The best way to travel, if you can!
Herding: It’s hard work!
Hunting: It’s hard work!
New horse, Arlo (named after Arlo Guthrie) on the day he arrived at Rockland Farm. (May) He just turned six years old and he’s a cute little (and I do mean little, as in short!) Quarter Horse with a nice pedigree behind him. Yes, he’s probably the smallest horse in the barn. But it’s a small barn. (Twelve stalls) That suits me fine. I like my horses small. This photo was taken with a phone camera. Not anything I’m particularly proud of, but that’s not the point. I do love my new boy! 🙂
I feel like I should be starting to act more like myself: Less grief, more …. well, less grief? It’s not that I don’t feel happy. Sometimes I do. Gus will do something that makes me burst out laughing or I’ll smile when one of the horses nickers for green grass. (They’ve been getting SO pushy about grazing!) I’m excited things are starting to blossom outdoors and in spite of the chilly temps, last week I saw my fist humming birds. That always makes me giddy. But the truth of the matter is, I’m still battling daily bouts of the blues.
It’s not like I go around looking for all the ways I can miss my dog. I don’t. But so often I’ll start to do something or I’ll be smack dab in the middle of something when it hits me: Hazer always used to do X, Y, Z every time I did this. When you live with a quirky dog you develop a lot of odd habits. For example, Hazer always used to want to drink out of the narrow opening of my garden watering can. He’d come trotting over every single time I filled it and wait patiently for me to turn the spigot off before tilting his head sideways (that’s the only way his head would fit under the handle) to get a drink. Gus caught on to that game, but Hazer always got first dibs. For a dog who really didn’t like water, Hazer loved drinking out of my watering can. Every. Single. Time.
Hazer also licked the rugs obsessively. For some reason this activity soothed him, especially in the evening when we would watch TV. His licking kind of drove me nuts, and over the course of a few years he ruined one of my large wool braid rugs by constantly gravitating to the same place. He didn’t limit his licking to the living room either; he also licked the office rug and a small bedroom area rug. I wonder how many times over the course of his lifetime Hazer heard me say, “Hazer! Knock it off!” When I said that he’d always pause. Sometimes the licking would stop just for a moment, other times he’d quit for the night. I was never sure which was the worse of two evils: Hazer licking or Hazer stressed because I’d told him not to lick. Both had the tendency to be annoying.
I’ve posted pictures of Hazer laying on various pieces of furniture, but he wasn’t the kind of dog who wanted to share your space. He never got up on the couch or a chair unless it was unoccupied at the time, and if you decided to sit down next to him he’d quickly vacate his spot. In all the years I had him Hazer rarely got up on the bed with me. As he aged he started to lay on my bed when I wasn’t home, but I only knew this because I’d hear the thud of him jumping off the bed the minute I walked in the door. Mostly, Hazer was known for sleeping in odd positions: upside down, flipped backwards against a wall and my personal favorite, with a pilfered shoe.
The only time Hazer ever came close to wanting to share my space was when we went somewhere in the car. Hazer would jump in the back of the Subaru and stand with his front feet on the narrow console between the seats. If he was feeling really affectionate he’d even go so far as to rest his chin on my right shoulder. That always made my heart melt and the sweetness of those rare, shared moments in the car almost made up for a lifetime of avoiding any outward sign of affection. Almost. I’d never owned a dog who guarded his affection like it was a resource with an expiration date. To say I struggled to adjust to Hazer’s aloofness is an understatement, and between that and his overpowering sense of seriousness, I learned to cherish this singular display of love.
Hazer was an unashamed, confirmed counter-surfer. He’d step away from the counter the minute I told him to knock it off, but I couldn’t trust him for a second if there was something edible or interesting anywhere near the edge of the kitchen counter. It seems really odd now, to leave a dinner plate sitting on the counter and know it’s not in any danger of losing half it’s contents the second I’m out of sight. Hazer was also a shameless paper-eater. Drop your napkin (which my hubby did just about every night) and it would get snarfed up and swallowed in a heartbeat. The paper towel and Kleenex always came out the other end, as was often confirmed during reconnaissance missions prior to lawn mowing. Sadly, like the year-round tufts of red undercoat, all tell-tale evidence of this quirky habit have now vanished from our yard.
