Physio and fly spray

Max had an appointment with his lovely physiotherapist today. I have him checked every three months or so, just to make sure everything is well with his muscles and joints. Had never heard of such a thing when I was growing up with horses. I don't even know if there was such a thing.

The physio and I discussed the view by some more conventional horse people, and vets for that matter, who see such "alternative" therapies for horses as a bit horse huggy hippy. She was telling me about a vet she knew who did acupuncture on horses with great success, but was viewed with suspicion (and probably snickers behind hands) by some of his colleagues.

But why not? Left to their own devices, horses are probably fine. But we ask them to wear tack and a rider on their backs, we ask them to bend and turn in ways they wouldn't if left to their own devices, and are they not just as likely to feel the consequences of this in niggling aches and pains as we are sitting at a desk, or repetitively hoiking pitchforks full of sodden straw on to a muck heap?

I was particularly keen to have Max seen to after his op. A hoist, a general anaesthetic, and placed on his back, legs akimbo for the procedure. Not a very natural position for a horse.

"Not much wrong here!" physio said. "He's robust!"

He is. He's robust, and he's young and he bounces back but I still want to keep on top of anything that might cause him a problem later. Much of what is deemed to be "bad" behaviour in horses relates to pain that they are feeling that they can't tell us about. Ill-fitting saddles, unbalanced riders, unkind hands (which I hope I don't have), gadgets to strap them up and hold them into a "correct" position, too much work on one rein and not enough on the other...

Max is such a picture while his 45 minute session is going on. Like he's trying to decide if he likes it or not, while he is manipulated, stretched and prodded. Some of it he really does like, much he's curious about and turns to see just what the heck this familiar stranger thinks she's doing holding his front foot up and then making him hop! Snort!

Lots of little clicks as she settled him in - each time I winced, Max looks surprised, and physio said "Ah! That's it! Good! Perfect!"

She has such a lovely way with the horses on our yard, too. Always time for a soft word and a cuddle. Her little dog came into Max's box with her, and settled in the straw, while she got to work, and I stood at Max's head.

Anyway, no problems really, a few little cricks worked out, but nothing to be concerned about. When she'd finished, I just took him to his field and let him go. It's counterproductive to work him after a session, and tomorrow, another gentle walk, maybe a little trot and we're good.

Our vet is coming on Saturday to give him his post-op check. I expect he'll be sedated again to have a good look at his secret places, but I'm sure everything will be fine. I will feel better after the vet has checked though, and given me the all clear for riding, though I won't be rushing to hop on board straight away. We will continue to slowly work at building up his confidence again, and riding will be kept to a minimum for now. I love the groundwork anyway, so no drama about that.

And fly spray! Yes, today was the first day the fly spray came back out, along with my realisation that it's time to stock up because I hardly have any left. Lovely to watch its application chase away the few that were bothering him though. A bit of aloe vera spray for his tail where he'd been rubbing, a bit of milder face lotion to keep the blighters away from his ears and eyes, and a great slathering of antibacterial fly gel for his sheath to keep them away from there, too.

No fly mask yet. I'm not sure if I'm going to invest in one this year (or five, as it usually turns out because he trashes them so quickly). I love letting him go to his field knowing his eyes and ears are protected. I hate spending half an hour the next morning trudging through a huge field trying to find where he has ditched and trampled on it, to assess whether it can be salvaged or is only fit for the bin.

At any rate, the flies aren't quite bad enough yet to worry about it, so I have some thinking time.

"Maybe this year you'll realise it's for your own good and leave it alone don't touch?" I ask, hopefully.

"Sure, give it a try. Danged thing gets in my way! And I do so relish watching you come back to the yard carrying a tattered thing and looking all despondent. 'Oh Max!' you say, all forlorn. Heh, heh, heh."

He's got a wicked streak, has my Max.