The mountain and the molehill

When I am working with Stella, I don't think of her as particularly small ('slight,' yes, but not short). However, when I move over to Lance's stall to groom and tack him up, he seems like a mountain – a giant, red MESA of a horse. I rarely think of him as my big, red goober anymore, because it seems like his 'goober-ness' is gone along with his energy. His bloodwork is normal and his breathing isn't particularly labored right now; I'm going to try giving him a couple grams of bute a couple hours before a ride. If that makes him feel markedly different, then his lethargy must be due to discomfort, probably from the arthritis in his neck and maybe his S/I. That would present an ethical question, but I will cross that bridge if it presents itself. In the meantime, I try to get him out often for an easy 30-minute ride; last night it was during a lovely sunset:

Earlier I went down to turn Stella out to play, and found her like this:

With her long tail over her crossed back legs and the lovely turn of her neck and head, I think she looks like a lounge singer, the sexy beast. I am also gratified to see some roundness to those hip bones; she was much more angular when she came here.

Here are some photos I took of her last week:

There's not much else to report; I continue to work on gaining her trust and building our partnership.