the cowboy breaks in the bear

Of course as soon as I managed to get the camera, set it to video, and hit the record button, things were winding down. At one point Dickens had The Bear lunging like a pro!

At the end of the day, they're getting to be pals:

relief and a magic moment

Just wanted to update that last night, while I was working with a client in the arena, Salina's abscess burst. I found her grazing with all four feet weighted evenly, enjoying the dusk with her donkeys.

Good energy + brilliant mare + Animalintex poultice x right homeopathic remedy = RELIEF

Onward to a streak of 61 degree lows - the horses have been running around more as the days aren't so hot and the nights are bringing a distinct feeling of autumn. We can see the light at the end of the long, hot summer!

After breakfast tubs this morning I noticed Redford was in the arena attending to something in the back field. I walked out to see what it was, and it was a lovely turtle. The turtle was on the other side of the back gate, and he and Redford were staring at one another.

I suspect this turtle is a relative of the one whose empty shell we found the day we first looked at this farm. Between the empty turtle shell, which we asked to keep and were told yes by the owners, and the twin fawns that leapt through the back field, we could barely wait to get out of the driveway to make an offer.

It's nice after a long hot few weeks to feel the circle of life here - reminding me that seasons circle 'round and we'll soon be looking at different colors, smelling different smells, and enjoying the joys of autumn.

Salina, equine goddess, takes charge of her own treatment

Salina has been off on her left hind for a couple of days. I haven't been sure if it's an abscess or if she did something (she galloped up the hill a few nights ago) so haven't yet done any abscess-related treatment. She is eating, whinnying as usual when her donkey boys go too far away, and is making her way around the barnyard at her own pace.

This morning the biggest thing she seemed to want was for me to rub a bug bite on her flank. She stretched her head neck about in a perfect straight line and turned her head back and forth with great pleasure as I rubbed.

I gave her a remedy this morning that fit her symptoms about as perfectly as you can get. Usually when you get a remedy right with homeopathy you will either see a quick improvement or sometimes you'll see a brief worsening of symptoms before things start to shift.

Husband just came in to tell me (he's been working on a project in the barnyard so was able to see what was going on in the barn) that Salina soaked her own foot in one of the water buckets just now. She stuck it in, stood there, and then after 15-20 minutes she took it out, and when he checked, it looks like an abscess is getting ready to blow.

I noticed earlier today that one of the water buckets in the barn was dirty in a way it never usually gets - I wondered what in the world had done that - now I know.

Salina is soaking her own hoof.

We have pretty much stopped soaking hooves as a treatment for abscesses, preferring to wrap with Animalintex. But Salina, being 27 years old, has likely had her hooves soaked over the years and I guess she's taken matters into her own... hooves!

Sometimes I wonder why anyone anywhere doubts the intelligence of these animals.

summer's end, some speed bumps, and Wendell Berry

After a writing weekend that got canceled at the last minute,  I proceeded on my own and worked like a maniac. I didn't set foot in the barn from Friday afternoon until this morning.  I was eager to get out there today, but discovered we seem to be running our very own vet clinic this week.

Keil Bay got a small cut above his eye last week that is not getting infected, but keeps re-opening because of where it is and the fact that his facial muscles keep it moving.

Rafer Johnson is off on his right hind. No swelling, no obvious signs of anything, just tenderness on that foot. It's better - definitely not getting worse - but of course we have to keep our eyes on him.

Now Salina is off on her left hind. Seems to be hoof tenderness as opposed to joint or muscular issues. Abscess? Don't know yet. She too seems fine otherwise but is just taking it slowly around the barn and barnyard.

My mind is spinning with possibilities and diagnoses and remedies and the usual big question: is it time to call the vet?

My typical reaction to equine offness in any form or fashion is an immediate increase in stress. I feel out of control, I want to know exactly what's going on, and yet I am never comfortable with a huge veterinary intervention that tends to rule many things out before ruling anything in.

So this morning I did my own assessments of each issue and have plans for each of them in terms of what I can do myself and when it will be time to get the vet out. The weird thing is, the instant I get out there and start looking and checking and doing my equine nursing care routine, they all seem to get immediately better.  Sometimes I wonder if my not being out at the barn for a weekend is what gets these things rolling in the first place.

I also spun out initially to a morbid sort of place that in an odd way helps me settle down when dealing with unknowns and equines. I reminded myself that no animal here will ever have to suffer, that they all have good, rich lives, and that if the worst thing comes to pass, it will be sad and hard, but it won't be the end of the world. Death is part of life. When we live with animals, we take on the responsibility to help when things get to a point of no return, or to a point where quality of life must be assessed and acted upon. Reminding myself of this usually brings tears to my eyes, but then it brings me a sense of peace - and from that place I can march on and do what needs to be done.

At that point, this morning, I asked Salina if we are nearing a difficult decision. She flat out ignored me, which I think means no, we aren't. I walked out to the pondering bench and decided to just sit down and relax for a few minutes. Rafer came out and stood with me. He put his full weight on his right hind, used his left hind to scratch his nose, and then looked at me as if to say, "See? I'm okay."

