Drunken sailor and the pregnant lady

And just like that, fall is over in Kentucky. It isn’t freezing cold yet, which is good because I still have some winter coat to grow, but it’s overcast and gray and damp and chilly. The sun goes down earlier and earlier. Oreo and I get to spend the day in the dry lot munching on hay and hanging out over the fence with Ginger. I am not allowed out in the field anymore because of the slippery mud. I tend to get too rambunctious and end up falling down. The mind is willing, but this old body just can’t keep up.

I really buggered myself up the other day. I am too embarrassed to tell anyone exactly what went down (no pun intended), but suffice to say it wasn’t good. My legs went in directions they shouldn’t go. When I came in from the field, I was walking like a cross between a drunken sailor and a pregnant lady in her ninth month. My mom was a bit horrified.

The vet came. She had a worried look on her face. She ran her hands down my legs and over my back. She watched me attempt to walk. She ruled out this thing and that thing and the other thing. Then she stood back and looked at me and just shook her head, “Taco, Taco, Taco.”

It was decided I needed some bute and steroids in hopes of reducing whatever inflammation was causing me to amble about in such a bizarre manner. That doc, she really knows her stuff.

I was feeling much better the next day and after a few weeks of meds and rest I was back to almost normal. I do drag my toes a little more than I did before. As the famous Cat Burglar, I have 9 lives, but I have lost track of how many this is!!