Put the poundshop thug (aka my Belgian warmblood bargain ) out in the field this morning , went out like his usual uncontainable self , lovely .
Teatime comes along , and he mooches back onto the yard ( I try to make him stay out till it starts to get dark , but he likes an early night ) but he’s a bit uneven on his good leg ( he has a lumpy other one , not that it’s ever caused him a problem ) . So I put him in , and he settles down to his first haynet .
Eight o clock comes , and he’s looking a bit uncomfortable but not enough to stop him eating dinner .
Half nine , and I go and check him again , and he’s in such distress , he doesn’t know where to put himself . He’s trying to lay down , he’s dug up all his bed to try and lay on it , he’s panting and sweating and groaning , and he will not put that leg to the ground , which is now starting to swell . Good thing the vet’s on speed dial .
An hour and a half later , the vet leaves , having given him a shitload of hefty antibiotics , and a massive amount of painkillers ( she was a bit unenthusiastic on the phone , but took one look at him and was all over him like a rash ) , his pulse is really high, he’s got a temperature , and we think he’s got lymphangitis . He’s a very unhappy chap - in fact she said she’d seen horses with fractures in less pain . He’s so miserable , instead of trying to a get a cheeky nip in , he lay down with his head in my lap while I stroked his ears . Looks like it’s going to be a long night , as I doubt I’m going to be sleeping any time soon .