For those of you who’ve missed the Auntie posts, Barbie is due with a Popeye K baby on April 28th. Fortunately, Daisy is boarding her at a very active breeding barn. They know pregnant mares, and will know to call Daisy when Barbie looks ready. It’s a nice, safe feeling, speaking as the foal god-mother.
I went out to groom Barbie during the day. My primary reason was not about cleaning her up: Barbie needs some distraction, some love from her Auntie Jane, and lots of handling. She’s getting all that, but it can’t hurt to add to it during the hours that are difficult for everyone else.
Barbie’s main complaints:
- Food. I need more FOOD.
- Itch. Make it stop.
- Does this belly make me look fat?
- My lower back is KILLING me.
- I think I have a tumor. Stomach. Huge. Get it checked. K?
- It’s on my bladder. No. It’s on my stomach. I have indigestion. It’s on my bag. My bag is sore. Just FIX it, okay?
- I’m SO itchy.
It has to be hard to be a maiden mare. Not know what’s happening to your body, hormones raging and some damn tumor kicking you from the inside. Who knew tumors kicked?
Itchy from shedding, itchy from hormones, itchy from dried sweat from the dang hot flashes.
Below, an invisible Jane scratches Barbies tummy.
(Photo quality: I was scratching, shooting with my cell, and making sure I was out of kicking range. She’s a pregnant mare. She doesn’t need a reason.)
Once the tummy itches were vanquished, she presented the next pressing problem:
She wasn’t a heck of a lot cleaner an hour later, but she was happier.
I very carefully did what all her handlers are doing: rubbing her belly, inside her back legs from the nursing side and behind (newborns get confused), and – gasp – she let me gently massage her bag.
Trust me. My eyes never left her back hooves.
For full cuteness overload, these are the babies and mares in the stalls next to her:
Look at those faces!
A (brand spanking) newborn:
I’m crazy for the palomino. He’s very precocious. Mom is beautiful, and a doll.
Almost time for our baby to pop out. Pun intended. There’s a baby pool. (Not the splashing kind.) Think football. All the squares for April are filled. Everyone bought some for her due date. I decided she was going to be Barbie to the end, and make us wait. Therefore, she’s having her baby on April 30th, not the 28th.
(This also means I win the pool, since that’s the square I picked. Which, as the baby’s godmother, I will responsibly put into it’s college education fund. Or toward the Vet’s new truck fund, whichever comes first.)
Important PSA: via Barbie’s farrier. Should you find the barn bathroom out of order, and yourself in urgent need of relief, make certain the stall you pick is not equipped with a Mare Stare camera. Yup. It happened. To some poor boarder who didn’t know she was being broadcast on the internet.