Every couple of days I reach into my kitchen closet and pull out a couple of toys for Nina and Gus to beat up. Hazer always had HIS special toys that none of the other dogs were allowed to share. Now when I see those toys I’m not really sure what to do. His Cuz. His stuffy. His personal squeaky toy; they still cause me to tear up. I’m not ready to let the other two dogs have them yet. For some strange reason that feels disloyal. What do you do with a dog’s personal effects? Their bed. Their food bowl. Their special blanket. I haven’t figured any of this out yet. I gathered up all Hazer’s beds. Yes, plural, because Hazer had a “thing” about beds. Every time I bought a new bed Hazer quickly claimed it as his own. To solve that problem, every room in the house had multiple beds. That way Nina and Gus could choose from whatever Hazer decided to ignore that day. Don’t laugh, it worked. I learned to pick my battles.
Hazer taught me more about failure than anything I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I failed at everything I tried to do with him, sometimes over and over again. I remember the early anger and frustration that (eventually) morphed into humor at being out-witted by my dog. All of my previous dogs had been wonderful all-rounders. By that I mean they were multi-use dogs, capable of easing gracefully from one situation to another. They got along well with people and they were more than happy to be around other animals and dogs. But Hazer wanted none of that. While Hazer never met a person he didn’t like, he harbored a life-long dislike of all other canines, including (at times) his own housemates. I can say with some certainty that nothing creates better handling skills than a dog who can’t be trusted not to fight in his own home.
No matter what their breed or temperament, all dogs have their own special talent. I don’t mean they’re great at herding, obedience or agility. I mean they have a unique personality trait that benefits you in some particular way. Some are great comforters who want to cuddle when you’re blue, or some are great listeners who solemnly guard your secrets and dreams. Others are clowns who entertain us and make us laugh, while there are the ones whose presence makes us feel safe and secure. Each and every dog has their own unique and special gift to share with us. Some even have more than one. But sometimes we get so caught up in the rituals of creating good, obedient and talented dogs that we forget to give them enough space to let their skills shine. I made this mistake with Hazer and I regret that it took several years before I relaxed my grip enough to really see his strength. Hazer’s gift, his greatest talent, was simply being with me.
Hazer wanted nothing more than to be by my side. You’d think I’d have known that since ACDs tend to be a quirky mixture of independence and Velcro, but I had a hard time coming to terms with Hazer’s idea of a good time. Hazer wanted to do stuff as long as he could do it HIS way, but mostly he wanted to do stuff to be with me. Unfortunately, I set my sights on making my dog a performance dog, and right from the start I set goals and created a general game plan to move us in that direction. Problem was, Hazer wasn’t particularly interested in performing. Oh, he was more than willing to do just about any task I asked, but he didn’t really love performing for performance sake. I can clearly recall his look of frustration the second or third time I sent him over the A-frame. Been there, done that. Next? He was bored to death, which usually morphed into trying to find a classmate to threaten.
When I changed tracks and got Hazer into herding he was a much happier camper. There, he could do something he truly enjoyed while working with me. From Hazer’s point of view that was the best of both worlds. Herding improved his responsiveness and intuition on our own farm and I’m fairly convinced it helped us fine-tune our connection. Unfortunately, we came to herding later in life and because of the rough nature of the sport I decided to “retire” Hazer after a couple of years. But the benefits from herding stuck and I wound up with a dog who wanted nothing more than to be the perfect farm dog. After that Hazer was by my side for every trip to the barn, where he’d calmly park himself in the hay and wait until it was time to go in or time to go do something else.
So it would make sense I guess that I’m feeling the loss of Hazer most as I go about my regular chores and daily routine. I’ll always miss the quirky stuff Hazer did, the oddities that made his personality so unique, but mostly I miss his physical presence. When I’m ready to leave the barn my eye still travels to where he used to lay and wait. And halfway back to the house I automatically turn to see where he is. My body and mind still register him as there, even though he’s not. I don’t know how long it will take for reality to catch up and replace habit, but I’m torn between wanting that to happen and hoping it never will.
A few years ago I started a new ritual. Since Hazer wasn’t particularly inclined to show or return affection I decided I would risk humiliating him and do it anyway. I’d cup his handsome muzzle in my hands, plant a kiss on his head and pronounce my undying love for him. Hazer’s typical reaction to any kind of emotional display was to stare at me with disgust, feign surprise or growl. He was like an adolescent child who despised any outward display of parental affection. Naturally, this made me want to do it all the more. And so I did. Several times a day I’d pause to tell Hazer all the ways I adored him. And after awhile it seemed like he stopped hating the attention and he started to look more smug than annoyed. “Yes, my mom thinks I’m great. She says I’m her favorite red dog. Says I’m the most handsomest dog ever. Says I’m her best bud.” I’d like to think Hazer understood. If not the message, then maybe the sentiment behind the words. Because the truth is, he was all that and so much more.
