Turns out she isn’t sick, though she is dangerously thin.
She’s in the round pen so that she can eat to her heart’s content.
She’s getting room service in the form of a big old pile of hay that is all hers.
Minnie is a sweetheart – a shy little mare that never pushes her way into a group. She hangs at the edge of the herd, even our Herd of Oldsters.
I suspect that she has been pushed away from the hay feedings all winter by the younger, stronger, more dominant horses in the herd.
The result: She’s lost a lot of weight.
And it’s weight she can’t afford to lose, since she was thin the first time we saw her. It’s why we named her Skinny Minnie.
Minnie seems lonely.
Horses are herd animals. They thrive on being with their peeps, so to speak.
She can see other horses, which I suppose counts for something.
But it’s like any of us being in the hospital. We don’t really care for it. We long to get back to our routine, our home, our family.
She nickers to me when she sees me drive in to feed our two old sweeties. I always walk down to greet her. And now that I know she’s not sick, I feel comfortable slipping her a few snacks.
I’m relieved that Minnie is receiving this special treatment; this tlc (tender loving care.)
I was worried about her.
In the wild, horses like Minnie, and yes, our two old sweeties likely wouldn’t survive the winter. The law of nature is survival of the fittest.
I get that.
I just don’t like it with the animals I’ve come to know and love.
Makes me so predictably human doesn’t it?