Reading Cathlin and Playboy’s story for the first time? Be sure to check out Part 1 and Part 2, too!

A normal car trip for me includes blaring some music or listening to a podcast of some kind. The trip to New Hampshire occurred in total silence.

The silence didn’t last long though…

As soon as we pulled up to the clinic the action started. At least five people met us at the door, took Playboy from me, and hurried him into the emergency bay. Clippers started up and began clearing paths for IVs, stethoscopes started listening, and thermometers went into personal places. If he wasn’t being poked then he was being prodded. The whole time, I was recounting his personal stats and what we knew about the nail and its location, his diet and bowel movements for the last 24 hours, and basically everything there was to know about this perfect four-legged creature.

Although the action was intense, the tension was almost non-existent. It was an odd dichotomy. While I was stressed because of the research I’d conducted the night before, seeing everybody scurrying around seemed to have a calming effect. No matter what happened, I knew that my vet, the clinic and all their staff, and I were doing everything we could.

Before I knew it, the head surgeon was in and talking me through the procedure. What I should expect during and after, the odds we were facing, and why he was doing what he was doing. He talked the entire time he was working. I’m sure it was mostly for the benefit of the techs and the working students, but I was just as engrossed in what was happening and watched eagerly as he walked through the procedure.
It felt like the whole thing was done in minutes and they were wrapping the hoof and taking him away to post-op. I was to pay very close attention here because I’d be re-wrapping over the course of the next few weeks. Yes, weeks.

All in all, we were very lucky. While the puncture was incredibly deep, it only hit soft tissue. The surgeon could stick a probe up the path of the nail up into the deep digital flexor tendon, which was an incredibly cool (and freaky) looking x-ray. He stayed in the clinic for four days receiving IV and local antibiotics and then we were finally able to bring him home.

When I picked him up, they handed me a pack of papers, instructions for the next few weeks, and things to be looking for immediately following our return home. Of all the instructions I received, being told to keep the tools we’d be using in a sanitary place struck me as hilarious.

Sanity and barn are two words I would never put together.

My vet met us the first day we needed to change his hoof bandages and did a progress check. She left with instruction to call me if I had any concerns. And then we were alone. All alone…

The next few weeks went by in a blur of antibiotics, checking off days on his custom meds/activity calendar (Excel wins again), wrapping of legs and hoof, and lots and lots and lots of hand walking.

It was a fun experiment in patience and accuracy. But the only thing that got us through was the matching duct tape to blanket protocol. Because priorities….