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Posts tagged “animals

Change of Pace

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted here. Lots of change in the world, and in my own world since April of ’21. We got a new puppy in mid-May, which has kept me on my toes in more ways than one. It was a horribly wet, hot, humid summer and I didn’t get in much riding. It actually rained every weekend except two, from the beginning of July until … well, now. We just went through fourteen days of drizzle and rain in a row, then saw the sun for two hours, then back to more gray skies. We’re supposed to get our first “big” snowstorm of the season tomorrow, but enough about the lousy weather.

I’m actually posting to let followers know (if there are any left) that I’ve started a new blog. It’s called Stitch and Bitch, and it’s about knitting and other miscellaneous musings. This blog was mostly about photography, which I’ve more or less stepped away from doing on a regular basis. I’m just getting started at the new blog, but you don’t have to be a knitter to have a look. I have no intention of getting technical there. It will mostly be about the same kind of stuff I’ve blogged about here, minus the discourse about taking photos.

Hope to see you there!


Travel

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The best way to travel, if you can!


Labor

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Herding: It’s hard work!

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Hunting: It’s hard work!


Hello!

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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! 🙂


Red and Blue

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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That’ll Do

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Tanglewood’s Who Dunnit Again

“Hazer”

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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.

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Check, Please!

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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 Fling

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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’!”


How We Change

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Yesterday I woke up to a disturbing new story that unfolded a stone’s throw from my farm.

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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.

 

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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!!

ARGH!!

‘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!


Things That Matter

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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.


Golden Years

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Hazer

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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.


Clara Barton

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I’ve spent the last week trying to get comfortable with the idea of letting go of my winter plans. Boarding a horse when you have a barn in your own back yard is a big step, and not one I take lightly. It required a good deal of planning and forethought to move my horse and that isn’t something I’d decide last minute to do. In fact, I didn’t board Dharla at all last winter; a decision I’m still not sure was right or wrong.

That said, I know when something isn’t working. I get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and I can’t stop thinking about things. Although I’m not prone to insomnia, if I’m bothered enough about something I’ll wake up during the night and spend several hours tossing and turning while my mind goes over every little detail. When the same symptoms start to creep up on me during the day I know I have to address things.

The last few weeks have been a little stressful. I’ve had multiple animals all my adult life so it’s not very often that I’m caught off guard. I expect “stuff” to crop up now and then. Illness. Hierarchy spats. Changes in routine. What I’m never prepared for are multiple issues at once. Like the sick dog who needs a month of medication, and the horse or another dog who decides to develop a medical issue at the same time. That throws me for a loop.

And when talking about medical things can I just say that I like my diagnoses cut and dry? For example, your dog (or horse) has X, Y, Z. Do _____ (fill in the bank) and it will get better. I like it even more if the Vet can tell me an approximate time frame for when the patient will start acting and feeling better. For those of you who don’t have animals (first of all, my deepest sympathies. Go out and fix that oversight right now!), it’s a little like having a sick infant. You fret. You worry. You wish for the millionth time they could tell you what’s wrong and say exactly how they feel. But they can’t, so it’s a guessing and waiting game. It sucks. If you’re anything like me, you start steeling yourself for “the worst.” I’m never quite sure what “the worst” is, so I run through a completely different scenario about every hour or so. And by default, I go into “evaluation” mode, which is to say that every time I look at said animal I run through a mental check list of potential problems. It’s exhausting.

I have one dog who just finished 30 days of medication for anaplasma. For the fifth year in a row. To be honest, we’re not sure if we’re treating a new infection or the remnants of an old one. But with a list of very serious (potential) issues when left untreated, who am I to argue? I’m not inclined to play Russian Roulette with my critters. She’s a great pill-taker and she  looked a bit perkier after a week or so of treatment. That’s not to say she seemed sick. She didn’t. We caught the high titer on an annual tick panel that I run on all my dogs because we live in tick Central.

The red dog is struggling with mobility. It came on quickly, which leads the vet to suspect it’s not arthritis or typical old age. (He’s a healthy 11) He’s trying an arthritis medication for a week to see if it makes any difference in his ability to get around. Day 3 and I see no change. He’s willing to run and play and do all things dog-like, but his body isn’t buyin’ it. Next line of exploration is nerve and disc testing. We already know he has spinal fusion in his lumbar region, so it’s possible there’s an increasing issue there. He seems to be pain-free and the biggest problem is keeping him from doing stuff that he really wants to do, but can’t. Think: seventy year-old who wants to play rugby. This is a dog who requires a lot of mental and physical stimulation or he gets obnoxious. He’s like the high drive puppy breeders  warn you about, but sometimes fail to mention will quite possibly stay that way … f o r  f r e a k i n g  e v e r! Yes, this is a challenge and depending upon what kind of day I’m having, it can become a night mare.

The horses are doing pretty well. One is a little leaner than I’d like, but we’re not sure why. It’s not worrisome enough to run any tests. Thankfully, this winter hasn’t been to hard … yet … so we made some feed adjustments and we’ll see if that helps.  We recently found out Rascal is 95% blind in one eye. That’s not exactly a health issue, but it’s  interesting information nonetheless. We also learned that Bullet has diminished vision in one eye and Dhalra has a an ocular anomalie in one eye. What is it with eyes here?

