Wowza what a week!

and it's only Wednesday, which makes me a tad fearful of what the rest of the week may bring.

We had the rainstorm to beat all desert rainstorms over the weekend. The predictions alone scared us into borrowing a neighbors big horse trailer, and lining up emergency horse digs all around the neighborhood in case we got flooded out. We dug the natural dips in the yard a little deeper hoping to contain any extra flood waters and lead them out to the main wash. We added to and bolstered the tarps surrounding both barns to keep the wind and rain out. I drove John to work Friday morning and he had to stay in town all weekend so A. I'd have a truck in case I needed to haul short horses to dry land and B. he would be able to get to work and not get stuck on the wrong side of all the flooded roads between here and town.


Thankfully, our auxillary wash handled the extra over land flood waters, the water in the main wash didn't top the bank, and although we got a huge amount of rain, the horses stayed dry and cozy. It was just a grucky (both gross and yucky) weekend. However, since it was obvious the horses were going to stay dry, I was actually able to finish a book I'd been trying to read for the past 4 months.


It was so wet and soupy outside that I didn't check my little mare Blondie for two days. I just watched her on the foal cam as I was reading. She'd been trying to bag up for about 3 weeks but hadn't gotten full yet. When Monday morning dawned bright and clear I fed everyone, lifted up tarps to let the sun in, and checked Blondie. Darned if her little udder wasn't filled up like a balloon! It wasn't exceedingly warm, it wasn't dripping, and I couldn't express any milk so I zipped to town and picked up John. My other mares have stayed a couple of days with a full bag before they deliver, so I figured I could leave her for a couple of hours.


When we got John home, he let the horses out into the 2 paddocks that were mostly dry, cleaned the stalls and then sort of half-assed kept an eye on Blondie while I napped. We fed them around 4 and John went to town to get himself a burger. Having been up watching the mare and the flood situation for most of the weekend, my plan was to have a nice long hot shower and go to bed by 7. I got my shower, but that's all I got.


John disappeared into his room to watch TV and half-assed keep an eye on the foal cam. After my shower I came out and sat for a while just observing Blondie behavior on the camera before I went to bed. She was rubbing her side and butt on the stall fencing. "Ahh.. okay.. she's probably just uncomfortable. I'll watch a few more minutes and then go to bed." She paced her stall and stopped long enough to bite at her side. "hmm.. uhh.. okay... she's probably just being a maiden mare drama queen. I'll watch for a few more minutes.." She laid down and rolled. "JOHN!!! Blondie's in labor! We gotta get to the barn!" John filled her stall floor with hay while I pulled the foaling supply cart into the barn. Then we went back to the house to observe. Well... okay... I observed while John disappeared into his room again. He only got about 5 minutes in front of his TV though because within minutes of settling myself into a chair to watch, Blondie cocked her tail laid down and went stiff. "JOHN! SHE'S DOWN!" Back to the barn we went. I went into the stall while John positioned himself in the aisle next to the foaling supplies.


"We have the white bubble! Excellent!"


"We have a foot! Excellent!"


But that's all we got. Blondie groaned with each contraction, but wasn't pushing very well. I waited another minute before requesting the gloves. The second foot appeared but there was no nose between them. "Damnit. Head turned back position." was all I could think. She was making no more progress. About that time Blondie got up, turned around, lay down again, and rolled a bit. Both feet were still apparent. I put the gloves on and attempted to search for that elusive snoot. There it was! Propped on top of one of the legs rather than tucked down neatly between them. At least I was pretty sure it was the nose. If not, the baby would have had a seriously malformed leg with the knee only an inch or two above it's fetlock!


