Pony is not fine. Pony is broken.
Our locum vet came to see him today for a re-examination and thinks he's done something to the collateral ligament.
Zed was a dick pretty much all through his trot up and assessment so when Alex used the words I hate most (box rest) all my internal organs started crying tears of angry molten lava.
Possibly my Dramatic Princess Syndrome is not as resolved as hoped.
We are on week one of box rest. Three months of the fucker is going to cause mass destruction. One of us isn't going to survive.
I was then that awful person: "Hey, vet! With all your years of medical training and experience. What you are telling me I need to do - I cannot do it! I bet you're pleased to be wasting your breath on me!"
My other option is to turn him away for a year. Honestly, I'm tempted, even though it's riskier and more expensive. I feel genuinely sorry for him while he's stuck inside as he's clearly very frustrated and with being young he's just full of beans and dying to socialise.
I'm going to give it some careful thought though I suspect when I get trampled this week my decision will be made.
The sensible thing to do now is to find a horse to loan or borrow for the summer, put my Stage 3 plans on ice and keep having lessons.
But what I'd really like to do is get into bed and eat jam sandwiches until I can't feel my feelings anymore.