The first night was rough.  I awoke several times to find that Yaz had somehow gotten from her bed and was standing nearby looking at me as if to ask: What’s happened to me?  What is this awful pain?

I know she’s in horrid pain, for each exhale travels on the back of a gentle whine.

The vet has determined that she has fractured ribs, but thankfully, nothing else seems to have been too badly damaged in the accident.

Right now, she’s unable to use her legs properly.  She stands like a newborn foal, kind of crooked and leaning to one side, as if unable to trust her own body.  She takes several steps and then has to stop.  Perhaps the pain is too much, or maybe she’s confused as to her new situation.

I slept curled around her through the bumpy night, awaking at the slightest hitch in her breathing or twitch of a muscle.

But she made it.

First night, past.  I breathe a sigh of worried relief.

Her appetite is good, though I don’t want to overload her because she has yet to do her business in the yard.  I carry her to and from the grass, but she stands awkwardly and can’t seem to figure out what she’s supposed to do.  So after several minutes, I hoist her up and carry her back to bed, where she seems grateful to be lying down once more.

I’ve arranged to take the next couple days from work, though can’t really afford to do much more than that with my schedule.  In the meantime, we continue to watch and hope for the best outcome we can have.  She’s young.  I hope that works in her favor.