Tanglewood’s Who Dunnit Again
11-16-04 – 3-30-16
I don’t know what the last eleven years of my life would have been like if I hadn’t had Hazer. For sure, it would have been a lot quieter. Simpler. Definitely a whole lot easier. But it also would have been dull. Dull in a way that I can only look back at now and see how all the chaos, calamity and constant challenge was exactly what I needed at the time.
Hazer was never a walk in the park: Complex, smart, quirky and both biddable and independent, Hazer was a handful. He never wanted to be cuddled, fussed over or loved on, but he was always with you, right by your side or under your feet. He was my consummate hiking partner, barn chore buddy and yard companion, and while the other two dogs were always eager to be off doing their own thing, Hazer wanted nothing more than to hang out with me while I worked around the farm. No matter where I was, I only had to look up or turn around and there he’d be, quietly watching and ready for anything.
There’s so much I’d like to share about our last few years, even our last few days together, but the pain and sadness keep getting in the way. Maybe at some point I’ll be able to pen something more memorable, but for now it’s all I can do to just look at his picture without getting lost deep inside my head.
Well done my beautiful, big red dog. Well done.
I’ve had so many things go sideways on me lately, I’ve taken to saying my life has turned into a bad country western song. Most people chuckle when I say that, which makes me laugh a little too. I suppose that’s the whole point of saying something like that when the truth of the matter is, you’ve reached the end of your rope and you feel like your heart is breaking about a million times each day.
About two weeks ago, right around the same time I broke my leg (and around the same time I came down with a nasty stomach virus), Hazer decided to stop eating. Given this isn’t a dog who plays “games,” I took his aversion to food somewhat seriously. At first I thought maybe he was just having an ‘off’ day, but that’s not his typical MO. So I kept a close eye on things. Well, as close as I could given I was hugging the toilet and pinned down in bed for several days with my own form of hell. Some days Hazer would eat a little, other days not so much. I knew how he felt, but once I was fairly confident I could hobble around on my broken leg without barfing, I made an appointment to see the vet.
As I stood on one leg and heaved Hazer’s forty-two pound butt into my (previously) clean and dog hairless SUV, I was once again thankful that he isn’t an eighty-five pound GSD. Riding in the car is one of Hazer’s favorite things to do, but he didn’t show much enthusiasm for it that day. After a few wobbly attempts to copilot from the console, he curled up in the back corner of the cargo bay and didn’t move until we pulled into the office. As per his usual behavior, Hazer sprang to his feet and commenced shrieking while I went in to announce our arrival. Probably a moot point given the cacophony of noise coming from the parking lot.
Fortunately, the office was deserted. Hazer is dog-reactive and even in his weakened state I knew he’d never miss an opportunity to try to kick some doggy ass. We didn’t need the drama, so he waited while I got the all-clear. (Pet peeve: Vet’s offices that are designed in a way that fail to allow enough space for reactive or shy pets to get in and out without having to endure or cause additional trauma.) Thankfully, I was able to wrangle Hazer out of the SUV and gimp our way into the office together.
I love my vet. That bears saying again: I love my vet. First on the long list of reasons to adore her: she’s an experienced ACD owner herself. She GETS this curmudgeonly, stoic, serious breed. That makes for oh, so many things I don’t have to explain to her about my dog because she’s been there, done that with her own gang of bad-ass dogs. Whereas one vet might suggest an elderly dog sometimes plays mind games over their food, my vet believes me when I say food and games are not his gig. Like me, she’s known this dog since he was thirteen weeks old. She knows his quirks and his “death doesn’t scare me” attitude about most things in life. She knows that while he’d try rip any dog a new one, he’s never met a person he didn’t like and while he looks kind of mean, he’s really got a heart of gold. (Well, unless you’re another dog) But most important, my vet knows that when she looks Hazer in the eye and asks him how he feels, his answer is always going to be “ready to roll!” even when he can barely stand up.
We ran tests, took vitals (borderline temp), and did a very thorough exam (fine) while Hazer ate liver treats like they were gummy bears. (They’re about the ONLY thing he will eat). On the up side, nothing looks way out of whack. On the down side, obviously something is wrong. Since blood tests take about 12-14 hours, the best I could do is hope that I’d have a few answers in the morning. We talked about things I could do to try to tempt Hazer to eat (none of which have worked for us thus far) and returned home to wait for a call with the test results.
