Tornado Alley West

Who knew there were tornadoes in central Arizona?! Tornadoes which, in fact, appear in a bright blue, cloudless sky? We do. I'm a witness.

Yesterday, as I was heading to the barn to check water buckets before I allowed myself lunch and a nap, I saw an approaching dust devil. Seeing that I was in it's direct path I quickly covered my nose and mouth with the collar of my shirt and headed for the shelter of the barn. As I was wheeling down the sidewalk almost to the barn door, the dust devil hit the back side of the barn. I figured it would just break over the top as they usually do, but no.

This devil lifted my entire heavy duty, four stall, roofed barn (easily 4 thousand lbs, and likely more considering it's locked into all the fencing) like a cheap paper kite. It hit nearest the stall housing Lucy and her baby. Lucy fairly flew from the stall having to leap the quickly rising bar of her gate on the way out. The baby, for once listening immediately to her mother, was right on her heels leaping the bar as well. The other two mares flew out of their stalls as the devil tore the roof extension off of one stall and left it hanging by a thread. Not only was the barn lifted, it was pushed forward and twisted so that the back half is a full 8 inches from where it started and the east side of the barn is pushed a good 4 inches north toward the house.

The dust devil lifted all but the poles in the very front of the barn, those it merely bent forward. The back half where it hit was lifted 3 feet off the ground. I sat watching the slow motion events terrified that the barn would fall on the horses as they tried frantically to escape. Watching it rise into the air I also was terrified that it would flip completely over on me.

The plumbing pipe was pulled to the breaking point and was adding a major geiser to the unfolding horror. Ten seconds later my roof was hanging, my water was gushing, and there was not a single straight vertical pole in a barn that was now situated facing northwest, as opposed to north.

Thus, on yet another record breaking day of heat, my husband and I were out repairing the damage as best we could. The dangling bit of roof gave way and was laying in the paddock. The splintered timber posts that once held it were now horse killing spikes in the stall. We removed the spikes and put the horses in their stalls so they wouldn't cut themselves on the tin roof in the paddock. In order to put them in the stalls, we had to tie the wire fence back to the panels and had to tie the panels together. When the barn was lifted and twisted the brackets holding the panels together were pulled apart and the no-climb buckled.

Then the water pipe had to be fixed, the roof removed from the paddock (thank heavens for Jackie, Mark and their work crew!!!) and a hose replaced because when the barn was dropped it, of course, landed on the brand new hose severing it. Thus, the horses can live in it, and eat in it, in relative safety, but it now leans at odd angles. One side of the barn is now on top of the stall mats that used to run down the center aisle, the intact main roof is askew in spots where it was buckled up by the wind, and the snake fencing in the front of the barn has been pulled away from it's dirt edge so that even rabbits can now enter the barn there. The barn never leaked before, but it will be a veritable rain sieve now.

Here's hoping home owner's insurance covers outbuildings struck by dust devils. I'm sure there's a freaking clause somewhere that pointedly lists this as a non-covered event.

I used to complain because the dust devils make a daily bee line for my swimming pool and dump half the contents of the paddock and hay pile there for me to skim out with the dip net. I'll just be grateful now if that is ALL they do!

Proper Barn Attire Required

A few weeks ago I happened across an advertisement for a boarding stable which went so far as to give dress code requirements. I snorted and moved on to other web surfing.

You see, I own and care for a barn. No, wait, make that two barns. Two barns filled with miniature horses who easily create as much manure as their larger cousins. People ask me "But what do you do with MINIATURE horses." The correct answer is "I drive them, teach them tricks, train them, play with them. I can do anything with minis that others can do with big horses, except ride them." The realistic answer is "I feed the front, clean up behind, and keep their hallway cleaner than my own."

Do I wear "proper barn attire"? Oh, you betcha. In the morning I go out to feed in my pajamas and cowboy boots. Used to go barefoot or in sneakers until we found a snake in the barn. Now it's boots. An hour or so later, I'm dressed up... in shorts, a tank top and nasty sneakers with my usually unbrushed hair tied back in a pony tail. That's when I begin cleaning the percheron sized collection of poop out of the stalls.

After two stalls on a lovely Aridzona morning, I have to jump in the pool to soak my clothes (I do take the nasty sneakers off first), in order to have the strength and courage to clean another two stalls, after which it's time for another dousing in the pool. At that point it's too hot to consider cleaning the other 4 stalls, so I haul out the leaf blower and blow the accumulated dirt and hay out of the barn aisle.

After that, it's time to ditch the tank top and shorts and go for the swim suit and sunscreen and another dip in the pool. I then refill the water buckets, set up the misting fan for the comfort of the current mother and child (the child whose birth I assisted while wearing my wet swimsuit and flip flops) and put away my tools. Resisting the urge to point that misting fan at myself for the remainder of the day, I take another dunk in the pool. Thus ends the morning routine. The evening routine utilizes the same wardrobe choices only in reverse order, beginning with the wet swim suit and ending with pajamas and boots for snake patrol.

Several times a week, I have to spread all that poop around the paddocks. Those days I'm a real dish. Barn attire then includes the wet swimsuit, wet tank top, cowboy boots, cowboy hat and sunscreen as I drive the lawn tractor with scraper around the paddocks. Just call me princess.

I, only half jokingly, told a non-horsey friend that I was considering just painting my fingernails black since I could never keep dirt out from under them anyway. She said "That's just a little gross Jean." I started to explain to her that she didn't truly understand the definition of gross, but knew I'd only get a glazed stare. For the true definition of gross, see equine placental membrane and products of deworming.

