Fifteen years ago a Clyde/TB foal was born in Ontario Canada, destined to be my horse here in Maryland. His name was Patrick Murphy and I dared not change it for fear of bringing down the Irish evil eye on me. And a good thing, too, because I think Paddy, as he is called, has lived under a lucky star considering all he’s endured. I purchased him as a three-year old and our first few years were great together and care free. He introduced me to fox hunting, which I quickly determined was not for me (not on a green 4-year old). He carried my daughter to pony club rallies and events. I won some nice ribbons in dressage. It seemed there was nothing he would not try and do quite well at. Then something happened. He started acting strange, he stumbled, he was weak, he was not quite so willing. And when the diagnosis came, it was doubly frightening for me: EPM. I had just lost a beautiful Hanoverian mare to it several years previously. Caught early due to the keen eye of my vet and treated aggressively, Paddy not only survived but came back strong and sound. He’s my Scottish breed horse from Canada with a crazy Irish name, whose birthday I celebrate every St. Paddy’s Day. I’m forever grateful to still have him and now every ride–good, bad, disappointing, relaxing, whatever–is looked on as a gift. As it should be. Happy birthday Patrick Murphy, old pal!
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