And Gus? Gus is wonderfully normal. No health problems. No temperament issues. No worries. Just pure, unadulterated fun and love! Being the only “normal” pet on the farm is a big load to carry, but Gus soldiers on like it’s no big deal. Gotta love that rattitude!

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Three Steps Back

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As per my previous post, Dharla was moved to a boarding barn in the beginning of November. Unfortunately, due to a crazy, mixed-up schedule, she had to come back home ten days later for various vet & chiro appointments. These were appointments that had been scheduled previously, but had to be postponed until November. Since I wasn’t about to pay two trip changes (Really? A second charge to drive 2.5 miles to a second location?), I decided to ride her home. Naturally, once the appointments were over the weather wouldn’t cooperate for me to ride her the half hour ride back, so we lost a little over a week of training. Not a great start.

To say we didn’t start off on the right foot would be an understatement. Oh, she settled in OK the first time there, but it’s been one headache after another since she went back. I won’t go into the details here, but it should suffice to say that basic people skills and an attempt to make sure the customer is (somewhat) happy should be the core of any successful business. And when it’s not? Shit happens.

Dharla will be coming home after we get our fully paid month of training and board. We have nine days to “make up” but I’m not even sure if we’ll stay long enough to fulfill that. (Since I’ll ride her home, our departure is weather dependent.) My unhappiness at the barn has nothing to do with my trainer and it pains me that circumstances beyond her control will force us to move on. It ain’t her fault, but I’m too old to waste another minute of my time or spend another dime at a barn where there are so many glaring issues.

It isn’t always easy for me to recognize when something isn’t working.  Since I hate the idea of conflict, I’ll do just about anything to avoid it. But age highlights the fact that time is precious. More than ever I feel like  I don’t have the luxury of just waiting to see if issues will work themselves out. Nor am I willing to put up with circumstances that, two decades ago probably wouldn’t have bothered me a bit. Comfort. Safety. Camaraderie. Those things are important to me now and if they’re lacking … I’m gone.


Herds and Friends

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I can spend hours watching my horses interact with each other. Herd dynamics have always intrigued me. Not a day goes by that I’m not thankful my horses all get along. Oh, sometimes they have an occasional ear-pinning, foot-flying spat, but I don’t have a truly mean horse in the bunch. I have friends who’ve had to carve out individual paddocks and pens because of personality disputes, so I consider myself lucky that mine all get along.

As the hierarchy goes, Rascal rules the roost. Dharla runs a pretty close second, but while she tends to respect Rascal, she’s not against giving him her opinion every now and then. Generally speaking though, Dharla defers to Rascal’s wishes. Bullet is the bottom of the herd. He’s persistent and he can be a big pest, but he always caves to any serious pressure from either of the other two horses. Bullet is a foundation bred buckskin and he happens to be one of most easy-keeping horses I’ve ever known. He doesn’t require any fuss or fanfare. He’ll gladly stand out in any kind of weather and eat anything you give him. He’s not married to any kind of routine and doesn’t even want the creature comforts our other horses seem to enjoy. If it’s pouring rain and Rascal and Dharla hog the run-in, Bullet doesn’t care a whit. Snowing like crazy? Rascal and Dharla want their blankets, but Bullet rarely wears one. He’s just the most easy to please guy. Nothing bugs him and he never complains when he gets booted from hay pile to hay pile. If he can share someone’s hay that’s great, but if not, who cares? He’s a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. At times when there isn’t any food around you can usually find the two boys hanging out together and Dharla will be off to the side on her own. She doesn’t like to be crowded.

While none of my gang are herd-bound, they do like to keep track of each other, especially when they are all turned out in the larger pasture. To get them to come back to the barn I only need to call to Dharla and the boys will follow. They find safety and comfort in their little band, and that works just fine for me.


Getting It Right

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Whenever I finish a good book it takes a few days to slip back into the real world. My body goes through the motions of my daily routine, but my head isn’t in the game. I’m still back there …. wherever that might be. The book Stable Relation was “that” kind of book; a book where somewhere around the halfway point I started glancing at the dwindling pages left to read and dreaded the fact that the book would soon end. I slowed myself down to a crawl, putting the book aside every couple of pages and giving myself time to digest the words. Still, the story had to end and when it did, I found myself wanting more. More wisdom. More patience. More love.

Anna writes a lot about love and patience and her intuitive wisdom leaps from nearly every page. That’s not to say Anna thinks she’s wise. She doesn’t. But I guess when you spend the first two decades of your life steeped in angst and irritability you eventually have to make a choice: you can either become what you’ve been shown or you can run like hell in the opposite direction. Having been trapped in midst of a very dysfunctional upbringing, it seems like it would be the wise choice to try to change your destiny. That said, I’m fairly certain this is MUCH harder to do than most think.

I grew up in an era where animal training and farm life were not particularly pleasant. We did not operate from the core philosophy of first, do no harm. It was more or less assumed that all animals were “dumb” and humans needed to bend them to our will. The vast majority of farmers didn’t consider the animals in their charge pets, friends or companions, but saw their animals as a source of income, be it in the beef or dairy market or as breeding stock. And they didn’t speak of these roles in politically correct terms so as not to offend anyone. What’s the saying now? It was what it was.