Meanwhile, Hazer is no longer interested in tagging along while I do barn chores, so for the first time in eleven years I’m flying solo. Between multiple trips to and from the paddock I still expect to see him laying in the hay, waiting with that expectant look on his face that says.”I’m here if you need a hand, Mom!” And when I’m done, I can almost hear his shrieks of joy as he jumps back and forth behind me, herding me as we walk toward the house, hoping there might be enough time for a quick toss of the Frisbee too. Instead, as I limp along the well-worn path my eyes glance toward the edge of the woods, to the place where a smattering of early spring flowers are ready to bloom , flowers that mark the place where Dozer and all the dogs before him have been laid to rest. I choke back a few deep sobs and wipe away the tears. I’m not willing to admit defeat yet, but I’m worried that I’ve been so laid up myself that I haven’t had time to contemplate Hazer’s final resting place. The thought shatters me anew and my guts clench with dread.
Late the following morning the vet calls. Her voice is cheery and bright and because I know her so well I realize the test results are good. Actually, they are beyond good. Hazer is a very healthy senior dog. Well, mostly healthy. There is that one little issue with anaplasma. Again. *Sigh* We live in Tick Central. Both of my ACDs have been treated multiple times for three persistent tick-related diseases. Hazer has been treated about seven or eight times. That’s a lot. And while it’s very difficult to know if we’re treating a NEW infection or just the old antibodies, we go on clinical symptoms. So if the dog has a low-grade fever and no appetite and everything else is OK except the titer numbers, then we treat it. Again, with thirty days of harsh antibiotics. It’s a necessary evil.
Unfortunately, by Friday the lack of interest in food or water and the fever had taken a toll so that afternoon I had to shovel Hazer’s butt back into the (now hairy) SUV and run him back to the vet for fluids and a shot that we hoped would calm his tummy enough so that he might eat. Or at least get the antibiotics down his gullet. Because prying his mouth open and sticking your hand down his throat is NOT a pilling option for this boy! But before he could get that shot he needed X-rays because you don’t want to mask an intestinal obstruction by giving a powerful drug to settle the gut if there’s a blockage. I didn’t object, especially since X-rays would give us even more information that we could maybe use. (The X-rays were read immediately by the radiologist and they were EXCELLENT!)
Home I went with a lumpy, but well-hydrated dog who looked none the less for wear. He perked up a bit, had a little pep in his step and small spark in his eye, but he still wouldn’t eat more than a handful of this or that. Have I mentioned how frustrating it is to be opening multiple cans of dog food, frying eggs in bacon grease and cooking all different kinds of meat while combating the dregs of my own five-day stomach virus? Ugh. For a dog who would normally eat anything offered, it’s just weird to see him not want to sample much of anything. And we’ve tried it all. I even made a last minute, eleventh-hour drive across town to pick up a frozen specialty that’s known to snap all but the most finicky eaters out of their funk. He refused to even try it.
So far I can interest Hazer in a few dried liver treats, a moist training delicacy appropriately named “Great Bait,” and an assortment of holistic doggy biscuits. That’s what he’s been living on for the last three days while I cross my fingers and hope today will be the day the antibiotic starts to kick in and make him feel more like himself, more like the dog who used to eat anything we gave him with gusto and glee. He looks a lot better today. He’s got more interest in taking pot-shots at Gus, in pissing everyone off in general and launching into random fits of barking. That’s my boy! *Sigh* He’s also drinking more water (good), but he’s still not interested in eating a real meal. I don’t know how many times I’ve thanked God he doesn’t weigh ten pounds. I don’t know what I’d do if he was a small dog who wouldn’t eat. While Hazer isn’t a fatty, at least he won’t fade away if he misses a couple of meals … or that’s what I tell myself as I wrap another plate of home cooked goodness and shove it back in the refrigerator. (My other two dogs are going to be fat as ticks!)
The clinical stuff is easy to write about, it’s the emotional toll that chips away at me; the hundreds of times a day that I look at Hazer with a mental check-list in mind. Is he resting OK? Does he look like he’s in pain? Is he freakin’ BREATHING? (I actually check several times a night. I’m up anyway.) Am I missing something? How long can this go on? Does he want to go?
That last question is the biggie. Hazer and I, we’ve had “the talk,” the one where I tell him it’s OK to want to go and just give me a sign if you’re ready. (Sob) Hazer stared back at me with clear, wise eyes. Licked my hand. Gave me his paw.
Not ready yet, Mom.
Spring arrived early this year, with unusually warm weather and it’s customary high winds. We had just enough snow on the ground all winter to render riding unsafe, so like everyone else who is infected with horse and spring fever, I’ve been looking forward to riding.
