Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair, shining, gleaming... WAIT STOP NO! NO MORE HEADS WITH HAIR!
Today was bridle path trimming day. Minis can grow more hair than any beauty parlor has ever swept out at the end of the day. I just cut hair 3 months ago and every horse in the barn was wearing a 4 inch tall mohawk. 3 months ago I trimmed all tails to an inch above the ground and today every adult horse in the barn had at least 3 inches of tail dragging the ground behind them.
Tired of them all looking like drunken ladies wearing bizarre plumed headdresses, I got out the shears and hauled the first victim out of a stall. The first victim was little Weena who sports a kinky, curly, nappy, mop rather than a mane. Her hair has gotten so that it takes 5 tries to get her halter on without trapping wads of frizz in the buckle. She's still not quite used to the fact that life is no longer going precisely the way the Weena wishes and did not want that buzzing beast anywhere near her Queena crown of nappy locks. Queenas don't like wash racks either, by the way.
Just shearing the Queena Crown and bustle took about 45 minutes out of the morning because Queena had to be convinced the wash rack was not a place to murder woolly pot bellied pigs, nor were the clippers instruments of torture and doom. Once we got those two issues out of the way, then we had to deal with Weena boredom. "Okay, none of this is going to kill me. I got that. Can I leave now? I want to go over there and see that. Can I eat that over there? I think it's lunch time. Mind if I nibble your jeans? I need to go over there. I'M BORED!!!!!!" She doesn't look great, but at least I can get her halter on and off easily and she doesn't have a bubble butt anymore... much.
Weena has hair that would make a sheep jealous. One of her great joys rubbing her back and butt on low hanging branches and tree trunks. This wears down the wool on her back and the sides of her rump but left a woolly mohawk down her butt that made it look as though her front legs were about 4 inches shorter than her back legs. She at least doesn't look like she's walking down hill all the time now... much.
Next victim was little Godric. Except for the normal "I'm the baby, gotta love me" attitude that seems to be born into all mini foals, Godric and Weena are as different as fish and birds. Queena is utterly carefree. Godric has to consider everything, even feed buckets, before he gets too close. As you can imagine, shearing the head of "Brave Godric" took another good chunk out of the morning. That's okay though. This was the "children's" first hair cut and if I hadn't taken the time to do it right it'd just take more time next time.
Every day when I'm working with Godric, I am struck by his elegance. His daddy sure did put a mark on him. He's the absolute best of both Mom and Pop. He is refined, small head, tiny fox-like ears, bright expression, wide chest, graceful neck, gorgeous legs and perfect bite. He's not the flashiest color in the world. We think he's a silver bay, but under all that baby hair it's difficult to tell. He's going to make someone an extraordinary horse. He's simply that breathtaking.
Once the babies were done things went smoothly. Well, okay mostly smoothly. Lucy had a momentary memory lapse. For a few minutes there she acted like she'd never had to endure such torture in her life. Then suddenly the cogs in her brain turned and she remembered, relaxed and got a beautiful trim that compliments her pretty face and neck. Honey, Blaze and Brave took about 3 minutes total. Walk them in the rack, zzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip off that hair, walk them out to their paddocks.
Desi, I don't even want to discuss the Desi-tude today. Honestly. As many trims as that child has had! That's okay though. He and Martini are slated for a "trim" at the Vet clinic and I'm betting they'll be really happy if all they lose is hair after that.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sounds of life
The week and life amid the minis moved on. The weather is beginning to warm up and so are the short horses. Thus, all the hair they have been putting on since October is getting itchy. It's a bit soon to shear them so, for now, they are left to scrub themselves against the tree, the fencing, the ground or even another horse.
"Hey, I have an itch. I'll scratch your back if you'll scratch mine." (one says with an innocently genial expression)
"You have a deal!" (Says the other horse)
"Whadja stop for??"
"Mma mmouf (ptooey) imf mphhull (ffthackptooey) mof haair!"
"snicker"
The little birdies are all busy singing to beat the band and hauling several pounds of horse hair out of the stalls. Horse hair which will color the nests all across the neighborhood. Next big wind storm and my neighbors will have bits of my horses laying in lumps on their porches. If it rains with that wind storm it'll look like some giant bird hocked up a cat in their yards. I know where I hope some of those sodden masses of horse hair land, but I shan't go there.
There is another sign that spring approacheth. We have "weanlings" screaming all through the night and day. The first day, of course, was the worst. We couldn't hear ourselves think around here. William covered his ears with his headphones and listened to loud metal all day. We couldn't even talk to each other in the barn that morning for all the indignant, pissy screaming.
