513 AV, 18th Day of Winter
Though he'd already been in the barn feeding the horses for almost half a bell, each time he reappeared with more buckets of feed they nickered a greeting, or perhaps a plea for more grain and hay. He pointedly ignored the big heads that jutted out over the two piece doors of the stalls. The tops could open to allow the horses views of the aisle, while the bottom remained shut to keep them inside. Alasdair carried a large bucket of grain to one of the many stalls that needed attending. A tall, narrowly built chestnut gelding greeted him as he opened the door and slipped inside, latching the door once more behind him. As soon as the bucket was placed on the floor, the fine boned horse started eating ravenously as if he hadn't been fed for days. A lot of them did this, even though they were given hearty portions twice a day during the colder season.
With the dormant grasses in the pasture blanketed in snow, there wasn't much to forage unless they looked hard enough. Even then, it was sparse if not nonexistent pickings. Still they were provided with plenty of hay to keep them busy when they weren't turned out. There were quite a few horses out in the pastures right now stretching their legs and enjoying the sunshine. He touched the gelding's neck and ran his hand up to the shoulder and across a bony set of withers. The chestnut's skin twitched from the contact but stilled after a moment, and Alasdair continued his journey down the dip of the aging gelding's back to his coup, then further along down his left hind.
Without much fuss the horse allowed him to lift the hoof and examine it. He kept a pick tucked into the top of his boot when he fed the horses so he could care for their feet. Pulling it out, he used the iron hook to scrape what little dirt clung in the crevices around the frog. When it was clean, he set it down and moved onto the next back leg. Again there was no trouble, and after he dug the debris from the hoof's underside it was on to the gelding's right front. Alasdair could tell there was going to be an issue. As soon as the foot left the stall floor, the gelding yanked it from his grasp and planted it firmly once more. He glanced at the horse as it raised its head slightly to look back at him.
"How old are we?" he mumbled peevishly, grasping the chestnut's pastern again - more firmly this time - and lifting the hoof up. This time when the gelding tried to pull away, Alasdair pulled the front leg up tight toward the belly, immobilizing it. That didn't make for a happy horse. Ears went back and a neck twisted around. Teeth nipped at him, but he smacked the face away with a free hand. For a moment they struggled with each other, one trying to pull away as the other held on tightly. Patience won out, and as the gelding grew tired of hopping awkwardly on three legs, he stopped and stood still once more. Alasdair glared at him for a few heartbeats longer. When there was no more resistance, he tucked the front hoof between his thighs and began to careful scrape out the manure and dirt.
It was caked in more than the back feet had been, and once it fell out a foul smell remained. His nose wrinkled automatically and he leaned down closer to examine the frog. One finger traced the groove that bordered the flesh there, and came away dark. He sniffed what looked like dirt. It turned out to be the source of the smell, so he quickly wiped the finger on his breeches and twisted to look at the hoof again. It looked fine except for dark coloration in the groove around the frog. Then he noticed what looked like a small crack between the gelding's heel bulbs; also dark with what had come off on his finger. Heavy brows furrowed and his forehead wrinkled with a frown.
Alasdair had no idea what the gunk was. He carefully felt the sole of the aging horse's hoof, then the frog. The only indication that something might be wrong was the faintest flinch as his finger poked the side of the frog. Gently, the foot was placed once more on the floor. He stroked the chestnut shoulder and neck, moving up to the angular face. Big eyes peered into his, ears slightly back, but not protesting. Alasdair regarded the horse for a long chime, petting the thin blaze that ran down his long face. He should get Serena to examine the hoof; and he did just that. He found the young proprietor in their stallion barn, grooming a dappled gray Windrunner. After explaining what he'd come across, she followed quickly but seemingly without any real unease.
They found the gelding finishing his bucket of grain. He greeted the stable owner far more cheerily that it had greeted him, which made the corner of his mouth turn up. "What do you think it is?" he asked Serena as she picked up his hoof and gave it a once over. She was quiet for a moment before setting the hoof down and moving to the left front. "It looks like he has thrush." She cleaned out the last hoof but didn't linger. "This one's fine. Same with the back legs?" He nodded, and she placed a hand on the gelding. "Alright. It seemed like it's just that right hoof then. I can treat it easily. There isn't much there. He's showing some discomfort but no lameness. That's good. I'll make a poultice that will kill the bacteria. I'll be right back. Bring him out for me will you?"
"Of course," he told her before she left him with the old horse. Its halter and lead were tied to the outside of the stall for quick access. He fetched these and slipped the leather headpiece over the gelding's nose and ears then buckled it under the cheeks. With the lead rope tied under its chin, Alasdair was able to carefully lead the tall chestnut into the aisle. Its hooves clopped loudly on the flagstone floor, echoing down the row. Horses stuck their heads out and nickered at the two of them. The gelding's head rose up on a high-carrying neck, ears shoved forward and eyes curious. He whinnied a reply and stepped excitedly in place for a moment until pressure on the halter made him still.
OOCI'm not sure how much I like this post, but here it is!
