1965-Voice Of The Tennessee Walking Horse 1965 December Voice | Page 10

Bits & Spurs
By Sharon Terry
Box 1178
Siate College, Miss.
"The Crisis”
Pneumonia raged through the body
of the tiny Shetland pony colt. For
three weeks he had been growing
steadily worse, despite my attempts
to battle the disease. Anthrax was
taking its toll in our vici nity and all
of the veterinarians had their hands
full. No one had time to pay much
attention to a little sick pony.
On this particular afternoon I
could hear Pony Boy’s hoarse, strain­
ed breathing as I slammed the door
of the house, returning to the barn
after a long-distance conversation
with a vet. His words, "He will not
live twelve hours, let alone another
day,” were harsh and cruel. In my
hand I had my syringe, and my
grandmother, "Nanmama,” followed
me with a boiling steamer.
1 knelt beside the little three-week-
old pony and, and I lifted his head
to steam him, I tried to remember
the words of Dr. TOM DOOLEY.
"Where there is life there is hope.”
Nanmama and 1 exchanged glances
and at three o’clock we prepared
to spend the night at the barn.
I rigged a temporary stall under
the shed of the lighted barn, as
10
there were no stalls available at
the time. I tied the mare, Gypsy,
and turned the colt loose. Pony Boy
was so weak by this time that he
could just barely stand, and then
not for long. 1 took his temperature
and found that it had risen from
105° to 106°.
For several days he had been
unable to. nurse at all, so I fed him
by milking Gypsy and mixing the
milk with Karo for added strength.
I fed him with a plastic medicine
dropper which held half a teaspoon­
ful at a time because a bottle would
shoot the milk into his lungs. I
had been giving him a cup and a
half of milk every two or three
hours, but this time he couldn’t take
all of it. Following the milk came a
heavy dose of cough syrup and li­
quid aspirin to try to relieve the
dry, painful cough which racked
every bone in his little body.
At midnight he took a sharp turn
for the worse. His mouth was wide
open and he was gasping for breath,
fighting for his life. I hastily con­
structed a make-shift oxygen tent
with some plastic covering and put
the vaporizer inside. Then I caught
Pony Boy’s feet and dragged him
inside and sat down by him to hold
his head up so he would get the
full benefit of the vapor. He had
already had all the medicine I could
possibly give him. At one time I
just knew he was dead. I had risen
and started getting things ready
to take back into the house when
I heard a rustle in the straw behind
me. Pony Boy had struggled to his
feet to look for me. Nanmama and
I noticed with joy that his breathing
was a little easier.
I made him lie down again and
had no sooner gotten him to sleep
than it began to rain. While the
rain poured and thunder and light­
Tennessee Walking Horses
ning crashed all around, I tried to
decide what to do. The fierce wind
was whipping through the trees and
blowing rain up under the shed. 1
knew Pony Boy couldn’t stay out
in the weather, so 1 lifted him as
best I could and, half-carrying, half­
dragging, I managed to get him into
the tackroom, where Nanmama was
making a warm bed of straw. I had
no pony blanket small enough for
Pony Boy, so I made him a blanket
out of an old robe, fed him some
warm milk, and made him lie down.
I then checked his temperature
again and found that the terrible
fever was beginning to break at
last. His little eyes had lost their
glassy vague stare and were return­
ing to normal. Pony Boy stretched
himself out and slept quietly with his
head in my lap.
About two hours later I was jarred
to my senses by Pony Boy’s strug­
gling to get up. He nibbled at a lit­
tle straw and I got him a block of
hay, which he proceeded to munch
thoughtfully. The fever was gone
and his breathing, though still la­
bored, was much easier. Gypsy whin­
nied from outside the door when she
looked up and noticed that her colt
was on his feet at last. 1 glanced
at my watch and saw on the lumi­
nous dial that the hands stood at
exactly three o’clock. The twelve-
hour crisis has passed, and a new
day was dawning. I patted my little
pony confidently and grinned at Nan­
mama, saying, "We did it!”
After three months of chronic ill­
ness, a hernia, and finally an oper­
ation to correct this hernia, little
Pony Boy recovered. Today this
pony stallion is two and a half years
old, and is one of the most popular
members of the family.
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VOICE of the Tennessee Walking Horse