signs of spring

Now that the sun is back, and we're not inundated with rain, it's easy to see the signs of spring.

Dandelion flowers, the yellow primrose blooming by the front porch, the dogwoods and redbuds, and the big tulip poplar bursting forth, which usually means pollen is soon to come.

The carpenter bees are doing their kamikaze flight patterns around the barn, the fire ants have put up a few new mounds, and butterflies are beginning to appear. In the past two days I've seen a number of black ones, and one especially lovely one - white with golden tipped wings.

Keil Bay got this year's First Tick Award.

The main color when you look outside is GREEN, and that has prompted a true, sure sign of spring on a horse farm. Thoughts of ESCAPE.

Redford has suddenly decided the grass is greener on the other side of the grass paddock fence, and has climbed through 3 times in the past 3 days. He comes back when Salina and Rafer Johnson get a very specific number of feet away from him, but we've moved Cody to the grass paddock side of the barn until we can make some adjustments.

Horse hair is everywhere. Brushes become inoperable after a few swipes, because the bristles are so coated with horse hair.

And yesterday, in what seems to be my annual succumbing to spring fever, I decided on the spur of a very windy moment to offer the first taste of the front field to the herd.

Salina and the donkey boys had first dibs. 30 minutes of GREEN grazing! The donkey boys went all the way down, as they seemed to know this was a time-limited event, and the further down they were, the longer it would take me to get them back in again. Even removing Salina did not bring them up the hill. And when we went down to get them, they RAN! Bucking and kicking up their little donkey heels.

The geldings were up at the fence, annoyed that they were not being given a turn. But then the magic gate opened, and Keil Bay, authority on how to get the most green possible, went all the way down just as the donkeys had.

The poor, poor pony - it was his turn for a ride, so he was allowed some time with the round bale but didn't get the green stuff. Unfortunately he will have to have the muzzle on when he goes out there, so it's a mixed blessing for him.

By the end of April they'll be ready to move to night-time turn-out, and will be acclimated to the green. For now they're transitioning, one of my favorite times of the year because they are so clearly ready for the fresh forage.

And while spring brings a lot of things we have to protect the horses against, namely flies, ticks, fire ants, etc., I think we're ALL ready for the sunshine, the warmth, and the next season in the cycle of the year.

whirlwindy end to the week

A few hours away yesterday a number of tornadoes touched down and did some damage, and the local news is reporting the possibility of severe thunderstorms this evening with high winds and hail. It's been really warm here at night, and as a colder front moves in this afternoon, there's going to be about a 20-degree drop in temperature and ripe conditions for more yucky weather.

We were lucky yesterday not to have the whirling wind close by, but we did have a bit of a scare last night. When my husband went out to feed dinner at the barn, Salina went into the stall where she normally eats and proceeded to lie down. She didn't try to roll, but laid out flat and then got up. She was pawing a bit, and he took her dinner in, and she laid down again and then got back up. She ate about half of her tub and then stopped eating.

He came in to get me, and we went out together to decide what to do. Her gums were pink, she wasn't sweating, she wasn't agitated, but she did continue pawing and seemed like she might want to lie down again. Her respiration seemed normal, she had gut sounds, and when we tried to take her temperature, she pushed the thermometer out and swished her tail. Her normal reaction to that intrusion.

I suggested walking her in the arena, where it wasn't so mucky, to see if she settled or worsened. She walked normally, a nice big walk, and did her characteristic nicker upon halting. She dropped a very normal pile of manure very quickly, and we decided to give a dose of Banamine and check her in a couple of hours.

We put Cody and the pony on the opposite side of the barn, so that Salina could share the other side's three open stalls with Keil Bay, and be free to walk about in the less mucky dirt paddock on that side. Initially I tried to keep the donkeys in the barn aisle, but she and they were miserable being separated, so we let them join her.

At 1 a.m. she was calm and relaxed, hadn't gone down again, and had dropped more normal manure. She wasn't eating but I figured her system was doing what it needed, and we came in and went to bed.

In the midst of all this I kept hearing a very high-pitched squeaking sound that seemed to be coming from the walls of the barn itself. I kept walking around listening, stopping, waiting for it to resume, asking if anyone else heard it, etc. Bats? Baby birds? Some kind of tree frog? Some kind of insect? Or tons of baby mice who had all just been born?

