Talk To The Hoof: Hudson Talks To Barbie

Dear Humans,

Jane is over the edge.  Understandable.  But she does have a blog to run.  I am completely in the loop.  I have informants. I will run the blog. Talk to The Hoof will be my new column.

I talked to Barbie on the barn phone yesterday (BTW, Daisy: you left your phone in the feeder tub in her stall. You’re lucky. She found it rather tasteless.) She’s sore, but well.

She metaphorically bit my head off.  Barbie felt I could have explained the whole foaling procedure more clearly. I played the gelding card (what do we know?) and she’s somewhat mollified. I spoke to Murphy, who of course, had no clue what he was hearing. But that whinny.  He whinnied at me!

According to Barbie this is what happened: she started feeling sort of colicky, but rather far back, away from her stomach. She said it was a squeezy constricted feeling? Next thing she knew, she was laying in the straw being horribly squeezed. She said it was like being ripped open and left to die.
(This is why she is mad at me. For not explaining exactly where the foal came out.  But I appeal to you…would YOU have a baby if you knew where it came out? Of course not.)

Barbie jumped on me: “You said I was on camera!  That the humans would see  me colicking on camera and come help!” She was steamed.

“Barbs, the human came, right?  As soon as you started hurting?”

“Well, yeah.  But it’s not like she did anything.  She just watched me. I nearly died! Humans. She could have given me a shot or something. At the very least she could have brought me a Margarita.”

Better change the subject, she’s gonna blame me.

“How did you feel when you saw the baby?”, I said.

“Baby?  I thought that thing on the straw was my stomach. I thought about trampling it, but I was too tired. I was dying, Hudson. You didn’t tell me I was going to DIE”.

“Um. You didn’t die”, I say, “and look what you got.”

“Well. I could have”, she said, “and what I “got” was HURT. You have no idea. Why couldn’t I have been born a gelding?”

I hear a hoof stomp.

“You didn’t hurt him, though, right?”, I say.

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