When I left home with the first dog of my independent, adult life, I didn’t know squat about training an animal. I grew up with an assortment of animals, but training wasn’t a big focus in my life. I had a horse that was already broke to ride when I got her and although I suppose I can claim I taught her how to race barrels, I suspect (because she was so enthusiastically good at it) that she already knew how. My first dog was a Humane Society adoptee who, a little initial fear aggression aside, was so biddable and willing to please that merely thinking what I wanted her to do got immediate results. Naturally, with these two highly successes starts behind me I thought I had a gift.

I do not.

As life went on I got out of horses (briefly) and into dogs. By the time my future husband entered the picture we had four dogs  between us, and that number didn’t drop for several years. The dog’s ages were staggered and almost as soon as we lost one, we got another. We were into the big breeds then; German Shepherds and Dobermans, soon followed by the slightly smaller (but formidable) Australian Cattle dogs. I was usually the one who spent the most time putting some basic training on our pets. I had moderate expectations and none of our dogs were particularly difficult to train. I soon found I had good results training the dogs I considered “mine,” but somewhat less success working with the Doberman gang that belonged to my husband. By the time we morphed into Cattle dogs my husband was removed from the training process all together. It was me who spent the lion’s share of the day with our dogs so the responsibility fell on my shoulders.

I never took a formal training class until I got Cattle dogs. Having been forewarned that ACDs can be more of a challenge, I enrolled my second ACD puppy in something new: Puppy Kindergarten. It was 1998 and it sounded like a great idea. After all, who can argue with teaching a young puppy how to sit, come, and play nicely with other dogs? I eagerly arrived for the first class only to discover that I had the smallest, youngest and most easily intimidated pup in the group. Unfortunately, the trainer knew very little about how to help pups with issues like mine and I was even less enlightened. With hindsight, I should have gathered up my puppy and walked away, but I thought I had to stick it out and we were encouraged to try. By the third or forth class my pup’s fearfulness had turned into aggression. She was so tiny that several of the other puppy owners thought her behavior was “cute,” but I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I think I stopped going shortly thereafter. Fortunately, my puppy didn’t end up aggressive, but she was always aloof and very much a loner. I’ll never know how much of her adult personality was nurture or nature.

Because I’m a slow learner and have a burning need to DO THINGS RIGHT, several years later I enrolled my next ACD puppy in puppy kindergarten. By then the Internet was well into swing and I belonged to an ACD news list. For the first time I could rub virtual shoulders with experienced trainers and dog folks and learn the proper way to go about raising a responsible pet. Most of the people on these lists had high expectations of new puppy owners. Lots of folks showed their dogs and bragged about their prowess in everything from conformation to obedience and agility. The Canine Good Citizen test had just been created and many experienced handlers encouraged novice folks to aim for that.

My second puppy kindergarten class was far worse than my first. My puppy Hazer was a social menace and our attempts to change his behavior with positive reinforcement and gentle exposure was a disaster. In his defense, he nailed everything connected to performance. Sit, come, stay, down, place … he did it all and he did it flawlessly on the second or third try. Problem was, his mind worked at warp speed and he was easily bored once he knew something. He didn’t “get” repetition. It irked him. And when he was bored he was trouble with a capital T. I distinctly remember the instructor asking me to remove my puppy from the classroom while other dogs were socializing off-leash. Hazer was a land shark and nobody wanted him anywhere near them or their puppy. I stood in the hall with my treat bag, drilling Hazer on anything I knew he could do so I could reward him. “Watch me!” “Good boy!” “Sit!” Over and over we worked on skills he’d already mastered while his classmates flailed around and failed abysmally in their attempts to grasp the most basic stuff.

In retrospect, I should have left that class too, but I didn’t. Some deep desire to Get It Right held me captive to the bitter end. That decision was hugely detrimental to my dog. I didn’t know that then.  I erroneously thought  sticking with it was important, but I know that was a mistake now. Fortunately, I’ve since learned to put what’s best for my dog ahead of my own needs, wants, goals and yearning desire to “fit in.”  But back then Hazer was going to be my golden boy, my first wonderfully bred, purposely chosen dog who was created and selected with certain long-range goals in mind. I had high hopes and standards. That sounds pretty lofty for someone who’d never really learned how to train a dog before. But all my previous success (via minimal effort) with my former dogs led me to believe that I knew a boatload more than I did. I had an ego in my way. Not a loud, pompous ego, but a quiet, profound belief that I was much smarter than I was.

I firmly believe Hazer came into my life to teach me that I didn’t begin to know how much I didn’t know. And much to my chagrin, he wasn’t the only pet to do this. A few years later my new horse Dharla did the same thing. She rode into my life on the heels of a well-honed 23-year relationship with the perfection that was known by me as Tia. Young, green and full of vinegar, it would have been easy to blame Dharla for our early blunders, except at some point I stumbled onto Anna’s blog and I stopped thinking I had the wrong horse. Ironically, I also stopped reading everything I could find about “natural horsemanship” and began looking at my own heart stuff. Because Dharla and my roadblocks weren’t about leadership or round pens, they were about me. I am my own worst enemy.  I know that now. No, Anna never came out and told me so, but her words left little doubt in my mind. And I’m actually OK with that, with me being the problem. It makes me appreciate Dharla’s patience with me so much more.

