Colic

The signs every horseman dreads: pain no drench touches, a belly gone silent, the horse throwing itself down to roll no matter who hauls the lead rope. The gut has twisted. There is no surgery for this in 1899, the vet can only ease it with laudanum and tell you plainly it will not see the dawn.

• An all-night deathwatch, gather anyone who loved the horse
• The choice between laudanum's slow ending and the pistol's quick one is yours
• /me walks the horse in slow circles under the lantern, talking low and useless

Recovery There is no recovery, only the length of one night.·Doctor, urgently

The worst night of your horsemanship: the horse down and thrashing by midnight, the turpentine-and-laudanum drench fighting the pain to a draw and no further, the vet bleeding a quart from the neck vein by lantern light as the old texts direct. Somewhere in the gray hour before dawn, the gut gurgles back to life, but it was a coin toss and everyone present knows it.

• The horse is gaunt, tucked-up, and weak, no riding for 5 days
• Bran mashes and short hand-walks every few hours for 3 days
• A shaved patch and lancet mark on the neck from the bleeding
• /me slumps against the stable wall at dawn, too tired to celebrate

Recovery 5 careful days back to strength, 7 if you rush the feed, had the night gone otherwise, no clock would matter.·Doctor, urgently

An impaction, the gut packed and stopped like a clogged stovepipe, the leavings dry and scant, the pain a steady grind rather than a storm. The vet pours a full quart of raw linseed oil down a stomach tube and prescribes the treatment nobody sleeps through: walk, rest, rub the belly, walk again, until the oil finds its way through.

• Walk the horse 20 minutes of every waking hour until it passes, a full day's devotion
• Nothing but thin bran mash and water for 2 days
• No riding for 4 days while the gut remembers its business

Recovery The oil works in a day or two with the walking, without it, the blockage hardens toward a death by day 3.·Doctor, urgently

Violent gas colic, the horse hurling itself to the ground and rolling before you could stop it, each roll gambling a twist of the gut on the throw. You fought it up and kept it walking, someone's coat over its withers, until the drench took hold near midnight and the storm passed leaving everyone hollow.

• Scrapes and dirt ground into both sides from the rolling, groom and salve for 2 days
• The horse is exhausted and off its feed for 2 days, tempt it with bran mash
• You are exhausted too, the vigil was yours

Recovery 3 days back to appetite and spark, it survived its own gamble, no thanks to the rolling.·Doctor, urgently

Cramping colic in waves, ten minutes of pawing, kicking at the belly, and craning to bite at its own flanks, then an eerie calm before the next wave. The classic turpentine-and-laudanum drench earns its reputation: within two hours the waves space out, and by the small hours they stop.

• Hand-walk during every pain wave until they cease, an evening's work
• Half feed and warm water only for 2 days
• /me holds the drenching bottle high while the vet works it past the horse's teeth

Recovery Right in 2 days with the drench and a quiet gut, 4 anxious days if it must pass on its own.·Doctor required

Weeks of grazing creek-bottom grass have laid sand in the gut, and today it made itself known, grinding, intermittent pain and leavings that settle grit in a bucket of water, the old test. The cure is patience: linseed oil, wet bran mashes, and no more grazing the horse on scoured ground.

• No creek-bottom or sandy-ground grazing, feed from a manger or nosebag for 5 days
• Watch for pain after every feed for 3 days
• Repeat the oil drench on day 2

Recovery The sand passes over 4 days of mash and oil, ignored, it scours the gut toward a far worse night.·Doctor required

Ridden hard and watered too soon, the horse sucked down half a trough while steaming, and the cramp hit within the hour, a body-wide clench that had it pawing craters in the yard. Old-timers' law, freshly relearned: walk them cool before they drink. The gripe passes with warmth, walking, and one modest drench.

• Walk the horse until the pawing stops, an hour or three of your evening
• Warm water only, in small rations, for 1 day
• You get the lecture about hot horses and cold water from everyone present

Recovery Settled by morning with the walking, 2 days if it must grind through alone.·Doctor required

The spring grass was too rich or the new hay too green, and the gut has ballooned with gas, ribs drum-tight, the horse groaning like a ship's timbers, restless but on its feet. Walking, a careful drench, and time bring the belly down to size with sound effects the whole camp will describe for years.

• Walk the horse 15 minutes of every hour through the evening
• No green feed, dry hay only for 3 days
• /me pats the drum-tight belly and gets a groan like a saloon door for an answer

Recovery One noisy evening with care, 2 days grumbling without.·Doctor required

A single hard hour, pawing, flank-watching, one attempt to go down that you argued it out of, and then whatever gripped the gut let go on its own. By suppertime the horse is pulling hay through the fence like nothing was ever wrong, while you sit on a bucket recovering.