Wind has never been a good combo with any of my Arabs. As my previous Arabs grew older they were able to manage it, but when they were young they’d get too fired up to take them out riding alone. Especially in the spring, when gusty winds prevail. It’s no different with Dharla, so my ability to ride has been pick and choose this spring, based on the wind conditions and the general weather. We had one rather high energy ride with some friends a few weeks ago, but then the weather worked against us and we had to wait for the wind to die down again. Then last week we had a very nice, quiet ride. Dharla seemed very responsive and mellow …for an Arab in early spring … and I found myself wondering if now that she’s almost ten, are the wild and woolly novice years finally behind us? I returned home that day very pleased and so looking forward to moving our training along a bit.
Wishful thinking? I’d say not. I’ve put lots of time into Dharla. I’ve been more patient than I’ve ever been known for being and I’ve used the gentlest, kindest approach possible in my training methods. I mention that because I come from roots that didn’t always have the animal’s best interest at heart. But many years of reading and riding Arabs has taught me there’s a better way. I’ve been more determined than ever to take the right path with this horse, give her all the time she needs to grow up gently, knowing the rewards will pay off somewhere down the line in spades.
Teaching a young horse how to handle herself out on a trail ride takes hours and hours of calm, safe repetition. One wouldn’t think it would be so hard just to “walk down a trail,” but depending upon where you live it can actually take considerable time to desensitize a horse to the plethora of things they’ll meet outside their normal home environment. And while Dharla has a propensity toward spookiness, she’s steadily improved and grown to trust my judgement and hers out on the trail. There are many things we see out out there that she handles better than most horses with far greater experience, and I know I can credit that to patient persistence and hours and hours of riding time together. In my heart of hearts I believe I’ve done (at least) this part of the job right. Dharla has progressed from an green, skiddish spook-monger into a smart, thinking trail mount. That’s not to say I’d trust her 100% or call her bomb-proof, but we’re a pretty solid working team together. Some days it’s still two steps back and not enough steps forward, but for the most part I feel like we’re moving steadily in the right direction.
Unfortunately, last week our progress met the “perfect storm” of tests, and while we did our very best to hold things together, I ended up with an injury. The test involved two elements. Both, we could have handled individually, but together they were simply too much. While riding on a narrow path between two very steep rocky ledges we encountered (first) a partially-visible trail jogger some 2 stories overhead, followed almost immediately by a mountain biker who rode up (unheard, unannounced) on our tail. Just when I had Dharla almost convinced that the jogger overhead wasn’t a mountain lion about to pounce, the biker decided he could pass us while moving at a high rate of speed. Unannounced. On a four foot wide trail with steep ledges on both sides and nowhere to go to get a safe buffer space between us. Since we were currently preoccupied with the scary jogger overhead, neither the horse nor I knew the biker was coming up on us so fast until it was too late. Once Dharla heard the (almost) silent biker who was nearly upon us, I’m fairly certain she thought the “mountain lion” had come down off the rock ledge to hamstring her. I know how her mind works and her reaction was perfectly normal.
Dharla immediately shot forward, then spun quickly to face the adversary who was (at the moment) still advancing. It all happened so quickly. I was able to stay with Dharla until she spun around, at which point I started to become unseated. Normally I’m very hard to unseat, but my focus had been on the problem overhead when this happened, and part of my method for tackling that issue was to stay very physically relaxed and calm. And because Dharla seemed to be responding (momentarily) quite well, when she suddenly bolted it caught me off guard. Realizing I was going to slip off, I kicked my feet out of the stirrups and jumped off. Unfortunately, this also frightened Dharla and she quickly started to back up, which threw me further off balance. As I fell, my right knee collapsed inward and I hit the ground on my right hip. I still had a grip on the reins and Dharla was still backing up … fast. She pulled me about 20 yards up the trail as I gently and calmly asked her to whoa. I think once she realized she was dragging me (and not a mountain lion) she stopped and stood there trembling. As soon as I got on my feet I knew I had a problem. I had shooting and stabbing pain in my right knee and I wasn’t able to put much weight on that leg.