To show you just how far I’ve come, there was a time when I thought I knew what leadership meant. I did lots of basic training and ground work and tried to build trust slowly. Still, Dharla and I continued to encounter friction under saddle. The more we worked on basics, the more frustrated I got. So I started to search for a different approach and naturally, turned to the Internet for answers. Eventually I found Anna’s blog, signed up and started the gradual shift in my thinking. For awhile I still grappled with the concept of leadership. Oh, I understood what the word meant, but the internal debate about leadership and how one ought to go about creating it was so mixed and emotionally charged that it was only through much experimentation and personal exploration I came to see that leadership is the wrong word for me. I now prefer to have a partnership with my animals because a “partnership” suggests the mutual desire to share an activity or goal. A partnership also implies respect. Respect for the leader as well as for the led. So when I’m working with my animals I like to keep in mind the concept of asking as opposed to demanding. A leader says, “Follow me because I said so.” A partner says, “Let’s do it this way, together. Will you trust me?” Bottom line, am I asking my horse or dog to follow my lead or am I stubbornly insisting? Since force tends to lead to resistance, I try to keep my leadership soft and pliable. I’m open to options. I’m willing to work with what my animals can give me today, even if it’s not the whole enchilada. Don’t like passing the gate? OK, let’s cut the ring in half and skip going past the gate for now … and my, what a wonderful, calm trot you have today! It’s hard to make an issue out of something if you remove the problem from the equation and focus on what is going well! Go back and revisit gate-passing another time, when you and your horse are working and thinking better as a team. I try to remember there’s no “Have-to” in training. You get to progress at a rate that’s right for you and your partner. Sure, in an emergency situation you might have to insist your animal follows your lead without hesitation, but that aside, most training is about building trust and partnership slowly, one small step at a time time. It’s about finding that sweet spot that’s not built on the theory of “Because I said so!” but, “Because I asked.” And yes, I’ll always be grateful to Anna, the friend who helped me hone my mantra.

So what is getting it right? I guess for me it’s learning a better way, a way where I can lead and follow with my heart. Because like Melvin Udall says in As Good As It Gets, that makes me want to be a better woman.


What Is Home?

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Stable Relation: A memoir of one woman’s spirited journey home, by way of the barn

By

Anna Blake

When friends ask me why I like to read memoirs I usually say it’s because I’m the curious sort. Perhaps that’s just another way of saying I’m nosy, but there you have it. I like to read about how other people have navigated the challenges they’ve met in life. Because we all have them, you know. Some memoirs do a great job of telling you about everything that went right or wrong, but fail to really explore the nuts and bolts of the journey. That’s not a criticism; everyone tells their story their own way and for different reasons. But I happen to be most fond of the memoirs that tackle the grittier stuff. The stuff that makes you have to put the book down and really chew on the words for a bit.

Stable Relation is that kind of memoir. A perfect blend of tongue-in-cheek humor, confessional and a heaping dash of salt-of-the-earth common sense. This book not only challenges how you think and feel, but encourages you to become more present and aware of your path in life. Yes, there were several Kleenex moments for me. Actually, I lost count, but I’m a woman of a certain age and I’ve earned the right to lean more toward the sentimental side now. And no, I’m not ashamed. You won’t be either. It’s OK.

This memoir is about Cattle Dogs, Dobies, mutts, ducks, horses, llamas and goats. There are blizzards, bad memories, blistering sun and batty first dates, as well as the occasional flashback about dysfunctional family, distant relatives and old friends. Anna makes it pretty clear from the start that her birthright was an early life chock full of crap and crisis. By the time she hit midlife she was at a crossroad. She wanted to exorcise the crazy and decided to use a career dilemma as her turning point. With little more than burning passion, determination and an abundance of elbow grease, Anna begins to carve out a place of her own on the prairie.

As the story unfolds, Anna talks about becoming temporarily attached to the various assortment of birds and critters that share the daily routine at her farm. I can relate. The first Spring on my farm we were visited nightly by a methodical, comedic female raccoon who not only stopped by to see what we might have to offer, but for several years thereafter brought her entire family along for the ride! (We called her Sport) And I still search the trees by the pond where I once photographed a one-eyed hawk. I have no reason to believe she might still be around, except that I’d like to think she is. Anna writes about her awe for the creatures and the unique environment she shares with them, in spite of life’s ups, downs and (often times) harsh lessons. Anyone who grew up on a farm knows that as beautiful as farm life can be, an unforgiving and harsh reality is always lurking in the shadows. Survival depends on balancing what is perfect and good with the fear of what that can morph into in the blink of an eye. Mention the word colic around any horse person and you’ll see what I mean.

Anna shares several experiences that helped her find the strength to push past a miserable start in life and mature into a woman who, above all, values and models grace, kindness and generosity of heart and spirit. What makes this book so special is the hilarious cast of characters who mentor Anna on this journey and help her build a new trust in the healing balm of love. If you’re anything like me, you’ll be humbled by the author’s unfiltered adoration and devotion for her charges and impressed by her intuitive, gentle approach. These gifts seem especially unique given how little love or compassion she was shown as a child. How does one learn to use these tools if they’ve never been taught? Anna shows you how. And if she can do it, so can you.