• Check on the horse twice tonight, peace of mind is part of the cure
• Half feed this evening, full tomorrow

Recovery Done by nightfall, the watching is for you, not it.·Doctor advised

Dull-eyed, tucked up, and turning its nose from oats it would normally mug you for, a low grumble of colic that never quite becomes a storm. A day of soft mash, warm water, and short walks keeps it that way, and by the second morning the appetite storms back with interest.

• Bran mash and water only for 1 day
• Three short hand-walks through the day
• The horse mugs you doubly hard for treats when recovered, 2 days of pushiness

Recovery 2 days of nursing, or 3 of sulking if it must sort itself.·Doctor advised

Uneasy but never desperate, pawing straw into piles, lying down flat then heaving up again, looking at its belly like it left something in there. You spend the night walking lantern circles in the yard, and somewhere past midnight the gut gurgles, matters proceed, and the crisis dissolves into cold air and relief.

• One full night of walking duty, you are wrecked tomorrow
• Light feed for 1 day after
• /me leads the horse in another lantern-lit circle, counting laps out loud

Recovery Sound by morning, the sleep debt is yours to repay.·Doctor advised

Textbook mild gas colic, a distended, tender belly, restless shifting, and wind that arrives at last like a stagecoach behind schedule, to spontaneous applause from everyone keeping vigil. Small feeds and a quiet day complete the cure.

• Small feeds only for 2 days
• No hard riding for 1 day
• The horse is briefly, magnificently flatulent

Recovery A day and a night, quicker with each passing wind.·Doctor advised

It keeps craning around to stare at its own flank as if the belly owed it money, the mildest colic sign there is, with appetite intact and leavings regular. You rub the belly, cut the grain, and keep it walking a little, and the whole affair never rises above suspicion.

• Grain cut by half for 2 days
• A watchful eye at every feeding for 2 days

Recovery 2 days of caution and it never becomes anything at all.·Doctor advised

Twenty minutes of pawing and one meaningful look at its belly, then a long groaning stretch, a passage of wind fit to startle birds, and immediate resumed interest in hay. The shortest colic scare on record hereabouts.

• Watch it through one feeding to be sure
• You skip your own supper's first course from lingering nerves

Recovery Over before it started.·No doctor needed

It lay down at an odd hour and lay flat, which sent you sprinting, but it was up at your approach, shaking straw off, gut rumbling with perfectly healthy commerce. Perhaps a passing gripe, perhaps a nap you interrupted. Either way you check on it four more times before bed.

• Four unnecessary barn checks tonight
• One slightly offended horse

Recovery There was nearly nothing to recover from.·No doctor needed

You catch it right after it raids the feed room door someone left ajar, a bellyful more oats than it should have, the classic recipe for founder and colic both. Caught this early, a day of walking, water, and no further feed lets it off with a bloated afternoon and a stern new latch on the door.

• Walk the horse three times today, 20 minutes each
• No feed until tomorrow, then half rations for 1 day
• Fix that feed room latch

Recovery A bloated day, dodged clean, unwatched, it could have foundered.·Doctor advised

An audible gut grumble and one restless hour at dusk, cured completely by a warm bran mash and a slow walk around the corral. By full dark the horse is dozing hip-shot and you feel faintly foolish for the drench bottle you had standing ready.

• One warm mash tonight
• A precautionary glance over the stall door before bed

Recovery Cured by bedtime.·No doctor needed

It stretches out like a rocking horse, groans theatrically, passes a quantity of wind that flutters the stable lantern, and then bites you gently on the sleeve to ask where supper is. Whatever visited its gut has left without taking anything.

• The story of the lantern is yours to embellish
• Feed as normal, it insists

Recovery None needed whatsoever.·No doctor needed

One flank-look and a skipped mouthful had you bracing for the long night, then it dove back into the hay with such violence that the question answered itself. A horse eating like that has nothing wrong south of its ribs. You keep the vigil anyway for one hour, out of respect.

• One precautionary hour of watching a horse eat
• /me sits on an upturned bucket, watching the horse chew, feeling silly

Recovery Nothing to cure but your nerves.·No doctor needed

Mid-drench, with the vet's bottle still raised and half the camp holding the lantern, your horse produces a wind of such duration and authority that the barn cats leave and a man outside asks who fired. The belly deflates like a bellows, the gut roars back to work, and the horse finishes the vet's peppermint out of his coat pocket. The oldest hand present swears, solemnly, that he has never heard the like.

• Complete instant recovery, witnessed by all
• The vet bills you anyway, for the peppermint
• /me fans the air with their hat, torn between laughter and retreat

Recovery Recovery arrived at speed and under its own power.·No doctor needed