The biker did eventually stop. I suppose it could have been much worse: my horse could have kicked out at him as he tried to pass or even run into him in her attempt to escape, but she didn’t. She just wanted to get away from the threat as fast as she could and that’s pretty normal. He felt bad. He tired to help me, but the damage was done. I tried to walk the pain out, but that didn’t help. I stood still for a few minutes and spoke gently to Dharla, stroking her neck and trying to reassure her. She calmed down almost immediately. At that point I figured I wasn’t going to be able to walk her home, so I may as well try to get back on her and ride. Once I was up in the saddle my right knee/leg was supported by the stirrup and I decided I should try to ride Dharla a bit before going home. Yanno, to end things on a good note. 😉
We actually had a very nice ride from then on. All told, we rode for another hour and a half. Dharla was quiet, calm and her usual self. Several bikers passed us going both ways and she was fine. In fact, the same biker passed us again on his way back. He stopped and was very apologetic. No harm, no foul, what’s done is done. I knew at the very least I’d probably sprained something, but I just wanted to finish our ride in a good frame of mind. Both of us.
Later that night (because I didn’t think the injury was that bad until then) I went to the ER. Turns out I have two, possibly three tibial plateau fractures. Fortunately, the ACL and meniscus were not harmed. (About 50% of the time one or both are damaged and require surgical repair) I’m not going to have to wear a cast because that would interfere with knee function as I heal. Unfortunately, I’m not supposed to bear any weight on that leg for 4-6 weeks. *Sigh*
Like Roseanne Rosanna-Danna would say, “It’s always somethin’!”
Yesterday I woke up to a disturbing new story that unfolded a stone’s throw from my farm.
NEGLECTED HORSES, DOGS, CHICKENS, RABBITS SEIZED FROM EAST HAMPTON BREEDER
The Connecticut Department of Agriculture today seized 32 horses and numerous other animals from an East Hampton breeder as part of an animal cruelty investigation. The horses, along with two dogs, several rabbits and more than 80 chickens, were removed from the facility after an investigation determined the animals were malnourished, not receiving proper veterinary care and kept in unhealthy conditions.
The horses were taken under a search-and-seizure warrant signed by a Superior Court judge and brought to the department’s Second Chance large animal rehabilitation facility in Niantic, where they will be cared for as the investigation continues. The facility is owned by T. and M., who breed Friesian, Andalusian, and Gypsy Vanner horses.
The investigation began in September when East Hampton’s animal control officer received a complaint from a woman who had leased four horses to the breeder, and said the animals were emaciated when she picked them up a few days earlier. Those horses were subsequently hospitalized after being diagnosed with malnutrition and parasites.
The East Hampton officer went to the facility on Sept. 9, but was denied access to the animals. On Sept. 10, animal control officers from the Dept. of Agriculture went to the farm and found T. on the property, with no hay or grain available for the horses to eat. The initial assessment found that nearly half of the horses on the property were underweight and exhibiting signs of malnutrition including muscle wasting, protruding hip bones and visible ribs and spines.
T. was instructed to have hay and clean water available for the horses at all times, and to obtain veterinary care for numerous horses that had untrimmed of cracked hooves. A subsequent evaluation of the horses by a veterinarian hired by T. found that several had anemia related to malnutrition. The veterinarian advised T. to double the amount of hay given to the horses to 200 bales a week, and made a list of other detailed feeding and treatment suggestions for him to follow.
Dept. of Agriculture animal control officers made regular visits to the property to check on the horses’ progress, and observed that some had gained weight while others had not. T., however, admitted that he did not follow through on most of the recommendations made by the officers and the veterinarian, including supplying copies of receipts for the purchase of hay and grain.
On Dec. 4, state animal control officers returned to the farm and again found the horses with no hay available to eat, and two in a barn with no food or water. Officers gave the two horses water and they drank several gallons immediately, indicating that they had been without water for some time. T. eventually arrived at the farm with a load of hay he had just picked up.
Today, each of the 32 horses was evaluated by Dr. Bruce S., a veterinarian with the Dept. of Agriculture, who determined that all were to be removed from the property to ensure they were properly treated in a healthy environment. “Our goal was to work with the owner to rehabilitate the horses on site,” said Dr. Bruce S., Director of the agency’s Bureau of Regulation and Inspection. “Unfortunately, our best efforts to bring the owner into compliance did not result in all of the horses being cared for to the degree that we required.” The dogs, chickens and rabbits were taken to municipal animal shelters in nearby towns. The Dept. of Agriculture will continue the investigation to determine if criminal charges are warranted.
