|[May. 23rd, 2011|11:11 pm]
My name is Mac. I am a well-bred, well-conformed Quarter Horse who is consistently, and unfairly, underrated by owners. That's why I've had so many. They all agree I'm attractive...and I am...but they make disparaging remarks about my feet. I didn't ask for these feet. If I had my way, I'd have been born with hooves like hockey pucks, but it didn't happen that way and it's not my fault.
Nothing is my fault. It's all the fault of humans, who just do not understand me. For instance, when I pin my ears and snap at someone, it's because they annoyed me. If they hadn't annoyed me, would a well-bred, attractive, mature gelding like me pin ears and snap? Of course not. My current farrier has even hit me when I kicked at him. And my owner let him. She's an alpha mare, that one. She can even make Mare Face, though she's got only two legs and her teeth aren't nearly big enough. She complains that I don't respect human space. Well...humans just aren't very big or impressive, are they? Puny, for the most part, and if you can get them to give you sugar or horse cookies or more oats...that's not a horse's fault. She calls me Drama Queen. She calls Old Yellow Bananaface or Boyo or his stage name, Illusion. Old Yellow calls her Evil Stepmom, because Old Yellow had a real owner-mom once. But Old Yellow doesn't try to boss people around and he says I shouldn't. Old Yellow is getting really old and now I'm the boss, so when he says that I nip him.
Anyway, it stormed this weekend and we were cruelly confined to the barn, where the rain and hail made horrible noises on the roof, and strong winds blew in and out of the open space. I hated it. Old Yellow hated it. It rained for hours. Ten feet of rain at least. When the light came back on and it was morning, the ground was all soft and squashy. That makes my feet hurt because I have such delicate, elegant soles. Old Yellow has great big platter feet and apparently they never hurt.
But then, the day after the storms, for some reason I just wasn't feeling all that great. We were stuck in the barn and small pen and the ground was wet. Old Yellow made a mess out of the ground near our water trough. Still, I was hungry for supper and ate it all up. And then...things went wrong. Very wrong. All night long, Old Yellow ate hay and put down his piles, plop-plop-plop. I lost my appetite. I didn't feel well and I felt worse in the night.
When the fat man with the manure rake came in the morning, and brought our breakfast, I didn't care. He didn't notice at first, but he noticed when I went down on my knees and lay down. He called Evil Stepmom woman out to the barn. She looked at me and petted my neck. It wasn't my neck that hurt. Then she tried to put fly spray on me. I hate fly spray. She knows I hate fly spray. What kind of evil person would try to put fly spray on a sick horse? I don't care that she had a soft cloth: it's FLY SPRAY!
So I got up and I walked--with great courage because it hurt my tummy--out of my stall. That Evil Stepmom locked me out of my stall!! Then she disappeared for awhile but suddenly a truck came right up to the fence. Two more people got out and I didn't like the look of them. Both were female. One had one of those things people put on a horse's side--one end on the horse, one end on the person's head.
Well! It was a horrible experience. The one with the very short hair and shiny things on her face stuck a needle in my neck, and then put her arm up under my tail, where nobody is supposed to put anything...and she reached in and pulled things out. That was bad enough. But then...the other one put this thing on my lip--I've had that before and I hate it. And the Evil Stepmom let her do it and then helped hold my halter and the first one started pushing a tube into my nostril. It was disgusting and it hurt and she wouldn't stop and it felt weird and horrible. I told them so with my ears and my tail and tried to move but I couldn't move enough, even though I almost knocked over a gallon jug of some thick liquid, and the tube went down and down until it was in my stomach.
I nearly died, I want you to know. I was at death's door the Entire Time and nobody had any sympathy for me except the man with the manure rake, who was outside the fence. He said someone had done that to him and he didn't like it either. Then the first one--Evil Stepmom said it was the vet--used something that made a squelchy noise and suddenly there was stuff running in the tube and it went into my stomach where it felt awful. And then stuff came out of the tube from my stomach. I never knew what stuff in my stomach looked like, and you do not want to know. Disgusting. Embarrassing. And all the time vet and Evil Stepmom were discussing it like I wasn't even there. That went on far too long, over and over, while I tried to be Brave and Noble, like the horse I really am. Then finally, the stuff in that jug went into the tube and the vet did not drain it back out. Eeeuw! And then she pulled the tube back out, the most horrible feeling you can imagine (a snake in your nose!!!) and....well....I wasn't hurting as much, and when Evil Stepmom walked me around I could take normal steps. I thought, "I have survived a near-death experience; I am a brave and noble horse of uncommon strength and fortitude."
But it wasn't over yet. Because--and you will not believe this--the vet told Evil Stepmom to starve me. "Nothing to eat until...." and she described how much I would have to produce in fecal material to get anything to eat. Nothing? And I was left in the pen with no food. They even took away the bench I like to gnaw on. Water, yes, there was water....but nothing to EAT. And Old Yellow, who had watched me when I was lying down, now wandered off--they let him into the next lot where there's grass. He didn't stay with me. He didn't come when I called. Selfish old thing. He said he was hungry....nobody had washed the food out of HIS stomach.. Nobody had put a tube down HIS nose. And he couldn't even stay with me...watch me bite his rump the next time I get a chance!! He spent the whole afternoon wandering around free and eating whatever he liked while I Suffered.
Evil Stepmom checked on me a few times, complaining that I'd messed up her plans for the day. Then she disappeared. The man with the manure fork came a few times. Finally I produced a tiny pile and demonstrated for food. No food came. Evil Stepmom returned and I produced another, slightly bigger pile. No food. Finally late in the evening, I produced a pretty big pile. Evil Stepmom came out of the house awhile later, with a flashlight, to check on me she said, and she was happy about the pile. But she only gave me one lousy handful of hay. "Vet's orders," she said. "Drink more water," she said. "See you in the morning."
In the morning I will be dead of starvation and neglect, and Evil Stepmom will be sorry, but it will be too late. I revel in the thought of how guilty she will feel. There I'll be, stretched out, desiccated in the blazing sun, a wolf pack and two mountain lions tearing at my pitiful carcass and it will be All Her Fault.
I sign this with my last strength.....(Old Yellow, are you really so stupid that you don't know I want you to push some hay over the fence?)