Horses kin hurt ya! SOMETIMES ON PURPOSE!
I looked up at the pig-eyed backyard
horse. The roll of fat down the crest of his neck quivered as he snorted
and flared his nostrils. He was not pleased that I'd managed to get a
halter on him in the first place. He belonged to a thirteen year old kid
who rode him faithfully at least once a month. This horse was used to
bein' the boss and he did not tolerate my attempts to force my wishes on
him.
I tried to calm him but the suspicion
never left his eyes. Maybe I'll try him without a twitch, I told myself
with optimistic bravado. I picked up my plastic syringe of Ivomec paste,
took a firm grip on the halter and gently eased the tube into his lips.
He froze for a moment. I pushed in another inch and he exploded! He
reared up! I fell back losing my syringe but tangling my other hand in
the lead shank! He pawed and struck at me, hooves flashing on either
side of my head! My hand came free and I toppled over backwards. He ran
to the corner of the corral while I lay there with my heart pounding in
my throat. That night I noticed a razor thin cut runnin' along my
cheek. A rough edge on one of his hooves, I guessed. So Close.
Horses kin hurt ya! SOMETIMES IN SELF DEFENSE!
Dr. Voss was demonstrating to my vet
class how to castrate horses standing up (the horse, I mean). "Reach up
between his legs and grasp the testicles. Inject the local anesthetic
into the cord. Then stop and wait a couple minutes," he instructed. "So
the anesthetic will have time to take effect," interjected the A-student
gunner. "No," said Dr. Voss, "So you can quit shakin'!"
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