I started out reading this memoir slowly. I wanted to savor every chapter. But as the story continued I no longer had to force myself to slow down rather, I NEEDED to read islowly.

This book is not just good.

It’s not just a winner.

It’s profound.

And if Stable Relation is any indication of what we might be hearing from Anna in the future, I can’t wait for more!


Aftermath

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After a long tense day at the vet, Hazer is back to “normal” this morning. I picked him up at almost four PM and although he seemed fairly alert, he wasn’t at all his usual self. I helped his wobbly butt into my car, where he wined the whole fifteen minute drive home. (Hazer is typically not a whiny dog!) Seconds after walking in the door he puddled up just feet away from his bed and fell asleep. An hour or two later he woke up long enough to eat a small meal, then slept through our dinner and into the evening. When Hazer was awake he was whiny and defensive toward the other two dogs, who were kept well out of his reach and behind gates. I sensed Hazer’s fear and trepidation about being so incapacitated and I did everything I could to alleviate his concern. I expected this and had a solid plan in place before he came home. Actually, the only thing that did surprise me was how long the effects of the anesthesia seemed to last. In all fairness, the only other time Hazer has ever had surgery he was a much younger dog, so I suspect his age might have had something to do with his response. This really drove home my belief that the less I mess with Hazer the better, and while I don’t regret my decision to have his teeth done, I’m glad I didn’t put it off any longer.

At nine thirty Hazer went out for last call, then directly to my bedroom to his bed. At that point he was slightly more mentally alert, but I could see he still didn’t have a good grip on things. He was, however, willing to tolerate sharing the bedroom with Nina. I suspect this was because Nina isn’t one to make a fuss over much. She gave Hazer a quick curious sniff, then moseyed over to her own bed and hit the hay. I love Nina’s matter-of-fact, non-threatening demeanor. I was pleased that she did as exactly as I thought and acted as though nothing was amiss. Hazer quickly zonked out and didn’t stir all night. This morning he’s fit as a fiddle and right back into our regular routine, none the worse for wear.

And his teeth? They look fabulous!


I Feel Pretty

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I’m having a Hazer vacation today. Over the last few years I’ve been using a holistic dental hygienist to clean my dog’s teeth, but Hazer finally reached the point where he needed a more thorough cleaning. For many years digestive upset has forced Hazer to consume a grain-free diet, which I suspect is at the root of his dental problem. This (expensive) type of diet has resolved some of his digestive issues, bit it’s a more “sticky” type of food than traditional kibble. Add the fact that Hazer has never been one to tolerate much hands on, and you have a situation where I can’t really do much here at home to clean his teeth. Oh, we give it the college try, but evidence shows we don’t put much of a dent in things.

Any time one of my animals needs special care or vet attention I worry. I worry about the procedure itself, and with Hazer I worry about his ability to cope with the environment and stress. The worry doesn’t end when he comes home. In fact, I have to be extra diligent when we return from the vet this afternoon. “Vet smell” can send an alarming scent to my other dogs and their curiosity will not be welcomed by Hazer. Hazer is the kind of dog who reacts negatively to any perception of infirmity or weakness; his, or that of another dog. So we will have to take plenty of time to re-acclimate Hazer once he is home.  This would be best done outdoors if possible, but since winter has decided to stick around it will be too slippery and cold. Fortunately, I’m prepared to manage things inside. By bedtime tonight, things should be well on their way back to normal.

Hazer is such a large presence that the house feels quite different when he’s not here. It calls to mind Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone; the minute the house is a Hazer-free zone I want to run around and do a million things I can’t do (or can’t easily do) when Hazer is home. Like vacuum, lay on the floor (?) hug the other dogs, come and go without having to trip over his prancing body or do just about anything without having to listen to his ear-piercing shrieks or threatening growls. There’s a freedom in this, yet it feels empty. There is quiet in his absence, but the peace lacks energy. I’ve always said my relationship with Hazer is Yin and Yang and nothing makes me more aware of that than the few rare moments when he isn’t right beside me.


Spring, Where Art Thou?

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Things are melting, refreezing, then melting again. We have lots of icy morning paths, frozen piles of manure and a light skin of ice on the water tank. I’ve smartened up. Instead of trying to pick the paddock I only clear a few areas to put out the hay. After the sun has warmed the surface of the ground I go back out and finish the job more thoroughly.  All but one large patch of stubborn snow has slid off the roof of the barn, making it less dangerous for me to be out there with horses who bolt and run at the slightest notion that the sky is falling. This has been our first winter in the new barn and I’m still getting used to the ups and downs of the environment. The snow-sliding-off-the-roof drama is a new experience for me and I’ve had to cultivate an awareness of where I am in proximity to the horses when the conditions are ripe for a snow slide. It’s a whole different kind of learning curve.

We have to wait until the sun has softened the frozen landscape, but by  mid-afternoon I can get the dogs out to play a little ball and Frisbee, after which Hazer would be content to find a sunny spot and just curl up in the snow. But with not much to do in the way of chores our time outside is still limited. We all have a bad case of cabin fever. The gardening catalogs that keep jamming my mailbox are no help.


