The Language of Hooves (4K)

"Does she not like eating this either?"

Ogawa Masaru scratched his head in frustration as he looked at the gray mare before him.

He had gotten some supposedly top-quality fresh grass from the owner, Mr. Kitano.

Yet judging by Mejiro Tenma's reaction, she did not seem particularly interested in grass of this quality either.

"Since she likes apples, why not juice them and mix it into the grass?"

Ogawa Kanna, who had been standing nearby with her arms folded and watching the show, suddenly spoke up.

"Would that work?"

Ogawa Masaru hesitated.

It was not as though they had never tried mixing diced apples with other feed before.

Back when Mejiro Tenma had still been called Flax2023, she had already been smart enough to pick out the apple pieces with perfect accuracy.

As for the rest of the feed, most of it had remained untouched.

"Who~ kno~ws~?"

The boy clenched his fists.

But a moment later, he relaxed them again.

He decided to give this unreliable-sounding suggestion a try.

If it did not work, he would settle the score with his idiot big sister later!

Ogawa Masaru quickly got to work.

He took out apples, washed them, peeled them, removed the cores, and put them into the juicer with a little water.

He was not even this meticulous when eating apples himself.

After pouring the freshly made apple juice into the feed trough and mixing it with the grass, he carefully backed out of the stall.

Mejiro Tenma lowered her head toward the trough, snorted, and curiously curled her upper lip.

Then she flicked her tail and walked away.

So it had failed after all.

Ogawa Masaru glared darkly at the person who had suggested it.

"I never said it would definitely work."

Ogawa Kanna yawned unconcernedly.

"Besides, look, Pegasus is eating, isn't she?"

The girl pointed behind Ogawa Masaru.

When he turned around, Mejiro Tenma had indeed buried her head in the trough.

She chewed very slowly, to the point that it could be called savoring each bite, but she had definitely begun eating.

"That's great!"

Ogawa Masaru let out a sigh of relief, then smiled naturally.

Beautiful and fragile—racehorses were creatures like that.

A future Derby horse—

Every farm called its own homebred colt that.

For Nishiken Farm, which had only been established two years ago, the Tokyo Yushun—Japanese Derby, a prestigious race from the central circuit, was something beyond reach even if they gave it everything they had.

Yet even breeders from the local circuit would cheer at the sight of horses galloping on the track.

A jockey did not carry only himself upon that horse's back, but also the dreams of industry workers and racing fans.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead in excitement, Ogawa Masaru took out his phone.

He wanted to tell Mr. Kitano the good news.

"She ate? That's wonderful!"

Kitano, who received the call on the other end, also broke into a happy smile.

"Oh my—did you receive some good news, Mr. Kitano?"

An elderly, white-haired woman beside him asked with a smile.

"I received word from the farm that the horse's appetite has improved a little, Grandma Takamura."

Grandma Takamura ran a farm by herself.

It was called a farm, but neither its size nor the scale of its herd could compare with Nishiken Farm.

Though both could be called farms, they were not actually the same kind of operation.

Farms could generally be divided into three types: breeding farms, training farms, and retirement farms.

Although Nishiken Farm primarily bred foals, it also handled the raising and training of certain racehorses.

Grandma Takamura's farm, meanwhile, was one of the very few retirement farms.

Kitano had been invited to conduct physical examinations for the elderly horses on the farm.

In the past, requests like this would usually have gone to Mr. Shibata.

However, starting last month, Mr. Shibata had been forced to temporarily stop working due to frequent back pain and had gone to a major hospital in Tokyo for treatment.

So the examination request had been passed on to Kitano.

"Really? That certainly is good news!"

Grandma Takamura clapped her hands and smiled.

"More importantly, let's finish the examination first."

Kitano had not forgotten the work at hand.

"Of course, of course!"

Grandma Takamura nodded repeatedly and led the way.

"Aru has been rather unwilling to move lately. Even when she is turned out, she looks completely listless."

Aru was the nickname of a nineteen-year-old chestnut mare.

She had come to this farm while Grandma Takamura's husband was still alive.

She was not some accomplished graded-stakes horse; her greatest victory had only been a local special race.

