We walked for what felt like hours waiting for the Banamine to kick in, waiting for her stomach to start rumbling, waiting and hoping and praying that I would not have to make the call that every owner dreads. I had called the vet and we decided to try a dose of Banamine with hand walking and seeing how she was in a few hours. The vet was confident from my description of Cupid's behavior that we would be successful with that treatment but her confidence did little to resolve my worry.

With each step I had to keep reminding myself that as long as she was standing, as long as she remained aware of our surroundings then things were alright. I spoke to her as we walked, talking to her about everything and anything I could think of. How stressed I was about the way things had fallen apart with a boy, how I wanted to succeed at my job and become a valuable team player, how excited I was to have her as my trail riding partner at my parents home, anything and everything that crossed my mind as we walked.

Investigating the stall for any food remnants while we took a walk break. 

After around an hour of walking I began to hear her stomach rumble lightly. I could have cried from relief because things were finally turning around. After 90 minutes of walking she began to bump my hip with her nose, directly at the spot where I always carried my training pouch. We did not make it to 2 hours of walking. Cupid decided, just after discovering that I had taken off the treat pouch, that she was done with this walking crap and instead decided she wanted to investigate what the chickens were doing.

Seeing that my friend was going to be fine I placed her in a stall to wait for her to pass manure. This was the longest 2 hours I could have imagined. Cupid was downright furious that she was being cheated out of a hay ration, and spent those hours flinging anything she could grab at me. Salt lick pan - flung all over the stall and scraped against the bars. Jolly Ball - stomped on until it resembled a pancake then thrown out of the stall. Water bucket - dumped several times and would have been thrown if I wasn't monitoring her. I think we were both relieved when she finally pooped and could go out on grass for a few minutes.

"Mom, please let me out of the stall."

The plan for the rest of the day was to leave her in a stall with her jolly ball and a bran mash. The vet agreed that, while the experience had been traumatic for me, it was an extremely mild case of colic. Everyone reassured me that she would be fine and that it was the best colic situation I could have asked for. I tend to disagree.

Pissed off because she realized she's stuck in the barn for the night

Walking Cue around the property because I needed to keep her moving was the worst part of the experience. I feared her giving up and just falling to her knees unable to rise, unable to join me on our long awaited adventure. Her eyes never lost their spark, and she kept tapping me with her nose, as if to say "I'll be alright, I'll be here with you". But my mind kept screaming "one step, two steps, breathe", because the primal act of breathing automatically did not seem like something I was capable of during those moments.

Watching me walk up the next day. The spark back in her eyes.

I don't know why Cupid coliced. The vet speculates that the sudden temperature changes and dryness might have contributed to it. No matter the reason, this is something I would never wish upon anyone. Currently, Cupid is back to her usual routine. She shows no indication that she was ever unwell and hopefully this is something we never have to experience again for a long time. I'll give her a bit of a break to ensure that she is fully recovered, but as I looked into her eyes yesterday I knew that every moment I have with her is a blessing. This little grey mare with the split ear has truly stolen my heart.