For Love of Lindy

Lindy is 11, She's my paint cross Shetland Pony mare. I bought her when she was a yearling and I trained her to ride western and bareback. Also I had her nearly finished on driving, pulling my antique 2 wheel pony cart.

Then it happened. In Lindy's case, the culprit was lush spring grass. She was 3 at the time. I went out to find Lindy standing funny. Her front hooves were hot to the touch. I got my horse vet out, Lisa, and she said it was founder aka laminitis. There is no cure, just management. You treat each flare-up as it comes and have a farrier trim the hooves to optimize new growth. But even so, the pain can become so great that some animals have to be euthanized.

One day you look out and your horse/pony is standing funny, leaning backward to take the weight off her front hooves, and then you notice he/she can't walk. A horse's hoof contains a coffin bone and surrounding it is laminae, a cushion of tissue, blood vessels and nerves that can all too easily become inflamed. Oddly enough, the condition can be caused by gorging on too much grain or grass, which sends bacteria into the blood, triggering inflammation.

Lindy has become my grandchildren's pony and they get little rides on her. We don't ride her much anymore, even during the long stretches of time when she's able to walk and run like her normal self. She isn't allowed out in the pasture; she has a special paddock with no grass. She can only have hay. I suppose a lot of horse owners would have given up by now. What good is a pony that you can't ride and requires constant attention? What good is a pet like that?

Well, she's my pony. She's been a good friend, and you simply don't turn your back on a friend. But when is it your job to put her out of her misery? Are you keeping her alive for her, or for you? This is where you're left, finally, as you scramble to do the right thing. It doesn't matter how many dependents you have, or how full your life is. Loving a pet is still loving a pet.

"Come on, girl," I say to Lindy, tugging her hard enough that she has no choice but to hobble two steps forward. "Good job!" She bends her neck, buries her nose in my arm, a pony's way of hugging. "That's my girl," I tell her.

This is only temporary. I'll get her through this. Surely she'll be okay.