Before Grandma Takamura's husband took her in, she had been just one step away from euthanasia.

After coming to the farm, Grandma Takamura had always called her Aru.

"Do you remember what you've been feeding Aru lately?"

Kitano asked as he searched for his tools.

He had noticed that, in the brief time Aru had been within his sight, she had already repeatedly lifted her hooves and stretched her body forward.

That was not normal.

"The usual things—grass we cut ourselves, carrot strips, and so on."

Grandma Takamura had an excellent memory and answered immediately.

"Fresh grass and carrot strips?"

Kitano crouched down and began checking the temperature of Aru's hooves.

Frequent hoof lifting, shifting weight from one leg to another, reluctance to walk, and obvious lameness while moving—these were all early symptoms of laminitis.

Laminitis was, literally speaking, inflammation of the laminar tissue in a horse's hoof. This inflammation could cause the coffin bone to sink, inflicting unbearable pain on the horse. It was a common equine disease that could lead to disability.

Kitano touched the hoof walls of the chestnut mare's four legs, then quickly withdrew his hands.

Sure enough, both of Aru's front hooves were slightly hot, noticeably warmer than her hind hooves.

However, laminitis could not be diagnosed rashly based on a single symptom.

Next came the examination of the digital pulse.

He extended two fingers and placed them over the sesamoid bones near the fetlock, feeling the pulse of the blood vessels above the coronary band.

The pulse was extremely strong.

A healthy horse's digital pulse was faint, almost impossible to detect by hand.

Furthermore, when he placed his fingers at the edge of the hoof, he could feel obvious stiffness in the transition from hair to hoof wall.

The coffin bone had already begun to sink.

Kitano stood up.

"It is laminitis."

He said it plainly.

The old woman tightly gripped the hem of her clothes.

"Then... then what should we do?"

Though her voice trembled, Grandma Takamura tried her best to speak steadily.

"First, her diet will probably need to be adjusted."

As he spoke, Kitano continued observing Aru's body.

She was not excessively overweight, nor did she have abnormal hair growth.

He could tentatively rule out Cushing's disease (PPID) and insulin resistance (EMS).

Even so, dietary management had to be considered for a horse of this age.

"Foods like tender grass and carrots should be fed as infrequently as possible from now on. You can try giving her more low-sugar, high-fiber hay."

Grandma Takamura nodded repeatedly, and Kitano then asked about Aru's weight.

He planned to first inject a Flunixin meglumine (Flunixin) solution to reduce the inflammation in her hooves.

When using nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs), the dosage had to be calculated strictly according to body weight.

Grandma Takamura immediately brought Aru to the designated weighing area.

Although the farm had transitioned into a retirement farm many years ago, all of its equipment was still well maintained.

"Make sure she takes the oral supplements on time and in the prescribed amounts. If she is in unbearable pain, you can try wrapping an ice pack around the coronary band of her front hooves... right here. But do not leave it on for more than twenty minutes at a time. Three or four times a day will be enough."

After completing the injection, Kitano began explaining the medical instructions.

The remaining work, such as trimming the hooves or changing to special horseshoes, would have to be left to the farrier.

"Thank you so very much!"

After noting down the instructions on her flip phone, Grandma Takamura gave Kitano a solemn bow.

"It's nothing. It's simply part of our job."

Kitano hurriedly bowed back to the old woman.

On the way back to the clinic, he let out a soft sigh.

There was one thing he had not said aloud.

If the coffin bone sank through the sole, or if the pain became completely impossible to relieve—

They would probably have to consider euthanasia.

June arrived.

As the weather warmed, many tourists turned their attention toward Hokkaido.

Racing fans also usually came to the farms of Niikappu Town during this season for visits.

As he walked through town, Kitano noticed distinctly more fashionably dressed young people.

Yet Kitano's life had not changed much.

House calls, filling out records, and studying racehorse-related knowledge—those three things alone occupied most of his time with unreasonable efficiency.

Occasionally, in his spare time, he delivered fresh grass and bedding hay to Nishiken Farm, then asked Mr. Ogawa questions about racehorses.

Today was one such day.