Curmudgeon Report

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(Click on photo)

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This photo was taken two weeks ago. Nothing has changed except the snow on the the barn roof slid off, creating a 5 foot wall of snow the entire length of the run-in. This happened an hour after we spent three hours plowing and shoveling the paddock, the drive and various paths. *Sigh* For weeks I played the blanket game: blankets on, blankets off, double blankets at night for the mare, no blanket for the buckskin during the day. It about drove me to drink. And if that didn’t make me woozy enough we had endless days with sub-zero temps. One morning it took three attempts to get everyone fed, blankets sorted out and the paddock picked to my liking. I had to keep running inside (and I do mean running) because my fingers and toes were on fire from the cold. I’ve learned that while it might not look pretty, it’s possible to run wearing ice cleats! I may have invented a new Olympic sport.

My house is now leaking, my back yard is a skating rink and I hold my breath every time I let the dogs out. Speaking of which, they’ve coped pretty well with being cooped-up for so long. That can only mean one thing: they’re getting old.


Sad news

exBruce2(WarrenMtn’s Dark Knight, AKA: “Bruce”)

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Yesterday morning the breeder of my adorable Rat Terrier Gus had a tragic kennel fire. Two dogs were lost in the blaze and three dogs, including Gus’s father Bruce, were badly burned. The kennel structure and everything in it was lost.

I’ve started a fire relief fund  for Carmetta and her family to help them pay for long-term veterinary care for the surviving dogs and to help offset the cost of rebuilding their kennel. Meta and her husband have three daughters who not only witnessed the fire, but were nearly injured trying to help save their dogs. All of these dogs were deeply loved and a big part of this family. Like many breeders, their dogs are constantly rotated between house and kennel, insuring all get plenty of family time. These dogs took frequent turns sharing family beds, surf boards and road trips and were a regular part of their everyday life. Witnessing this accident will have a long and lasting effect on these young girls and their family.

In the few years  since I’ve met Carmetta I’ve come to know her as the kind of person who always goes out of her way to help others. She’s a gentle lady with a soft-spoken demeanor who works tirelessly behind the scenes to get things done and always refuses to take any credit for her efforts. She has volunteered countless hours to her local and regional breed clubs and associations and has been very instrumental in promoting awareness of our breed. Meta has also been a willing mentor to many and an exemplary role model to others for ethical, responsible breeding.

A devastating kennel fire is not a good way for a family with limited resources to start the New Year, nor is it a great way to kick off a long winter in northern Vermont. Over the years I’ve used social media and WordPress to donate to several causes. One fall it was a picture of an emaciated horse that pushed me to help with a winter hay fund. Another time it was a story about a newborn baby with an uphill battle against a life-threatening, rare disease. And there have been numerous stories about dogs that, due to no fault of their own, have fallen into some sort of complicated situation with owners that need help.

I don’t ask much of my friends here, but today I’m managing this fundraiser and I can promise that if you can see it in your heart to give a little something, it will be greatly appreciated and used to help this family with their loss.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And Gus thanks you too.

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That’s Gonna Leave A Mark

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(Dharla. Unblemished.)

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This is my horse Dharla. As Arabs go she’s not bad looking. Not show-stopping, drop-dead gorgeous, but she’s kinda cute in a girly sort of way. She was an adorable, make-you-want-to-squeal filly. I know this only because I saw pictures of her from when she was a baby. (I have a few baby photos somewhere, but I’m too lazy to look for them.) She was a very feminine little thing, full of pep and spunk, yet dainty. Four years ago when I was looking for another horse and went to see Dharla, I didn’t ask her breeders/owners to relay any antidotes about her “childhood.”  I kind of regret that now that I know Dharla better.

I noticed right off that (for an Arab) Dharla was well-reared. She was cooperative and well-mannered while being handled, groomed and led. She had no qualms about us, total strangers, walking into her stall and picking up each of her feet. She stood there quietly, attentive, yet untethered as my husband and I gently went over every inch of her body. We watched as Dharla was tacked up to be ridden. Again, she was compliant and calm. While I credit her trainer for much of Dharla’s quiet acceptance of this routine, I know it spoke of a horse that had been exposed to a great deal of variety over the course of her (still) young life. (Dharla was coming on age four that spring, which is considered quite young by Arab standards)

Dharla was born and raised on a local, high-quality Arab and Warmblood farm. The owners take part in every aspect of the breeding, foaling and rearing process of every foal and have a reputation for turning out some very lovely, highly successful show horses. That said, no matter how carefully one pours over pedigrees and bloodlines, sometimes a foal just doesn’t live up to expectations. While that was never said or implied, I have my suspicions Dharla was one of those foals. And I suspect her breeders knew this from fairly early-on, which only makes me respect them even more. Why? Because they didn’t just let Dharla slip through the cracks, like some breeders would.

Instead, Dharla was raised exactly like every other foal born on this farm. She was handled often and given lots of opportunity to see and do new things as she grew up in the safety of a small herd of youngsters her own age. Bred as a Sport-horse prospect, Dharla was halter shown and graded as a yearling. (Her grades were very high!) This meant she got a little exposure to riding in a trailer and being in a show environment. When Dharla was old enough, she began the slow process of being trained to be ridden. Professional trainers do the early prep and backing of the youngsters on this farm, but as her training progressed one of the owners rode her too. Nothing in Dharla’s young life was any different than her more valuable relatives and companions.

