Poor little red horse

Fawkes had his fall shots yesterday.  He had two whole injections and got wormed.  I went to see him last night and the conversation went something like this:

Fawkes: Sigh.  I am dying.

Me: Hi buddy, do you want an apple?

One of Fawkes' life skills includes perfect apple eating.  He takes nice bites, great size, never greedy or trying to swallow it whole.

Fawkes: Well.  I don't know.  But then again, I am dying, so I guess one last apple makes sense.

Commence a sad few minutes of Fawkes wrapping his lips around the apple, sighing, starting to sink his teeth in, pausing, and sighing again.

Me: Do you need some help?  Here, I will bite a piece off and give it to you.

Fawkes: Thanks, that looks delicious.  Let me take it, then hold it in my mouth for 30 seconds, and then sadly spit it on the ground.  Because, dying.

Me: Hmmm, that isn't normal.  Let's try some nice fresh grass instead.

Fawkes: OK, I like grass.  Let me take it, then hold it in my mouth for 30 seconds, and then sadly spit *that* on the ground.  Why bother when you aren't going to see tomorrow?

Me: OK, Eeyore, clearly you aren't feeling well from your shots.  Interestingly, you demolished your grain and most of your evening hay is already gone, but I am sure you will never be able to eat again.

Fawkes: So true, pity me?

Me: Night kiddo, feel better.

Every fall and every spring, it is the same story.  Poor little red horse doesn't feel well for several days after his shots.   I really need to ask the vet if a banamine experiment would be worthwhile.  I feel bad that there isn't anything I can do except scritch his withers.  On the plus side, he should be feeling better again by tomorrow.