After I got over the initial shock (the photos were graphic) anger set in. How is it possible that our local Animal Control Officer (ACO) acted quickly, getting the state on the premises the DAY AFTER he was denied admittance to the farm, but the state allowed these animals to deteriorate for another FIVE MONTHS? Excuse me? I understand that in a perfect world the owners would realize their error and make the appropriate effort to correct the situation according to the protocol outlined for them. However, I find it reprehensible that the state authorities would take the word of a chronic and pathologically negligent breeder. (Further reports since the original came out have stated that the owners neglected animals on a farm at a previous location)
This is not rocket science, folks. If you ALREADY have animals that are so underweight they are ALREADY suffering of malnutrition in September you DO NOT let winter advance and just hope that the owners are going to step up to the plate and do their job. No sir. You get your butts back there weekly … or appoint someone who can evaluate their efforts weekly to make sure the owners are in fact supplying hay and grain. If not, then you get those suffering animals out. There is no excuse for letting these animals starve for another five months. None at all. How long were these animals left there starved and malnourished? A MINIMUM of TEN months, if not longer!!
‘Scuse me. That’s the sound of me retching.
In all fairness, the article says the state DID check back …. and AGAIN found the owners in breech of compliance. (And the animals stayed put?) So at that point you’d THINK the state would maybe hammer out an arrangement whereby someone would be given the authority to make weekly random checks at the farm. I mean, it’s pretty darn hard to disguise the fact that you don’t have 200 bales of hay or grain in your barn. What would that have taken … all of ten minutes?
As horse lovers, owners, breeders, trainers and riders we need to FIX THIS MESS. My question is, how do we get the authorities to take quicker action? I’m not interested in the condemnation or punishment of those who do this kind of stuff; the authorities can deal with that on their own terms. Because Honestly, I don’t think there is any way to stop or curb people from doing stupid stuff like this. I just don’t. You don’t have to have a license to own a house pet or to breed them and even if you did, that issue would be rife with problems. And here’s another rub: today these state agencies are getting sent out on bogus complaints about animal abuse: Farms that don’t blanket their livestock, barns that are not heated … truly trumped-up, animal rights nonsense. So how do we get these agencies to operate using good common sense? It seems to me that if you have already starving, emaciated horses with no hay or grain in September, you don’t wait until February (in New England, no less) to see if the owners will comply with your guidelines. Not without going back every week to make sure there is hay and grain on the premises. That’s not rocket science, folks, it’s just common sense!
Do the math, people! To feed 200 bales of hay a week to 32 horses it would cost the owners around $5,400.00 per month. And that’s just hay for the horses, not grain or feed for their dogs or other livestock. This wasn’t a boarding barn or a lesson barn, it was a BREEDING operation. In today’s economy, you’d have to sell a LOT of horses to make an income to run a farm of that size. How could that fact be so very obvious to an idiot like me, yet the state agency just seemed to overlook it?
And enough with the “Oh, those poor horses,” and “We should just hang the owners.” And enough throwing money at fund raisers (Go FundMe) for the state agency that failed to remove these animals when they could & should. Allowing these animals to deteriorate for six long months did nothing but prolong their suffering and make their recovery even harder and more costly in the long run. Meanwhile, the next “vanity breeder” or hoarder is slowly going over the edge … maybe this time in YOUR town. And make no mistake, animal rights activists are just eating this stuff up. Our unwillingness to fix this mess gives them plenty of fodder for their ever-widening campaign to make sure none of us will get to enjoy domestic animals in the future.
Something needs to change. I’ve written my local state representative and I hope when some of the heat dies down I’ll hear back from her. I know my local ACO and I’ll try to connect with him next week. I have questions that need answers. I’ve had enough of waiting for someone to fix the system while these horses suffered right under our noses. And there will be more suffering, mark my words. Because you can’t fix the kind of stupid that’s always just another accident waiting to happen.
If anyone has any experience dealing with this, please feel free to share. I have absolutely no idea how to go about trying to facilitate change. Like anything else, I suppose I’ll just stumble my way through it, but if anyone has any suggestions I’m all ears!
Having animals should teach you something about growing old. The closer Hazer gets to the edge of his life expectancy the more we’re just trying to have fun and make every minute count. It’s not that he doesn’t annoy me sometimes. He does. Make no mistake about that! But I’m trying to overlook the stuff that old age tends to exaggerate. Like his propensity to want to control things beyond his control, and his tendency to shriek at every little thing. Even imaginary things.
It’s ironic that a dog who in all his long years never wanted affection or attention, now seeks it unashamedly. I used to think that would make parting company easier (when the time comes) and then he goes and has a change of heart toward me these last few months. Does he sense his time is growing short or did he just give up the fight to be a bastard to the bitter end? I’d like to think he had a change of heart, that all the years of trying to break through his tough exterior actually had an effect. Either way, I’m enjoying it. Soaking it up like a sponge. It’s nice to be able to touch your dog without him giving you the stink eye and moving away, or sneak in a snuggle and a kiss …. as long as I don’t linger very long.
