Carl was unusually grumpy.
There were three emaciated young horses pressed against the far wall. I looked at Carl in astonishment.
“What’s happened here?”
Carl sighed loudly. “Well, someone dumped these youngsters at the sale lot, and my wife bought all three before anyone knew what was what. I only found out when she got ‘em home. And she forgot the dang harness!”
I took a step into the stall. “Are they handleable?”
Carl shrugged. “You now know as much as I do, Doc.”
Newly Named
I approached the young horses slowly, but they didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I ran a careful hand over their backs and ribs. They were skin and bones, filth matting their shaggy coats. They smelled like cow manure. I cringed and removed my hand quickly when I noticed an infestation of lice on their little bodies.
“Blossom, Buttercup and Bubbles,” said Carl, and I looked up in confusion.
“Their names, Doc! Don’t you watch TV?” (They were named after the main characters in late ‘90s/early ‘00s cartoon The Powerpuff Girls).
Celia had entered the barn and was striding briskly toward us, and I hunkered down and studied the group. “Well, Blossom here is all boy.” I announced. “The other two are fillies.”
Carl chuckled. “Well, that’s what I get for letting my wife go to a sale without me. A big dang mess and a colt named Blossom.”
Celia swatted him, greeted me quickly, then looked anxiously at her new charges. “Can they be saved?”
I was already pulling out my stethoscope. The little creatures allowed me to open their mouths, take temperatures, and palpate their starved bodies. They were about 8 months old.
Dire Situation
Blossom was in the worst shape. His head hung low, and he stared blankly as I moved my stethoscope over his scrawny rib cage. The other two weren’t much better off, and I silently cataloged the laundry list of problems: starved, internal and external parasites, heart murmur, dehydrated, possible infections, electrolyte imbalances, crackles in the lungs.
I tuned to Celia. “We’ve got our hands full, but let’s get started.”
I had Carl and Celia begin a careful refeeding program with grass hay so as not to overwhelm the babies with too much food. I drew blood on all three for testing and gave them an injection of a long-acting antibiotic. We treated the lice, and I started a cautious deworming treatment that would take several days to complete.
I knew the young horses would be riddled with internal parasites, and I didn’t dare deworm them with a full dose. Too much dewormer can cause an impaction of dead worms in the intestines, which can be fatal to a compromised young horse.
Long Road Ahead
Celia called the next day with a cheerful update on the number of dead worms she’d found in the manure, and I gave her a less cheerful update on the bloodwork. All three were showing signs of systemic disease and electrolyte imbalances. In addition, Blossom was severely dehydrated and had a low white blood cell count.
He was down in the stall when I arrived, and I placed a catheter in his jugular vein and started IV fluids with dextrose and vitamin B. When we finally hoisted him to his feet, he stretched, urinated, passed manure, shook himself, then meandered over to the hay and started eating.
Carl pushed his hat back on his head. “I figured he was a goner when I saw him down, but look at him now! There’s still some life in that colt, Doc.”
“He’s a fighter, but he’s got a long road ahead.” I warned.
Celia wiped her eyes. “The poor little souls. We’re going to do everything we can for them.” She fixed her husband with a stern look. “Aren’t we, Carl?”
Carl was tunelessly singing something about a Colt Named Blossom, and Celia looked at me hopelessly. “I’ll never live that one down, will I?”
Hard at Work
Blossom went down multiple times a day and had to be lifted to his feet each time. Sometimes I’d come and help, and the little colt would nose my face silently as we threaded thick straps around his belly and hoisted him up.
He would always stretch, pass manure, urinate, and start eating. Carl joked that the Colt Named Blossom was more stuck in his routine than an old man.
Each week, Blossom, Buttercup and Bubbles got stronger. One day Blossom nickered eagerly to me. The other two babies jostled around, demanding attention.
Sometimes Carl would be in the stall coaxing the dirt from their matted coats with a stiff brush, and Celia would be wiping straw and shavings from their eyes. They kept the stall immaculately clean and hung water buckets where the babies could reach them.
When the youngsters could tolerate more food, Carl would hustle back and forth with steaming bowls of mash, holding them up while the hungry babies ate and murmuring gently to them. He’d be so engrossed, he wouldn’t notice Celia and I snickering, then he’d huff about some people having to do all the work while other people just stood around.
Getting Back Up
The babies thrived under Carl and Celia’s loving care and began gaining weight. Their coats were clean and soft, and their eyes were bright and shining.
One day Celia called to tell me that Blossom had gotten up all by himself, and that Carl was in the stall jumping up and down, petting the little colt and crying.
“That husband of mine has stolen my horse!”
I laughed. “Carl’s going to tease you for years about his name.”
“Oh, that’s perfectly fine,” said Celia. “I’ll just jump up and down, pretend to pet the colt and cry loudly every single time that he does!”
This edition of Vet Adventures, “A Colt Named Blossom,” appeared in the July 2023 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!
