What next?

  1. It’s Taco Tuesday!
  2. Taco Tuesday special report
  3. Back in the day, I was a racehorse.
  4. To graze, or not to graze: that is the question
  5. It’s a miracle, I tell you, a miracle!
  6. The fine art of accepting treats from your human
  7. They called me the Cat Burglar
  8. Overall, the food here is very good.
  9. Inquiring minds want to know
  10. Housekeeping
  11. The new guy moves in
  12. Happy Vaccination Day
  13. Malfunctioning fly sheet edition
  14. The great escape
  15. Dog Days of Summer
  16. Down and Dirty
  17. The Quiet One
  18. Forest Monsters
  19. When the Farrier Comes
  20. Mealtime manner
  21. Happy Hour
  22. A day in the life.
  23. The Walking Wounded
  24. Friends
  25. Ginger the racing pony
  26. Those Dangerous Cows and the Gate
  27. Drunken sailor and the pregnant lady
  28. How to eat hay 101
  29. Fly-free at last
  30. Body Work Edition
  31. Rainy days and dry stalls
  32. The dream galloping edition!
  33. Where did Mocha go?
  34. Water
  35. Flying squirrels and giant lizards
  36. Leo came to town
  37. It’s Taco Tuesday again!
  38. Facemask tug-of-war
  39. Hey, it is Taco here with an update!
  40. Taco Tuesday – Foot abscess edition
  41. What next?

The Monday morning conversation between me and the Short One went something like this:


SO: How are you this morning, Taco?

Me: I am fine. My foot feels much better, see how fast I can walk on it now?


SO: Yay, look at you go! Are you hungry? It is time for breakfast.

Me: I’m starving. I really need more hay.


SO: You have hay. Look, it’s all over your stall.

ME: That is too stemmy, I don’t like it. I need new hay. Give that hay to Ginger, she will eat anything.

SO: (LOL) That is very true. OH MY GOD, TACO!!!

Me: What? What’s going on? What did I do? What happened?


SO: Your hock is the size of a personal watermelon! What did you do?

ME: What did I DO? I didn’t do anything. It doesn’t hurt. It might be a little stiff, but see, I’m walking on it just fine. Don’t worry about it. Can I have my breakfast now?


SO: Geeze, is it hot? Does it hurt?

ME: Just relax. I am fine. Where is my breakfast?


SO: Let me take your temperature and text your mother. Holy cow, that is big!

ME: Can it wait until after breakfast? I am starving, you know!


Oreo, yelling from the other stall: What’s the holdup with breakfast? I’m hungry.

Biggin: Me too. Hurry up!

SO: Your temperature is normal, but your hock is not! Taco, Taco, TACO!

ME: No worries, I’m fine. I can walk, I can eat, and that’s all that counts. Where is my breakfast?


And so it went. We got our breakfast (finally) and after I finished eating, I was hauled out of my stall and put on the crossties for further examination. Whatever I had done to cause this inflammation was rather alarming. Calls were made to my mother, who is out of town. Photos were sent. The vet was called (Mom has her on speed dial).

A few hours later, there I was, all wrapped up with a leg sweat and some stack bandages. I had to eat that unappetizing Banamine paste and then, worse yet, SMZ/TMP, yuck! At least the Short One mixes it with applesauce, so I didn’t spit all of it out.

Sometimes I feel like these humans just overreact. It was just a little cellulitis; how bad can it get?

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