Hazer, you’ve always had my heart, albeit from the other side of a glass wall. My only regret is that it took age and infirmity for you to break through the barrier. Here’s to making every last minute count.
I have days (more than I’d like to count) where I cant look at my dog without getting teary. He’s suddenly aging way too fast and things are cropping up here and there that are problems, albeit minor problems thus far. He’s had reoccurring lip infections, a small fatty tumor near his rib cage, miscellaneous small bumps (growths) scattered here and there and the worst of his ailments: a degenerative loss of coordination and strength in his hind legs.
None of these issues are really unexpected. Hazer is eleven and at some point most dogs will begin to show signs of aging. Sadly, nothing lives forever. As much as I’ve always tried to have a matter-of-fact attitude about death, I’m struggling with it this time. I think that’s due to my own advancing age: I’m not quite sure I’ll ” just get over it” when Hazer’s gone. In the past I’ve always mourned my losses, but I knew I had plenty of time left to open my heart and home to another dog (Or three!). In fact, it wasn’t even something I had to think about. Now? I’m not so sure.
When I do the math the projections put me into my early seventies for my next “aged” dog. Will I be able to cope with another loss then? Will I stay healthy enough during my sixties to provide for a young active dog? What about the rising cost of vet care and other miscellaneous expenses? As my extended family members age, what if I need to travel to be with them or just visit more often? It gets complicated and bottom line, I’m not so sure I can ease the loss of one of my dogs by investing in another. And so I think the finality of losing Hazer makes me sad. I’m not saying I won’t get another dog (and I still have Gus and Nina), but the odds of my raising another Cattle Dog from scratch seem slim … or slimmer than they used to be.
I can always adopt an “adult” dog. I know this, but I’m not sure I’ll do it. Nina was a “failed” foster, but I think that was an incredibly lucky situation where I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’m not a big fan of trying to bring an adult dog into a home that already has adult dogs. I don’t think it’s nearly as easy or as smooth of a transition as getting a puppy. So it’s hard to say. I’d like to think I’ll try to keep my options open because I like the idea of providing a home for an animal that needs one, but sometimes it’s just not the right choice.
If anything, it’s pretty clear my days of hiking, herding, Frisbee and doing all the marvelous things I’ve done with Hazer might be done. And while the older, tired part of me is probably just fine with that, there’s a part of me that’s grieving. When Hazer is gone it will be the end of a three-decade era of canine fun and games. I don’t say that to sound morbid, but it’s true. I’ve already noticed that the activities I do with three year-old Gus are much tamer than what I’ve done with my previous dogs in the past. So with that in mind I can’t help but wonder if it’s even fair to get another young, exuberant Cattle Dog pup? I’ve always rallied. I’ve always put a lot of time and energy into my pets. But maybe deep down I know it might be time to take things down a notch. And that makes me a little sad.
I can’t even begin to describe all the places my mind goes every time I look at Hazer. My life with him has been SO complex, so packed with opposites and extremes and yet, so full. They say you miss the really difficult dogs the most: all the struggles, the heartbreak, the little tiny successes that get overshadowed by all the epic failures. I haven’t even lost Hazer yet and I know that’s true. Raising Hazer has taught me more about life than any dog before him. It taught me humility, pride, sacrifice, patience and mostly, it taught me how to love something that is deeply flawed.
As a perfectionist who holds herself to a very high standard, love has been Hazer’s greatest gift: Unconditional love for him. Love, when the very last thing you feel is the milk of human kindness. Love in the face of embarrassing failure. Love that lets you admit you’ve messed up … but it’s OK. Life with Hazer taught me how to love when my love wasn’t being returned and how to love when the love I was getting back didn’t look or feel like the kind of love I wanted. He taught me to love in the midst of hopes and dreams that have been crushed and flushed, and to love when there is no other choice but love.
Life with Hazer has seen a lot of ups and downs, highs and lows and two steps forward, ten steps back. And when people ask me if I’d go back and do it all over again I usually have to pause, because I’m not so sure I would. But I’m glad I did it. I’m grateful for all I’ve learned. Living with Hazer has been an enormous challenge, the kind of challenge I’ll never take lightly again, but the kind of challenge I’ll always be proud I took. I love Hazer to the moon and back, and while a day seldom passes that we don’t lock horns over something, my life has been richer (and certainly LOUDER) because of him.