When I got to the back deck of the house, I heard it again. Then when I got inside the laundry room it was even louder. It was one of those moments when logic escaped me - I thought, oh my gosh, we must be infested with mice and they've all given birth at the same time, everywhere!

And then I realized - it was my right muck boot! I have no idea how or why it was making the noise, but every time I stepped a certain way, or shifted my weight onto that side, there was the noise.

We got a good (and much needed by that time) laugh out of that.

I got in bed and did my usual meditation of surrounding the horses with white light. I also told Salina that we would take care of her, but if it was time for her to go, that was fine too. At her advanced age, with her arthritic knees and all she's been through with the loss of her eye, I've decided that we wouldn't send her to the vet school or an equine clinic for surgery or treatment should the need arise. The stress of travel, of separating from her donkey boys, would be huge, and given her personality and intensity, I don't think it would be in her best interest at this point in her life. So I reminded myself that if things worsened, I already had the lines drawn for myself and wouldn't need to struggle with that kind of decision.

It's a difficult thing to think about, but a sense of relief knowing I've already made the decision, at least for Salina.

I had a very bizarre dream, in which Salina did go to the vet school, but the donkeys accompanied her, and it was determined that she'd eaten the ear off a stuffed animal and it had lodged in her digestive track somewhere. They recommended exploratory surgery to find and remove it. I had to say very clearly to the vet staff that we would not do that, and it almost felt in the dream like a "practice run" for me - to walk through a possible scenario and carry out what I've decided theoretically.

The dream then shifted to a very bizarre symbolic representation of some other stuff going on in my life, so literal it was almost laughable when I woke up and recounted it. It never ceases to amaze me how the psyche offers us what we need using the images we need, and are ready for, in order to "get the message."

This morning, Salina was eager to go to the field with her herd, and proceeded to graze on grass and hay immediately. She came in for breakfast at her appointed time, nickered as usual, and got highly ticked off when she found out I had only served her the beet pulp plus salt and mineral portion of her meal. I added some chopped apples, and she did eat some of it, but harassed Keil Bay in the stall next door, wanting some of his meal.

She ate a bit of the donkeys' timothy cube mix, more of her meal, and then proceeded to set in to eating more hay. She dropped more very normal manure, and although we're continuing to watch her and monitor things, I hope this crisis has passed.

With all the potential for severe weather, I'm also sending out some calming thoughts, in hopes that we all get through the weekend safely and easily.

more rain, more editing, and playing catch-up

We've had another string of rainy days, and a predicted thunderstorm with high winds for tomorrow evening, so life on November Hill has been a little quieter as we try to keep up with barn chores, and keep the house from becoming a mud pit - our boots/shoes are easy to take off at the door, but 8 Corgi paws and 20 cat paws can track in a lot of gunk!

I've tried to use the extra indoor time for editing, which is helping to offset those lovely sunny days from last week when I got almost nothing done on the ms.

I'm also behind on my equine nutrition class homework, so I am vowing to be caught up with all my figuring by Sunday night. Right now I'm working on how many grams of protein each of my herd members needs for their weight, age, and level of work. It's not rocket science, but there are a lot of things that factor in to balancing an equine diet, and I'm just grateful for the support of the class to walk me through this.

I've said it before - only horses and/or children could get me to deal with needles, and the same holds true for math!

a little blessing from third grade

For the second time in two weeks I awakened to dense fog, and today I've been infatuated with the way the soft white causes other things, like open barn windows, and wet tree trunks, to stand out in stark relief. Which is intriguing, that something so untouchable and ethereal brings out the sharp edges of the things it surrounds.

For some reason, today's fog made me remember third grade, which was the year I was skipped ahead to a fifth grade class. It was a hard year for me, but for a part of that year we had a student teacher, whose name I can't recall, but I do remember the way she looked.

She had an intense passion for teaching and particularly for literature and poetry, and one of our assignments was to write a poem and then prepare it for display.