We put Weena and Godric in one paddock and Lucy, Blaze and Honey in another. Lucy went out first and rampaged up and down the fence trying to see her baby who was shrieking as loudly as my ATV just out of sight. We turned Blaze in with her to distract her. THAT worked. Lucy is The Boss. Blaze used to be the boss of her herd in Texas. Blaze thought this arrangement hadn't changed. Blaze was wrong.
Blaze came bursting out of her stall and headed straight for Lucy who said "Oh I don't THINK so." Blaze soon had a bruised butt and tried to leave but Lucy wanted to drill her point home. "Oh no uh uh, you brought it on, you aren't leaving until I make you leave" and proceeded to chase poor tubby Blaze around the paddock about 45 times. It was very unfair. Blaze is much smaller than Lucy and had to gallop those rounds of the paddock while Lucy simply trotted easily taking the inside loop.
Before Blaze had a heart attack, we turned Honey out to distract Lucy (read as: we threw Honey under the bus). Lucy came at Honey who already knows the drill. Honey trotted off to the far end of the paddock the second Lucy took a step in her direction. Honey's no dummy. She gets along with everyone simply because she doesn't care if she's the bottom horse on the totem pole. I think she actually prefers that status. It's less work.
One pile of hay is as good as another to Honey, so if someone wants her pile, she just wanders over to the next one, no big deal. Being The Boss is a lot of work. You have to fight all new horses and hope you walk away with fewer bruises than they do. You have to constantly remind the other horses that you're the boss. You also have to watch out for the other horses and warn them if strange dogs, horses, or coyotes come into the yard. Honey would just prefer to nibble, scratch and snooze her way through the day. This attitude saves Honey a lot of trouble. No one challenges her because she's already at the bottom and likes it. The other horses find that a bit disconcerting.
"Well, sheesh. That was easy. You're supposed to fight me."
"Nah. It's okay. You be the boss. I'm cool with that. Here... I'll scratch your back if you'll scratch mine..."
"Hey, I have an itch. I'll scratch your back if you'll scratch mine." (one says with an innocently genial expression)
"You have a deal!" (Says the other horse)
"Whadja stop for??"
"Mma mmouf (ptooey) imf mphhull (ffthackptooey) mof haair!"
"snicker"
The little birdies are all busy singing to beat the band and hauling several pounds of horse hair out of the stalls. Horse hair which will color the nests all across the neighborhood. Next big wind storm and my neighbors will have bits of my horses laying in lumps on their porches. If it rains with that wind storm it'll look like some giant bird hocked up a cat in their yards. I know where I hope some of those sodden masses of horse hair land, but I shan't go there.
There is another sign that spring approacheth. We have "weanlings" screaming all through the night and day. The first day, of course, was the worst. We couldn't hear ourselves think around here. William covered his ears with his headphones and listened to loud metal all day. We couldn't even talk to each other in the barn that morning for all the indignant, pissy screaming.
We put Weena and Godric in one paddock and Lucy, Blaze and Honey in another. Lucy went out first and rampaged up and down the fence trying to see her baby who was shrieking as loudly as my ATV just out of sight. We turned Blaze in with her to distract her. THAT worked. Lucy is The Boss. Blaze used to be the boss of her herd in Texas. Blaze thought this arrangement hadn't changed. Blaze was wrong.
Blaze came bursting out of her stall and headed straight for Lucy who said "Oh I don't THINK so." Blaze soon had a bruised butt and tried to leave but Lucy wanted to drill her point home. "Oh no uh uh, you brought it on, you aren't leaving until I make you leave" and proceeded to chase poor tubby Blaze around the paddock about 45 times. It was very unfair. Blaze is much smaller than Lucy and had to gallop those rounds of the paddock while Lucy simply trotted easily taking the inside loop.
Before Blaze had a heart attack, we turned Honey out to distract Lucy (read as: we threw Honey under the bus). Lucy came at Honey who already knows the drill. Honey trotted off to the far end of the paddock the second Lucy took a step in her direction. Honey's no dummy. She gets along with everyone simply because she doesn't care if she's the bottom horse on the totem pole. I think she actually prefers that status. It's less work.
One pile of hay is as good as another to Honey, so if someone wants her pile, she just wanders over to the next one, no big deal. Being The Boss is a lot of work. You have to fight all new horses and hope you walk away with fewer bruises than they do. You have to constantly remind the other horses that you're the boss. You also have to watch out for the other horses and warn them if strange dogs, horses, or coyotes come into the yard. Honey would just prefer to nibble, scratch and snooze her way through the day. This attitude saves Honey a lot of trouble. No one challenges her because she's already at the bottom and likes it. The other horses find that a bit disconcerting.
