Kind of a grim topic today, so I'll try to distract you with beautiful photos of Courage as a western horse.
But I rode Courage Sunday just to see how he'd go, now that he's injected and X-rayed and acupunctured and rested.
Some parts of that ride were phenomenal--he turned right like a champion. He was a whole different horse in the contact. His body was adjustable. His back didn't disappear underneath me.
And no matter what I did, his stride was two inches long and he freaked out when I tried to get it any longer.
I could try to play it cool and be like "yeah totes got off and made a plan and was 100% professional about it", but that would be a straight-up lie.
I resisted the urge to immediately cry or call the vet, but I really wanted to both simultaneously while sitting in the parking lot drinking a sad beer. (Possibly did buy 5 pizzas on the way home, but who's counting?)
|he's something special to me|
I know intellectually that there are still options on the table. All this means is that what we've done so far isn't enough.
I know I'm working with a good team and have a great support system. I'm even lucky enough to be in a place where I can throw money at this (not like I'm shelling out for lessons or shows or clinics, right?)
Courage is 12, which is not old, but it's too young to retire. I can't in good conscience push him through what I know is a pain response. The idea of just mucking around not riding for the next decade makes me want to die inside.
Hopefully the wear and tear on his body hasn't progressed beyond where we can get him comfortable.
Hopefully we can find a way to manage it. Hopefully we have a plan. Hopefully things will stabilize and we have many years of happy adventuring yet to go.
|that neck tho|