What's Worse Than Seeing A Rattlesnake?

Not seeing the rattlesnake.

I have had 3 hours of sleep because I've been keeping snake vigil.

Last night while I was feeding I noticed a strange looking stone. I didn't know for sure it was a stone as it was in shadow. It at first looked like one of the large toxic toads native to our area. Something just wasn't quite right about it. I moved closer. About the time I realized "no, it's just a rock", a small diamond shaped head and neck appeared across one end.

The snake was small, but size doesn't matter in rattlesnakes. A ten inch rattler is just as toxic as a 3 foot rattler. This was about 2 feet from a stall holding two inquisitive noses that are quite dear to me. I hurried for the shovel.

I was back in less than 30 seconds, just in time to see the tail of the snake move over the rock. I'd planted some bermuda grass in that area to give the horses fresh grass for treats and in times of illness. The snake had crawled down into the thatch. I began chopping the heck out of the grass patch.

My son got home from work about that time and saw me hacking away with the shovel. The only reason to hack away with a shovel in the barn, at night, in the summer is the presence of a rattler. He came running and, upon hearing what happened, got another shovel and we both hacked like crazy at the grass patch.

Then we got a pitchfork and began combing the grass to look for remains or a small very ticked off snake. The horses were all munching their hay and staring at us as if we were the lone television in the lobby of an asylum.

Finding no remains and no live snake we sat. And watched. And sat. My son walked through all the paddocks with the flashlight and all the stalls to see if it had escaped. We were on guard until a late (oh man was it late) night lightening storm drove us inside at around 3 am.

I've just been out to feed. I went over the grass patch in daylight and still see no sign of the snake. He either got away or we pureed him. The problem is that we don't know which it is. I'll have to mow today, not like I didn't have 50 other things to do. And, because I think he got away, I'll be on snake vigil again tonight.

If he was a smart snake he crawled like hell back to whatever hole allowed him entrance through the snake fencing and into the barn. But I have no more confidence in that, than I do that there is puree of rattlesnake in my bermuda thatch.

We have a baby!

Well, the summer from hell wrought one good thing. We have a beautiful buckskin filly! NOT, mind you, from either of the two mares we knew to be pregnant, but rather from Lucy the miracle mare who we thought was not pregnant this year. We didn't notice her little secret until about 6 weeks before the baby was born.

Thus far this summer we've been screwed by the corporation where my husband slaved for 27 years (I must wonder if the parents of the individuals involved told them it was okay to lie, cheat and steal to get ahead or if they came by those traits on their own). Due to all the stress from that lovely event, my husband suffered a heart attack the morning of the 4th of July and underwent open heart surgery the morning of the 5th. Thus, once the COBRA pays out and we pay our share AND continue to pay COBRA the 1200.00 PER MONTH, Honeywell will have flattened our saved resources. The corporate way of thanking someone for saving their bacon for 27 years. There just aren't enough curse words to describe that company and those people. Suffice to say, I am not wishing them health and happiness, and they'd best hope that if they break down in the desert with no water, that someone besides me happens along.

Back to the happy news of the baby before I get homicidal. The newest cherub was born at about 7pm , July 21st. Back in May I'd told a friend and fellow Harry Potter fan, that we'd probably have a baby the night of the big release of the final book. I was, however, talking about a different mare! We hadn't been paying attention to the state of Lucy's belly as we were too busy staring at the barn cam videos of the other two mares. I could have caught flies with my open jaw when I saw Lucy's belly bouncing one evening. The shock was so great in fact that I tried to convince myself the movements were just fly flinching. That thought was dashed several minutes later when the baby not only bounced REALLY hard but changed the entire shape of her belly. This mare, by the way, wasn't in a stall with a camera.

The night of the big release parties, I'd gone swimming. My son was going to go to a release party in town where he'd pick up our books. I really wanted to go, but Lucy had been bagged up for a couple of days and I didn't want to leave her. However, since she was showing no restless behavior, no signs of labor, I'd decided that I'd wait until about 9 and run down to the closer bookstore just for an hour or two, just to participate in the celebration. I got out of the pool and, still in my swimsuit, I went to check water buckets. All the horses were still eating dinner. I filled Lucy's bucket while she munched quietly, I went on down the row of stalls filling all the buckets in the barn. I was coming back to put the hose up when Lucy suddenly laid down and began pushing.

I raced as fast as my wheelchair could take me up to the house to holler for my husband (who, recall, is only a couple of weeks post op from his heart surgery) to start calling neighbors for help. All I needed was someone to hand me things since my husband couldn't bend and lift. The only neighbor he could reach, is the only neighbor with no experience birthing animals. In my husband's hurry, he didn't explain to her that all I needed was someone to hand me things. Thus, poor Jan, ran out of her house to another of our neighbors and told them we needed help. Karen raced down thinking that I had an abnormal birth on my hands. When she got here, baby was already on the ground and trying to get up. You know you have a wonderful neighbor when they'll grab hold of a gooey horse umbilical cord and amnion and tie them up so your mare doesn't step on them.

The little squirt is racing around the pasture, already completely unconcerned about where her Mom is, unless she's hungry. She's been that independent since she was two days old. It drove Lucy crazy for about a week, and then she gave up chasing the child.

Still nothing from the mares we know are pregnant, however, Blaze's baby is currently dribbling basketballs, so maybe it won't be too much longer. Maybe??