After a sweltering, sticky weekend at an air show in Wisconsin, I came home to find a swollen, stinky Moe.

He seemed unbothered by the tacky fluid seeping through skin stretched too tightly to stem the tide from the dinner plate-sized edema sitting on the center of his stomach, or the saucer-sized swellings surrounding it, or the stumps that were his hind legs.

Even the disconcerting smell of slightly rotting flesh emitted by the gummy golden crust dripping and drying on his belly and back-end seemed of neither consequence nor interest to the placid pony, whose only complaint seemed to be that I was late for dinner.

Just toss a flake of hay in that feeder please.

I snapped a few pictures of the puffy parts to send to the veterinarian, who squeezed us into her Monday schedule.

While under the influence, Moe was perfectly willing to let Dr Abbi and her able assistant swab and scrub the oozing inflammation under a continuous flow of cool water from the barn hose.

Once sober though, he cut off the cooperation. My instructions were twice-daily cold-hosing, and my intent was to go with the no-contact treatment plan, no picking or patting, just running cool water on his engorged appendages, but Moe clearly requested an alternative approach to his rehabilitation.

Twice, we waltzed out to the alley where we engaged in a clumsy circle dance. A little jive, a bit of swing and a whole lot of quick step, choreographed to keep my two feet from tangling with his four while zigging, zagging, shifting and snaking around the hose with its nozzle on the “Shower” setting.

Mercifully, the swelling subsided by Wednesday evening, so the ballroom closed after only two performances.

Equally fortunate was the discovery that Moe would willingly take his medicine – little green steroid pills and large white antibiotic tablets – if I’d sweeten the pot with a modicum of senior feed and splash of molasses.

This discovery negated the need to dissolve the antibiotic in water and administer via the sizable plastic syringe left by the vet, our single attempt at which ended with my hair, my hands, my shirt and the stall walls dosed with a smattering of SMZ. Double strength.

I am now, healthy as a horse.

Fly management was deemed a critical piece of the recovery period, as I can’t spray that raw flesh, though seeping blood and sticky serum is a feast for flying bugs. So, I smear an insect repellant cream above, below, and around the sides of the sores, which is surprisingly effective.

Success has also come with the old gross standby of Fly Ribbons, sticky strips that hang from the shelter ceiling, and are now covered in fly corpses. They’ll keep us from gracing the cover of Barn Beautiful, but they get the job done.

And Bonus Benefit – cause or coincidence, a couple days after the tacky tape appeared, the barn swallows disappeared, so there is no longer guano mixed into the manure picked up in the shelter, and Fennel no longer has to dodge the dive-bombers that harassed him in the shelter doorway.

By Thursday Moe was looking much better, in a ghoulish, zombie sort of way, but he did draw the “Get Out of Farrier Work Free” pass this month.

Chicago, however, came in for a pre-pedicure spa session with a string of oozing open wounds under his mane. Showing signs of neither discomfort nor distress, he had his feet trimmed as scheduled, while I sent snapshots of his sticky neck to the vet clinic, with a request to review the records from our late February episode.

By the time I got the a-ok for Hot Spots and Hives Treatment Take 2, Chicago’s left-side neck and shoulder were popping with quarter-sized welts. Nothing that the steroid pills and antibiotic cream couldn’t contain, so he joined Moe on the rehab roster.

As happens when animals live with a fair amount of free range and free time, the source of the sores cannot be determined for certain. A biting bug or a poisonous plant, contacted or consumed, are the likely causes.

Moe maintains a minimum daily requirement of one pasture nap in the sternal recumbent position, which allows a little repast while in repose, and would account for the draining dermatitis mostly limited to his belly and back legs.

Chicago tends to confine his serious sleeping time to his stall but does relish a good spine-scratching roll in the grass, which could explain the crust on his crest.

So while I lean in the direction of a contact reaction, we examined, evaluated, went with an educated guess to treat the symptoms, and launched an investigation of the pasture which may never prove conclusive.

The Schwarzeneggers in my stalls are on the mend.

The flies are managed and minimized.

The pastures are mowed and treated and temporarily closed off.

And I’m hoping for a hard freeze in August.