There’s nothing really wrong with Dharla. It’s just that on a farm like this, babies that are going to grow up to be really outstanding prospects are earmarked from an early age. Dharla was a slow bloomer. That’s not unusual for an Arab, but when trying to run a profitable business one must determine where to invest the most time and money. Dharla had a sister (bred from the exact same parents, but born a year later), who had already proven herself more worthy of that investment. The sisters looked almost identical, but the similarities ended there. Twice I rode Dharla’s sister and I liked her a LOT, but she was priced out of my budget and she was way out of my league.  Besides, I wasn’t looking for a show prospect, I was looking for a future trail mount. (Although still on the market to the “right” buyer, Dharla’s sister has been retained by her breeders and has been extensively and successfully shown by them.)

Dharla has grown up to be a fine trail horse. Athletic and smart, she has just the right amount of common sense and self-preservation that makes her a good team player, but capable of independent thought when necessary. Translation? She’s not inclined to do stupid shit. Granted, at this stage of my life I’m not prone to take a lot of risks out on the trail, but occasionally we’ll run into a situation where I really need to rely on my horse to get the job done with no wiggle room for mistakes.  It’s times like that when I’ll look to my horse to help me make a decision and execute it, and it helps to know she’ll work with, not against me. Sometimes Dharla can be willful and stubborn. That’s the quirky side of her personality. But usually when the grit hits the fan I can count on her to do her job without a lot of extra drama. I value that.

All that said, it’s hard to understand how a horse that is apt to think clearly on the trail is so accident prone at home. I went out to feed early this morning and found Dharla sporting a big bald patch by her left eye. During the night she must have had a close encounter with a blunt object. The good news is that her eye is fine. (Phew!) Unfortunately, she looks like hell, and will continue to do so until the hair grows back. I know this only because this is a common occurrence for her and boo-boos are seldom a big surprise. For some odd reason Dharla has a tendency to like to throw her weight (and head) around.  I’m sure if her pasture-mates could talk they’d say Dharla can be hard to get along with. She’s seldom truly mean, but she’s known to be ornery and mercurial. I kind of get the feeling neither of the boys ever really know where they stand with her. She wants them nearby, but she doesn’t want them close. And that makes for some interesting dynamics. It’s a little like taking kids on a long car trip; eventually someone’s gonna get poked.

As Gilda Radner would say, “It’s always something!”

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(Baby Dharla. Photos not taken by me)


Insanity

Stairlizard copy(Stair Lizard: Hazer being Hazer)

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This morning I read a blog post that was a humorous attempt to disguise the stress and mind-numbing tedium of raising children. It struck a chord. Not because I’m a scary mommy  working out of my home while I raise three children under the age of five. No, that’s not what grabbed my attention. The post spoke to me because I’ve shared my home and my life with a constantly revolving door of animals since I was eighteen. (Well, longer if you count growing up on a farm) I understand that people who choose to have children carry the added burden of trying to raise successful, well-adjusted members of society, and I get that parents never stop “worrying” about their kids. But those things aside, I see very little difference between raising kids and raising animals.

In the child-rearing post mommy railed about her burnout that stemmed from the small stuff. She freely admitted her complaints sprang from a well of fatigue and tedium and not actual dissatisfaction with her parental, care-giving role. I get that, I really do. You have kids, you love your kids, but they make you nuts. That’s perfectly acceptable. And yet, those few times I’ve mindlessly griped about my own burnout from living with multiple animals I’ve been met with everything from eye rolls from parents to tisk-tisks from pet owners.

It’s totally understandable that parents with any shred of sanity left will eventually gripe about the annoyance of being at the constant beck and call of a toddler. That’s normal and I think at some point every parent experiences burnout. I sort of feel the same way when a mild case of mid-winter colic keeps me hovering in a sub-zero barn for several hours. The first time that happened I didn’t complain. I was scared and oh, so thankful the second my horse started to feel better. But somewhere around the 10th time my horse got colic the fear and the thankfulness got a little silted. I can also relate to Mommies who complain about their lack of personal privacy since I routinely share my bathroom with no less than one or two dogs who simply can’t be out of my sight when I’m home. And I get that Moms can’t seem to catch a break from all the laundry their kids generate. Me? I never get a reprieve from the dog hair that’s in, on, and under every object and surface in my house.

Like having children, life with pets is a choice. I’m not saying I don’t want a life without my pets, but many years ago I came to the realization that my decision to have multiple pets would come with a few serious inconveniences and some occasional (OK, daily) monotony. Like being woken up three times a week for the last 10 years by a puking dog with a genetic digestive disorder. And having chosen to live with different kinds of animals, every day is marked by multiple feedings for various groups of them, then picking up the poop all that food creates. Unlike potty training, cleaning up after pets never ends; you’ll have to scoop and dispose of waste forever.