The poem I wrote was titled Mr. Mist and although I do not remember it entirely, I can recall a few lines, and the fact that the poem personified mist as a man who came wearing a "brown hat and cloak." I clearly remember being very excited about using the word cloak, which I'd obviously read in a book and while no one around me ever used that word, I loved it and wanted to incorporate it into my poem.

We had to read our work out loud, which was difficult for me, as I was very shy. It was also difficult because my audience, the fifth graders, had all written very funny, silly limerick style poems and mine was so serious and full of metaphor and imagery they just sat there while I read it, which I took as negative critique of the highest order.

The student teacher had pulled me aside earlier in the day to tell me how wonderful the poem was, and to praise the various elements I'd used, most of which were new to me. She was clearly excited about my work, and I remember her giving me a little hug, and saying how proud she was to hang the poem on the bulletin board. I'd copied it in newly-learned cursive handwriting and taped it onto a piece of bright yellow construction paper, and the incongruity and intention of that choice also made her smile. I explained that I wanted to make the contrast visible - the sunshine yellow paper for a poem that was all about mist and darkness.

That I recall all these details so vividly, all these years later, makes it obvious that her attention that day meant a lot to me, and I'm sure it was one of the earliest moments when I felt like someone else saw me for what I felt I was - a writer.

And how perfect it is that today, surrounded by mist and fog and the dark shapes made more intense, that wonderful feeling has come forth again, fully formed, a little blessing.

horse show season and reconciliation

It's the time of year when my email in-box is filling with announcements of horse shows, Pony Club rallies, and various horse activities that require hauling, and in some cases overnight stays.

I woke up this morning feeling bombarded with my own mixed feelings about all this. My daughter is in Pony Club, and greatly enjoys the activities they offer, and she also enjoys the Combined Training shows and cross country schooling opportunities that seem to be everywhere this time of year. Her trainers are active and frequently available for coaching at these events, and it's been fun to get a taste of the various horse sports over the past few years.

We are not a dedicated horse show family, however, and I find the logistics of these travels incredibly stressful. Plans have to be made for horse care for the herd members who stay home. With a few exceptions, hauling to these events requires completely altering the regular routines of the horses going. I fret about ulcers and colic and accidents and break-downs on the side of the road. Even more, I worry about what the horses are thinking and feeling as they drive off down our driveway and head off to a strange setting without the comfort and security of their herd.

Every month that passes I seem to be increasingly dedicated to a way of horse-keeping that makes traveling with horses a more difficult decision, and I find myself trying to reconcile my beliefs about what is good for horses with the enjoyment of horses in sport and competition.

It's even more difficult right now because I'm not reconciling on my own behalf, but on that of my daughter. It's become pretty clear to me that I will probably never choose to get up at the crack of dawn, load the Big Bay into a trailer, and haul him off to a show so that we can compete together. The idea that I would put him up for overnight stays in a setting where he couldn't go out to graze and roll and move freely is unthinkable for me personally.

I'd be just as happy to pay a judge to come watch us do a dressage test or two here, and give me feedback. I'd probably enjoy dressing up in all the right clothing to make the ride special. But otherwise, I don't have the desire to prepare, go through the process of getting to a show, and insert myself into a schedule that, imo, has nothing to do with what's best for horses.

But it's so clear to me that my daughter, who also loves our horses and obviously cares about their welfare, really does enjoy the excitement of a show setting. It's also clear that many people I like and respect enjoy the show atmosphere as well.

And I enjoy seeing horses and riders performing together at these events. It's impressive, and fun, and inspiring. But along with the successes, I have to witness some of the truly upsetting scenarios that invariably occur. Frightened horses. Riders who mistreat their horses. Accidents that the human has chosen to risk, but the horse hasn't been given that choice.

I'd love to know how any of you reconcile these things in your own lives, with your own horses. Or for that matter, dogs, or cats, and shows, and things like agility trials.

How do you balance all the factors? How much weight do you give your own pleasure and satisfaction versus that of the animal? How do you know when the animal actually gets something out of the experience so the risks and the stress of travel are outweighed?

For me, when we haul the pony or Cody, the best part is when they return home and step off the trailer, and I see the relief on their faces as they walk through the barn and through the gate to rejoin their herd. I'm not sure if that's an argument for going or not going, but it at least ends the travel on that particular day on a good note.