Chubs, the Little Horse

Hey friends, it’s Chubs.

So… I overheard something at the vet. And no, it wasn’t about Finnick’s dramatic attitude (though that should be studied). It was about me—specifically, my feet.

Turns out, they’re not getting better. In fact, the vet said they’re getting worse. Something about “progressive changes” and “the long-term reality of founder.” I didn’t catch every word, but I caught enough to know what it means:

This isn’t something I’m going to bounce back from.

Now, don’t go getting all sad on me just yet. Because here’s the thing—my feet don’t hurt. I’m not limping. I’m not sore. I’m still going on rides. I’m still trotting alongside Finnick like the majestic little legend I am.

Sure, things inside my hooves aren’t looking so great on the X-rays. But I don’t feel bad. And that counts for something. A lot, actually.

The vet said this kind of thing doesn’t reverse itself. Laminitis and founder are tricky like that. My hooman already knows. She’s been managing everything so carefully—my shoes, my hay, my time on grass, my sugar intake (more on that in a second). And because of her care, I’ve been able to live my best life, even with feet that aren’t perfect anymore.

So I’m calling it a win.

No pain? That’s a win.
Trail rides with Finnick? Another win.
Hooman snuggles and carrot-bribed hoof picks? Win, win, win.

Now, if we could just revisit the whole “no sweet treats” rule. I get it. Sugar’s not good for me. But maybe just a tinynibble of something delicious? Or at the very least, let’s stock up on broccoli. I actually like the stuff. Crunchy. Weird. Satisfying. Ten out of ten. Would snack again.

So no, my feet aren’t healing the way we hoped. But I’m still here. Still trotting. Still soaking up every ounce of sunshine and every good moment.

That, my friends, is the ride I’m on. And I’m glad you’re riding along with me.