Last week was the week of seasonal allergies for poor Wilson. His legs became stovepipes, he itched from head to foot and his muzzle broke out in an acne-like rash. He stopped eating (even compost) and said his stomach hurt. I suffered none of the same effects and carried on eating for both of us. It was the least I could do.
The veterinarian came, of course, and left the Woman with various things to give him. His legs were wrapped, his hay soaked and he was generally treated like an invalid. I don't approve of that sort of pandering but what can I do. He even got extra bedding so he could lie propped up with the fan wafting gentle currents over him. I mean, honestly. What if he suddenly had to live wild on the plains, foraging for himself and fighting off wolves? I suppose Herself would trudge after him, fan in hand, catering to his every whim and giving the unfortunate wolves a piece of her mind. He is feeling much better now but still wears what the male human calls his soccer socks at night. I should add that he didn't lose an ounce throughout the ordeal.
We were quite interested yesterday when a blue metal bin showed up and rattled noisily off the back of a vehicle. We were convinced it contained at least one equine and called out in various tones to ascertain if that were the case. Alas, there was no answer. The thing seems to be a rubbish container and of no use to us, although Wilson has expressed a desire to rummage through it. I was led over to it today so I could see for myself that it was indeed equine-free. If it had a roof it might make a nice donkey cottage or chalet where I could retreat to ruminate in peace. A donkey can dream.
Wilson's lessons were cancelled due to his poor health but should be back on track next week when he promises to continue training the trainer.