The sound of the angry buzzsaw could be heard a mile away. The old black walnut tree had graced our horse farm for two generations of the Horton family. Little did we know that once we decided to raise horses, at our daughter’s repeated vocal requests, the tree was doomed.
Hank, our first horse, started to show signs of laminitis. His lower legs began to swell and he was reluctant to move. If we asked him to move he would rock forward and backward and lose his balance.
The black walnut tree killed him.