"How do people usually determine a racehorse's suitability?"

Kitano asked curiously.

"At present, the distinction between turf horses and dirt horses can mostly only be judged through experience."

Mr. Ogawa shook his head as he poured chilled beer into a glass.

"Would you like a glass, Mr. Kitano?"

It was exactly the same invitation as before.

"No, I still have to drive back later."

Likewise, Kitano gave much the same answer as before.

He did not dislike alcohol, but he would not take risks merely to satisfy a momentary craving.

"That's a shame."

With that, Ogawa Joe picked up his glass.

After only one gulp, more than half the liquid in the glass was gone.

"What about bloodlines, then?"

Kitano continued.

Both Ogawa Joe and Tanaka had seemed to mention Mejiro Tenma's bloodline when discussing her suitability before.

"Bloodlines can indeed be used as a reference... but sometimes they are not entirely accurate."

Ogawa Joe raised a rough finger and continued, "For instance, Gold Ship was a champion who excelled on turf, yet quite a few of his offspring have shown an aptitude for dirt."

"Hmm... things involving genetics really are difficult to deal with."

Kitano nodded.

"Exactly—"

Ogawa Joe nodded along with him.

Ogawa Kanna suddenly pointed at her father's face, covered her mouth, and began snickering mischievously.

Ogawa Joe immediately realized what she meant and smiled as he wiped the foam from his lips.

"So in the end, you still have to look at the hooves, right!"

Ogawa Masaru said vaguely, a straw between his lips as he swirled his glass.

The glass contained chilled lemonade that Ogawa Kanna had specially prepared for Kitano and her younger brother.

He did not like this sour stuff at all!

"Hooves... is there something to that?"

Kitano turned his head and asked curiously.

"O-of course!"

All three sets of eyes turned toward him at once. Ogawa Masaru grew nervous on instinct, but after clearing his throat several times, he continued, "Turf horses' hooves are usually sharper and narrower, while dirt horses' hooves tend to be flatter and wider... I observed all that myself!"

By the end, Ogawa Masaru's tone had unconsciously become a little smug.

Then he looked nervously toward his father.

"What Masaru said isn't wrong, but even conclusions drawn from experience like that can occasionally be off."

Ogawa Joe nodded slightly, acknowledging his son's assessment.

"Isn't there a more scientific rule?"

Kitano pressed on.

"Perhaps."

Even Ogawa Joe hesitated somewhat when answering that question.

"I heard about it when I was young. Trainers in the United States apparently measure how much a horse's stride shortens when it goes from turf to dirt, in order to determine whether it is better suited for dirt or turf."

"However, measurements like that would probably be difficult to carry out in Japan."

With a helpless look, he raised his wineglass again.

NAR was nominally a single entity, but in reality, it was merely a loose association of local racing organizations.

The enormous database needed to measure stride loss was beyond what one or two racetracks could possibly establish on their own.

Meanwhile, in the better-funded and more technologically advanced central circuit, dirt racing had long occupied the awkward position of being overlooked.

"Come to think of it, Mr. Kitano, have you ever paid attention to Pegasus's hooves?"

Seemingly noticing that the atmosphere was beginning to grow heavy, Ogawa Joe promptly changed the subject.

"Pegasus's hooves? As I recall, they were rather rounded in shape, with healthy hoof-wall growth. The connection between the hoof and fetlock was also the type that wasn't overly stiff."

Kitano did remember examining Mejiro Tenma's hooves up close several times.

But at the time, he had been judging them more from a veterinarian's perspective. The standards he used had leaned toward health rather than whether they were good or bad by racing-horse standards.

"That's exactly it. They aren't particularly large, but Pegasus's hoof shape is quite good for a dirt horse."

Ogawa Joe said with a smile.

[Horse-Sense Eye: C→C+]

It seemed the ability's evaluation had risen.

Kitano calmly closed the panel and continued talking with Mr. Ogawa.

After that, he said goodbye to Nishiken Farm.

On his way home, most of the people he encountered had already taken off their sweaters and coats.

Even the sunlight, which had been as soft as a cat's back not long ago, had begun to grow somewhat hot.