Though he'd already been in the barn feeding the horses for almost half a bell, each time he reappeared with more buckets of feed they nickered a greeting, or perhaps a plea for more grain and hay. He pointedly ignored the big heads that jutted out over the two piece doors of the stalls. The tops could open to allow the horses views of the aisle, while the bottom remained shut to keep them inside. Alasdair carried a large bucket of grain to one of the many stalls that needed attending. A tall, narrowly built chestnut gelding greeted him as he opened the door and slipped inside, latching the door once more behind him. As soon as the bucket was placed on the floor, the fine boned horse started eating ravenously as if he hadn't been fed for days. A lot of them did this, even though they were given hearty portions twice a day during the colder season.
With the dormant grasses in the pasture blanketed in snow, there wasn't much to forage unless they looked hard enough. Even then, it was sparse if not nonexistent pickings. Still they were provided with plenty of hay to keep them busy when they weren't turned out. There were quite a few horses out in the pastures right now stretching their legs and enjoying the sunshine. He touched the gelding's neck and ran his hand up to the shoulder and across a bony set of withers. The chestnut's skin twitched from the contact but stilled after a moment, and Alasdair continued his journey down the dip of the aging gelding's back to his coup, then further along down his left hind.
Without much fuss the horse allowed him to lift the hoof and examine it. He kept a pick tucked into the top of his boot when he fed the horses so he could care for their feet. Pulling it out, he used the iron hook to scrape what little dirt clung in the crevices around the frog. When it was clean, he set it down and moved onto the next back leg. Again there was no trouble, and after he dug the debris from the hoof's underside it was on to the gelding's right front. Alasdair could tell there was going to be an issue. As soon as the foot left the stall floor, the gelding yanked it from his grasp and planted it firmly once more. He glanced at the horse as it raised its head slightly to look back at him.
"How old are we?" he mumbled peevishly, grasping the chestnut's pastern again - more firmly this time - and lifting the hoof up. This time when the gelding tried to pull away, Alasdair pulled the front leg up tight toward the belly, immobilizing it. That didn't make for a happy horse. Ears went back and a neck twisted around. Teeth nipped at him, but he smacked the face away with a free hand. For a moment they struggled with each other, one trying to pull away as the other held on tightly. Patience won out, and as the gelding grew tired of hopping awkwardly on three legs, he stopped and stood still once more. Alasdair glared at him for a few heartbeats longer. When there was no more resistance, he tucked the front hoof between his thighs and began to careful scrape out the manure and dirt.
It was caked in more than the back feet had been, and once it fell out a foul smell remained. His nose wrinkled automatically and he leaned down closer to examine the frog. One finger traced the groove that bordered the flesh there, and came away dark. He sniffed what looked like dirt. It turned out to be the source of the smell, so he quickly wiped the finger on his breeches and twisted to look at the hoof again. It looked fine except for dark coloration in the groove around the frog. Then he noticed what looked like a small crack between the gelding's heel bulbs; also dark with what had come off on his finger. Heavy brows furrowed and his forehead wrinkled with a frown.
Alasdair had no idea what the gunk was. He carefully felt the sole of the aging horse's hoof, then the frog. The only indication that something might be wrong was the faintest flinch as his finger poked the side of the frog. Gently, the foot was placed once more on the floor. He stroked the chestnut shoulder and neck, moving up to the angular face. Big eyes peered into his, ears slightly back, but not protesting. Alasdair regarded the horse for a long chime, petting the thin blaze that ran down his long face. He should get Serena to examine the hoof; and he did just that. He found the young proprietor in their stallion barn, grooming a dappled gray Windrunner. After explaining what he'd come across, she followed quickly but seemingly without any real unease.
They found the gelding finishing his bucket of grain. He greeted the stable owner far more cheerily that it had greeted him, which made the corner of his mouth turn up. "What do you think it is?" he asked Serena as she picked up his hoof and gave it a once over. She was quiet for a moment before setting the hoof down and moving to the left front. "It looks like he has thrush." She cleaned out the last hoof but didn't linger. "This one's fine. Same with the back legs?" He nodded, and she placed a hand on the gelding. "Alright. It seemed like it's just that right hoof then. I can treat it easily. There isn't much there. He's showing some discomfort but no lameness. That's good. I'll make a poultice that will kill the bacteria. I'll be right back. Bring him out for me will you?"
"Of course," he told her before she left him with the old horse. Its halter and lead were tied to the outside of the stall for quick access. He fetched these and slipped the leather headpiece over the gelding's nose and ears then buckled it under the cheeks. With the lead rope tied under its chin, Alasdair was able to carefully lead the tall chestnut into the aisle. Its hooves clopped loudly on the flagstone floor, echoing down the row. Horses stuck their heads out and nickered at the two of them. The gelding's head rose up on a high-carrying neck, ears shoved forward and eyes curious. He whinnied a reply and stepped excitedly in place for a moment until pressure on the halter made him still.
OOCI'm not sure how much I like this post, but here it is!