I reminded myself that I wake up many mornings with little aches and pains, most of which work themselves out as I begin the day. Sometimes I end the day with little aches and pains, most of which heal with rest and a bit of time. Horses get those too. As do donkeys. And it's been a long, hot, very itchy and buggy summer for all of us.

With Salina in the barn whinnying her usual "where are my donkey boys?" and Rafer Johnson standing with me, alert and happy,  I looked up to the sky, through the leaves of the big oak, and saw many small dark objects in the dripping down of a different set of leaves. The wild muscadines are ready to eat. So I stood up and helped myself to as many as I could reach. I wait for these each year, as I have since I was very young, and today I savored the taste of the first in this end of summer season.

Each year now when I eat them I'm reminded of my most favorite Wendell Berry poem. (and my favorite poem, in general):
 

The Wild Geese

Horseback on Sunday morning,

harvest over, we taste persimmon

and wild grape, sharp sweet

of summer's end. In time's maze

over fall fields, we name names

that went west from here, names

that rest on graves. We open

a persimmon seed to find the tree

that stands in promise,

pale, in the seed's marrow.

Geese appear high over us,

pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,

as in love or sleep, holds

them to their way, clear,

in the ancient faith: what we need

is here. And we pray, not

for new earth or heaven, but to be

quiet in heart, and in eye

clear. What we need is here.

Wendell Berry

 Indeed.

walking in their hoofprints

This morning when I went out to feed and do barn chores, I was quickly dripping sweat even though the temperature was not all that terrible. I didn't think much about it, but then noted that the horses were banging at their back doors ready to come in, even after they'd eaten breakfast. (I fed and then turned them back out to the paddock so I could get their stalls tidy and set up with hay.)

My daughter groomed and put fly spray on legs, and by that time I was sweating and getting itchy. I don't know why this summer is being so itchy, but I've heard other people say they're itching, their dogs are itching, and their horses are itching. I decided to mix up a bucket of a very mild vinegar rinse so we could wipe down faces, figuring it would likely feel good to them. They welcomed the extra attention, except for Keil Bay, who likes to stick his head up in the air. When he lowered it I found a small cut above his right eye, which meant I needed to get the wound ointment out. He allowed that with no problem - he was probably waving his head around in the first place to get me to notice the cut!

Finally we had everyone's stall set up and they couldn't wait to get inside in the shelter of the barn with fans, hay, and clean water. I headed out to do some paddock mucking. It was very humid. I figured out pretty quickly that if I just moved more slowly I wouldn't sweat as much, so I was literally taking a few steps, mucking a little, moving the wheelbarrow, stopping to look at the sky, mucking a little more.

The tulip poplars tend to leaf out very early in the spring, and they begin to lose their leaves much sooner than the other trees do, and as I stood in the paddock a tulip poplar leaf wafted down right in front of my face. For a moment I was astounded by the fact that the leaf seemed to be defying gravity, and then I realized it wasn't a leaf - it was a butterfly that looked exactly like a yellowing, browning leaf. The instant I realized it was a butterfly, it fluttered up and away, as if once I had gotten the message, the butterfly's job was done.

I made my way to the end of the paddock and out to the front field. I'm doing daily fire ant patrol right now, and I went around to the mounds I'd treated with DE yesterday and stirred the ants up again so more would come out and get into the powder.

Even in the shade of the trees, it was hot, muggy, and I was being dive-bombed by giant biting flies. I went all the way down the hill and to the front fence, around the perimeter, and back up again. By the time I was back at the barn I felt like I was going to simply melt or pass out. It was no wonder the horses and donkeys wanted in - being out today, even to just stand and do nothing, was work.

Sometimes I think we forget that there's always one easy way to see what's going on with our animals. Put ourselves in their footprints for a little bit. Turn off our churning brains, the cell phones so many of us carry around, and just let ourselves be in our bodies, feeling what we feel, imagining what they are feeling. It takes a few minutes, like today, when I took the extra time to muck and check ant mounds, to feel the effects of the heat. Sometimes we're in such a hurry we never actually get the full effect of something as simple as the weather.

And I wonder about things like loud radios in barns, and stalls that haven't been cleaned and smell of ammonia. All the things we don't really notice as we go in and out, not living the life they live, not stopping to feel what they might feel when they don't have the option to change it.

Today, if I was hot and sweating and literally feeling like dropping, I know for sure it felt worse to my horses. They are bigger, with hair covering their bodies. They can't easily escape the horrid biting flies, closing them out completely with doors and windows. The one way to get away from the big flies is to outrun them, but who wants to exert that much energy in this swelter?

I was happy we have shelter to offer them, and although I know many people (some members of my own family) think I go overboard sometimes with the animals I live with, I'm glad to do what needs to be done to make these extreme days (right now it's heat, but in the winter, it's cold biting rain and sometimes ice they need shelter from) more comfortable for them. Especially the seniors, who seem to appreciate the little things as much as the big ones.

It's why I sometimes sit down in the stall so I can smell what they smell, why I stop and just listen, and smell, and let the elements sink in for a few minutes. It doesn't take much time. It means a lot to them.