A True Story: part 3

A healthy horse would have foundered on the amount of protein-rich hay and grain we poured to Cosmo those first three months. It’s always better to introduce any drastic nutritional changes slowly over time so the horse’s digestive system isn’t shocked, but the vet said we didn’t have time to play around with that. Cosmo was at least 800 pounds underweight, and our vet said that without an instant, dramatic change in his diet, he would very literally starve to death.

He ate three meals a day, a standard 8 quart feed bucket overflowing with Senior feed (high in fat and protein) rice bran, rice bran oil, a probiotic, vitamin supplement, hoof supplement and a joint supplement for his bum leg. He was fed pounds and pounds of alfalfa hay and was turned out in a private grass paddock. All of his dietary needs were being taken care of. He had a stall and clean water and, as farm employees, that was where our responsibilities ended. Owners groomed and exercised and doted on their own horses – we were simply housekeeping.

But it became apparent that, though his owner loved him and provided for him, she wasn’t going to be a presence in the barn. Enter a life lesson for my twelve-year-old self that would prove lasting: sometimes, when you do the right thing – the thing that helps someone – it pays off in ways you couldn’t imagine.

My mom went out and bought a gallon of iodine shampoo and two scrubby mitts. Cosmo was the most wretched, pitiful thing on four legs, and his head hung listlessly while we bathed him that first time, scrubbing at the crusty, oozing sores across his back.

“Is his owner paying you to do that?” someone asked my mom.

“No,” she said, “but this poor baby needs someone to love him.”

We started, and it was more Mom than me, grooming him every day. She attacked his rain rot with a curry comb and antifungal wipes and sprays. I had never heard that inhalation of such a severe case of fungus could lead to a respiratory infection, but Mom ended up with a case of pneumonia that needed multiple shots of cortisone to control.

While she recovered, I took over with Cosmo, armed with a paper dust mask and sometimes safety goggles.

Three months later – despite lack of payment, to the shock and head-shaking of everyone else at the barn – Cosmo was starting to look more like a horse than a skeleton. And he was starting to come alive. He nickered for breakfast and lifted his head when we called him; he rubbed his massive heads against our shoulders and leaned into the curry when we brushed him. He was big on touching – always reaching out to place his muzzle against some part of us.

                                    Cosmo (and Mom) after two months of all the food he could eat.
                                    We don't have pictures of his first few weeks, much to our dismay

My trainer watched the transformation taking place and asked one day, thoughtful, if Cosmo’s owner would ever let me ride him. I laughed – he was injured and half-starved, why would we even wonder that? But she maintained the curiosity. Opportunities to ride horses of his caliber did not come along every day.

I didn’t realize that, or even see the caliber, until he became strong enough to trot across the paddock. He was excited for dinner and he lifted his giant body, tucked his head, and floated across the grass. He could move. Even with his injury, still skinny, ribs protruding, he was impressive.