Hey folks, let me tell you this crazy journey I just went through trying to help a horse with only two good legs. Sounds impossible, right? Well, strap in.
The Whole Mess Starts
So last month, my buddy Dave calls me. Sounds wrecked. His old trail horse, Dusty, took a bad fall down a washed-out ditch bank. Vet comes out, does the whole exam thing. Bottom line? Both front legs are messed up beyond fixing proper. Options were basically… real bad. Dave couldn’t do it. Said “figure something out” and hung up. So there I was.
First thing I did? Panic. Seriously. I stared at Dusty hobbling around his stall in pain, this huge animal leaning on the walls, and thought “What the hell have I gotten into?”. Totally lost.
Throwing Stuff at the Wall
I started digging online. Found tons of pictures of fancy prosthetics costing more than my truck. Useless. Found these super hopeful stories about horses running races again. Yeah, right. I needed real stuff, fast.
Reached out to my farrier buddy, Mike. He shows up, takes one look at Dusty, and just shook his head. “Gonna need more than new shoes here, pal.” He mentioned trying some kind of sling contraption he saw once. We tried rigging one up with ropes and a tarp. Total disaster. Dusty freaked out, almost knocked us both flat. Mike left muttering about calling a welder.
Tried wrapping the messed-up legs with thick padding and vet wrap. Dusty just chewed it off in like ten minutes while giving me the stink eye. Okay, bad plan. Tried moving his water and food super close. He kinda managed, but it looked depressing and messy.
Actually Figuring Some Stuff Out
I was about ready to cry. Then I remembered old man Henderson, retired from the track. Drove out there, found him fixing a fence. Explained the situation. He leaned on his post hole digger and chewed his tobacco. “Seen it. Years back.” He talked about simple braces, not fancy robot legs. Using wood and thick leather, strapping ’em on high up, kinda like stilts but anchored solid.
Called Dave, told him “Start looking for a good carpenter, not a vet.” We found Jimbo, who normally does barns. Showed him Dusty, showed him some rough sketches me and Henderson scribbled on a feed bag. Jimbo scratched his beard. “Interesting problem.”
Jimbo came back three days later with these chunky wooden “platforms.” Solid oak blocks, shaped kinda like hooves but taller, with thick leather straps that buckled way up high around Dusty’s forearm areas. Heavy? Oh yeah. But strong. It took Mike and me and Dave like an hour to get the first one strapped on securely without Dusty kicking us into next week.
First time Dusty tried to stand? He wobbled like a drunk sailor. Looked terrified. We held our breath. He took one step, then slammed back down. Crap. Adjusted the strap height. Tried again. This time? He stood. Actually stood on his own for maybe 30 seconds before getting shaky. We all whooped. Dusty whinnied, probably confused why the idiots were shouting.
Making It Work (Sorta)
It ain’t pretty. Dusty walks real slow and careful, like he’s walking on stilts made of glass. Turning corners? Takes him forever. He lives on totally flat ground now – no slopes, no bumps. We do this routine:
- Check skin like crazy: Those straps rub. We take ’em off for several hours every day, clean the skin real good underneath, put diaper rash cream on.
- Jimbo’s tweaks: Those oak blocks needed tiny adjustments for balance every few days at first. Less now. Damp ground makes ’em slippery.
- Patience monster: Everything takes Dusty ten times longer. Feeding, moving, everything. Slow is the only speed.
- Money Pit: The wood, custom leatherwork, Jimbo’s time, constant vet checks? Yeah. Not cheap. Dave’s selling a tractor.
Where We Stand Now
Dusty ain’t running any races. He ain’t even trotting. He clomps around his small, flat paddock carefully. But he’s standing. He’s eating on his own. He ain’t crying in pain anymore. Seeing him nibble hay off the ground yesterday with those crazy wooden feet? Almost cried myself, man. It’s super hard work. Tons of cleaning. Tons of worry. But right now? He’s getting by. That feels like a win.
So yeah, two-legged horse running successfully? Maybe not. Two-legged horse living? Damn straight it’s possible, with a ton of help, a simple idea, and a stubborn donkey named Dusty who wasn’t ready to quit. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s easy though. Cause it ain’t.
