He's still a bag of bones, this little fart. Still wobbly on his feet...but less so. He's gained perhaps 30 pounds, but Andy is so skeletal--picture an equine version of a Holocaust victim--that there's no point trying to use a weight tape: his condition will skew the results, according to the vet.

Little Andy, white with brown spots, is on a special refeeding program. One has to refeed with caution: small frequent meals of hay only, gradually increasing the amount, decreasing the frequency, and eventually adding small quantities of grain. How delighted he must be to know that nearly as soon as he finishes a flake of hay, another one is coming!! And how delighted he seems to be with the attention he receives: the kisses, the gentle words, the grooming, the encouragement. All this despite the fact that he's in quarantine, so that we must wear gloves, bleach our feet entering and exiting his stall, disinfect grooming tools. And yet this extra work is one of the greatest joys of the work we do. Walt, Lorraine, April, Alex--any of us will tell you what a great joy it is to participate in the healing of a broken animal--to say with every word, touch, gesture, "You're okay here, Andy. You're okay, boy."

Andy is definitely standing more solidly on his pitiful pogo-stick legs. And it could be wishful thinking, but I swear his whinny is getting stronger.

We await the results of his blood work. And Andy awaits his first adventure: a walk outside to explore his new world at Catskill Animal Sanctuary--a far cry from the nightmare that cruelty investigators found him in.