I’ve been bitten (accidentally), stepped on, mowed down, puked on, pooped on, woken up and kept up, and like any human parent I’ve withstood numerous hardships and inconveniences to ensure my animal’s health and safety always come before my own. I haven’t done this with regret, but there’ve been times when every fiber of my being was literally screaming for Calgon to come take me away. Or the funny farm. Really, either one would do. I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes I hate my problem pets: The Autistic, psychotic herding dog. The lunk of a horse who has been the source of two recent (accidental) concussions. The tenacious Terrior who has taken a sudden shining to shredding cardboard and socks. The list could go on. (And on and on)

Most of the time I don’t mind my pet’s quirks, but sometimes I want to put them all on a one-way shuttle to the moon and go off to live a quiet, normal life.  A life where I don’t have to look at my watch every 4 hours and drop whatever I’m doing to run home and feed someone. Or a life where I sleep in past 6 AM. and don’t have to suit up on a snowy night to trudge out to the barn at 11:00 for last call. Or a life where I can wear black without having to exhaust a roll of tape first. A life where my husband walks through the door after a long day and instead of reading his lips I can actually hear him say, “Hi honey, I’m home!” A life where I can have noisy sex without setting off the dogs. A life where I can cook a meal or use the bathroom without canine supervision.

The magical ingredient that keeps my sanity in check is knowing that my life with this particular set of animals comes with an expiration date. And every time I get fed up or worn down by the routine or stress of living with my pets I remember they’re only here for a short period of time. They won’t grow up and go off to live their own lives, visiting from time to time. They’ll be gone for good. So even though there are moments when the madness feels like it’s been going on forever, I try to remember that it will eventually come to an end. And the really crazy thing is that when it does, I know I’m going to miss it.

So for now I’ll just keep trying to pet The Dog Who Must Not Be Touched, keep the Terrier out of the laundry basket and avoid being mowed down by the lunk in the pasture. And if that doesn’t work? There’s always Calgon!

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Gotcha

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In the world of dog rescue there’s an often-practiced way of celebrating the “birthday” of an animal whose date of birth is unknown. We commemorate their adoption date, or in certain cases a better term would be their  “Gotcha” day. Some of these adoptions are formal endeavors, with long, dragged-out protocols that include the filling out of page-long detailed forms, telephone interviews with every member of the family, calls to your vet and a handful of character references and a final home inspection visit that includes a meet-and-greet for household members and all current pets, after which (if you make the grade) you sign multiple documents whereby you must agree to relinquish the rescued animal should the rescue organization ever deem you unfit, and the exchange of a rapidly increasing amount of money.  (Yeah. Feel free to take a big deep breath and exhale s-l-o-w-l-y.) But other “adoptions” are precarious events where the animal in question barely gets out of a bad situation by the skin of their teeth and the adopter flys by the seat of their pants. They don’t get the luxury of knowing if the animal will be a great “fit” or not and if things fall apart no one has their back because oftentimes, all the parties involved are working in the red and flying blind. Which is how I’d like to think the term “Gotcha Day” was coined. It makes things sound a little more like Raiders of the Lost Ark than Lassie Come Home.

Rascal’s “adoption” (December 14, 2013) was somewhere in the middle: Not quite a full blown Rader’s situation, but not a Lassie story either. His owner was down-to-her-last-bale-of-hay desperate, but Rascal was in good health and condition. So I got there in the nick of time, but not a minute too soon. I don’t like to think of myself as an angel or even a Good Samaritan, but the truth of the matter is, this woman had reached out to our local horse community (on Facebook) more than once and nobody stepped forward to help. Nobody. Oh, there were several suggestions that covered everything from where she might be able to buy more hay (no funds) to warning that she should avoid offering him on a free lease (because the lessee would surely turn around and sell him to a kill buyer), but nobody said they’d take him. Not even temporarily. Nobody.

The picture she posted haunted me for days. Not because the horse looked abused or thin or sick. No, it wasn’t that. (Those make it easy to determine right v/s wrong!) The picture haunted me because this horse looked just like my husbands first horse, Beanie, whom we’d lost only a year prior. But I truly thought somebody (else) would step up to the plate and take this horse, and I was so sure of it that I didn’t call to inquire about his story until weeks passed and she posted again. I think it was at that moment that I realized I couldn’t sit and wait for somebody else to do the right thing. It was quite possible that I was “it,” the only person who would call. And so I did and the rest is history.

I’m not a hero. For the first few months I worried a lot that I’d made a horrible mistake. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop; for the horse to get sick or lame or mean and crazy or …. something. Instead, what I discovered restored my faith in people.  Rascal’s former owner never painted a false picture just to place him. Maybe I was just very lucky, but Rascal is every bit the exact horse his owner told me he would be; Kind, sweet, silly, wary, rascally. Yes, he is VERY rascally at times!

I won’t lie, there are days when I don’t relish having that “extra” horse to take care of and another mouth to feed, but 99% of the time I have no regrets. And yes, I still hold to my word that Rascal belongs to his prior owner and if that day ever comes that she can have him back, he’s hers. But I say that with less conviction now. I’d let him go, but now I know how she felt on that cold December day when she stood, tears streaming down her cheeks as she waved goodbye to Rascal. My heart would ache for a long, long time.

I’m a few days late, but Happy “Gotcha” Day little buddy!