Blondie groaned and pushed a little more but after 5 minutes all I had were two feet. "Gotta be another shoulder lock." Once again, I pushed the trailing leg back a bit and pulled with all my might on the leading leg. "There's that nose!!" "There's the head!!" And that's all we had for several minutes again as I pulled with each contraction. I had John call our neighbors, Danean and Lynn, then call the vet as I continued to work on the problem. Head was out, one leg was out, the trailing leg was still pretty far back. Must still be those darned shoulders. I opened the sac around the baby's nose in case it began to breath, then waited for the next contraction and pulled with everything I had. I was terrified I was going to damage that baby's legs, but we were running down the clock and the baby needed to be born. Just short of planting my feet on that little mare's rump I hauled the rest of her shoulder through. The vet called back right as the rest of the baby hit the ground. I had time to squeal "It's a PINTO!!", before Danean and Lynn drove up. I of course squealed it again as soon as they got to the barn.


Blondie lay still and rested. I rolled the baby up onto her chest, stripped back the rest of the sac, and dried her off while rubbing her all over with the towel to imprint a bit. Blondie was taking a little too long laying down so Lynn encouraged her to get up. She was suffering a bit of paralysis due to the shoulder locked baby, but she was up and moving, even if stumbling slightly in her back end. We'd called the house to alert William as soon as the baby was on the ground and he became the official reader of the foaling manual (The Complete Foaling Manual, by Theresa Jones). He flipped to the segment regarding paralysis of the mare and the book assured us that more than likely all would be well since we'd been able to get Blondie up with no trouble and that she was attempting to walk. Sure enough she was pretty much normal within about 10-15 minutes of rising.

Blondie nuzzled my cheek as I sat by her baby and I smooched her nose and complimented her on a baby well done. Unfortunately, once the baby was up and attempting to nurse we discovered that Blondie really wasn't well equipped for nursing. The after about 30 minutes of watching the baby struggle to find the undersized teets, William ran to his shop to cut the end off a syringe to make a suction device and then Lynn attempted to milk the mare. He managed to get about 15 cc colostrum total which the baby did guzzle appreciatively before laying down to rest after her ordeal. The baby finally learned how to find dinner on her own and we all left to let them bond in peace. Lynn and Danean went home to bed, William went in to bed, John and I sat watching the foal cam to monitor progress, periodically going outside to make sure the baby was nursing. John dozed, I watched.


I watched the baby chasing Blondie frantically trying to nurse, nursing for long periods, then dozing while standing up, chasing, nursing, standing to doze. This pattern continued for about 4 hours. I grew more anxious. Finally after nursing for about 10 minutes straight, the baby flopped to the ground and slept for nearly an hour, clearly exhausted. By 6 am she was beginning to wobble after her mother, whereas she'd previously been chasing mom pretty handily. Forward progress had stopped and she'd backslid a step. Time to call the vet.


We loaded a very upset Blondie in the trailer, and a very tired filly in the cab with us. She stood in John's lap, periodically nuzzling my shoulder for the hour long drive to Durango clinic. Somehow she'd managed to get some colostrum from her mom, but not quite enough. She was given a good extra helping at the clinic and stayed there overnight for monitoring and awaiting the result of bloodwork to determine antibody levels. Blondie's hormones finally got in gear and she started delivering enough milk for the filly to get a full tummy and get back on track. We picked them up this morning and the filly left a brand new fan club behind at the clinic.


For now, all is well!


Below are pictures of the filly with Dr. Osborne at Durango Clinic, and me with a very new, very short horse in the cab of the pickup.

Zoooooooooooooooooom!

My wonderful hubby (you can see him over at his Dubious Maxims blog), has outdone himself this year. I've been finding it increasingly difficult lately to get around and work the minis. It would seem the warrantee on my shoulders and back has expired and nothing pleases them. Can't rest well because something always hurts no matter my sleeping position. Can't crutch around for long periods because some body part or another whines and squalls. You get the picture. In fact, you probably get that picture in 3-D if you're over 50.

I decided to do yet another search for an electric powered off road vehicle of some type to help me exercise and train the minis. Having had no luck a few years ago, I began searching for heavy duty off road capable mobility scooters. I found some of those that might work. I even found several that definitely would work if I wanted to spend 10K for them. On a whim, however, I decided to try once more to find an electric powered Quad. Neither my horses nor I appreciate noise toys. I found a couple of really heavy duty, state of the art, as complicated as a guy can possibly make them quads. One was still in the design stages and one I'd need to wait about 10 years for it to come down enough in price to afford.