"Well, sheesh. That was easy. You're supposed to fight me."
"Nah. It's okay. You be the boss. I'm cool with that. Here... I'll scratch your back if you'll scratch mine..."
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
I see the Thestrals
For the uninitiated, Thestrals are the great, black, skeletal flying horses, invisible to those who have not seen and understood death. The thestrals pull the school carriages at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the masterful Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. Sadly, death visited the farm Sunday night in a very close and personal way that could not help but bring instant understanding.
Honey went into the final stage of labor at about 8:30pm. William and I were there with her, watching the progress carefully. This was her first child and she was a bit jittery so we just stayed out of her way and observed, ready to help when necessary. She didn't want to stay laying down to deliver, but after getting up two or three times, finally went down and pushed the baby out well within the normal time parameter. I was kneeling behind her and as soon as the foal's knees were visible I opened the sac around it's nose.
I was excited to see the pure white nose that signified the birth of a double creme dilute. That excitement was quickly replaced by the sickening knowledge that something was terribly wrong. The foal was completely limp and inert when I attempted to roll it onto it's chest. I urgently asked William to look up the section in our manual about emergency resuscitation of the foal. I squeezed down the foal's muzzle to clear it of any liquid and held it upside down to encourage drainage from the lungs. William read the instructions and I straightened out the foal's neck, pulled it's tongue out the side of it's mouth, clamped my hand over it's mouth with my thumb over one nostril. I puffed baby breaths into the exposed nostril.
At this angle, I had a clear view down the foal's neck, across it's shoulder, to it's ribs. I could see it's tiny heart beating. I could see it's chest rising with my puffs of air. I could also see it's soft, trusting, bright blue eye gazing into mine. It is that sweet, calm, trusting eye that I cannot forget.
I paused a few seconds every 5th puff or so, hoping desperately that the foal would gasp and begin breathing on it's own. My husband called the vet to see if there was anything else we could do. Load them up and haul them the hour drive to the vet clinic was his only other suggestion and if we did that A. the foal would likely die on the way and B. the clinic would probably have no better an outcome. He verified that we were doing everything correctly and stayed on the phone with my husband while I continued to work, and hope, and breathe and watch that little heartbeat, and gaze into that calm, blue eye. Until that calm blue trust turned to black and the tiny heart ceased to flutter.
I wonder what I didn't notice that I should have noticed while Honey was giving birth. I wonder what I could have done faster or better. I close my eyes and I see that calm blue gaze and I wonder how I could have better served that trust. I see Honey staring blankly at the other foals and I am so horribly sorry.
I see the thestrals.
Honey went into the final stage of labor at about 8:30pm. William and I were there with her, watching the progress carefully. This was her first child and she was a bit jittery so we just stayed out of her way and observed, ready to help when necessary. She didn't want to stay laying down to deliver, but after getting up two or three times, finally went down and pushed the baby out well within the normal time parameter. I was kneeling behind her and as soon as the foal's knees were visible I opened the sac around it's nose.
I was excited to see the pure white nose that signified the birth of a double creme dilute. That excitement was quickly replaced by the sickening knowledge that something was terribly wrong. The foal was completely limp and inert when I attempted to roll it onto it's chest. I urgently asked William to look up the section in our manual about emergency resuscitation of the foal. I squeezed down the foal's muzzle to clear it of any liquid and held it upside down to encourage drainage from the lungs. William read the instructions and I straightened out the foal's neck, pulled it's tongue out the side of it's mouth, clamped my hand over it's mouth with my thumb over one nostril. I puffed baby breaths into the exposed nostril.
At this angle, I had a clear view down the foal's neck, across it's shoulder, to it's ribs. I could see it's tiny heart beating. I could see it's chest rising with my puffs of air. I could also see it's soft, trusting, bright blue eye gazing into mine. It is that sweet, calm, trusting eye that I cannot forget.
I paused a few seconds every 5th puff or so, hoping desperately that the foal would gasp and begin breathing on it's own. My husband called the vet to see if there was anything else we could do. Load them up and haul them the hour drive to the vet clinic was his only other suggestion and if we did that A. the foal would likely die on the way and B. the clinic would probably have no better an outcome. He verified that we were doing everything correctly and stayed on the phone with my husband while I continued to work, and hope, and breathe and watch that little heartbeat, and gaze into that calm, blue eye. Until that calm blue trust turned to black and the tiny heart ceased to flutter.
I wonder what I didn't notice that I should have noticed while Honey was giving birth. I wonder what I could have done faster or better. I close my eyes and I see that calm blue gaze and I wonder how I could have better served that trust. I see Honey staring blankly at the other foals and I am so horribly sorry.
I see the thestrals.
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