The next and last chance link was for THIS little gem.

I thought about it for a whole 5 days before I ordered it. Nevermind that the local store that advertised the item was in stock, didn't mention that it was in stock in MINNESOTA (cough) until I called them asking if I could just come pick it up. I won't go there... yet. I'll save that for another blog post.

The day after I ordered the new Jeanie Mobile, my power wheelchair coughed, sputtered, tried to run me into several walls and then quit. Well, it quit when you consider that when I tried to go forward it would lurch violently to the right and then shut down. I guess technically it wasn't completely dead, only mostly dead. I cowgirled up for 5 days, but was worn down to only basic feeding and watering needs for the horses and was beginning to wonder if I just piled their stalls full of hay could they wait a week before I had to struggle through the barn again.

Wonder Hubby to the rescue! After more disappointment filled searching for a local company that provided power chairs without having to wait 3 to 4 weeks for delivery, were affordable, and were not outposts for insurance rip-offs (see upcoming blog post), I found ONE company in the metro Phoenix area that actually had this little savior in stock.

We now have my spiffy little Go Chair charging in the kitchen. It smells like a new car. Poor little thing will be hay and dust covered by the end of the week but I have my new Shop Vac to help there. The horses are not sure they care for it's next to noiseless operation and it's candy apple red body, but they'll get used to it. I'll wait a bit before I spring it's horn on them.

So far the Go Chair works great! There are only two minor modifications that I'll make. I'll need to remove the foot rest for barn use as it is a trip hazard when I'm hopping up and down to feed. I'll also need to adjust the length of the controller. Right now it's either too close or I am too buxom because when I lean forward to put hay in the feeders my bosom bumps the joystick (oooh baby!) and I run into the stall fence.

My Favorite Christmas Present

Well, okay, to be honest, my favorite Christmas present this year was just to be able to spend it with my husband and children. We almost lost my husband this year and, thus, almost could never have watched "A Christmas Story" together again, or sit together and gaze at the tree lights on Christmas Eve, when the tree is always it's most beautiful. So, truly "The Man Who Lived" was my favorite gift this season.



However, that said, I did get something that's almost as useful as my husband, if not as much fun to be around. A Wet/Dry ShopVac. Not high on the list of most women's dreams, but it rated in the top 5 of my Christmas wishes and was certainly the most realistic of them. Diamonds or a Lexus were not even in the top 50, although one day... a new used F-250 would be cool...



Several weeks before Christmas, as we were gathering gift lists, I was asked what I wanted. "A ShopVac" was not what my husband expected me to say. Not that he expected me to say anything in particular, but "A ShopVac" was not an answer that wasn't even in the top 50 of his wildest expectations.



"uhh.. okay... umm...Why?"



"I want to vacuum the horses."



Then he understood. He giggled, but he understood. We live in a desert. I have extremely hairy miniature horses. It's very VERY dry. We have a ton of dirt and enough static electricity to power the metro Phoenix area. The combination of lots of hair, lots of dirt and lots of static cling, makes for horses that can't be touched without raising a cloud of dust thick enough to obscure the landscape in several directions. Brushing only moves the dirt around because the static just sucks the dust back into the hair. I've long since given up brushing as an exercise in futility.



In the summer I can bathe them. However, since they're so hairy, it takes about 4 hours for them to dry. If you turn them loose before they are dry they roll in the dirt, making a mud pack in the hair that I just spent 20 minutes scrubbing. The mud dries and the cycle of hair, dirt and static begins again.



One of our neighbors uses a leaf blower on one of his mules. I sold the only one of my horses that would put up with a leaf blower cycloning him clean. I needed a ShopVac. Bless Santa, he brought me one! I happydanced. I raced out to the barn to pick the first victim. Braveheart was so good about getting a shave, that we decided to try him first. He was a real trooper. The hose is pretty long and the Shop Vac is pretty quiet. While giving us an "I'm REALLY trying to trust you here" look, he stood his ground and soon realized that the weird suctioning snake actually felt pretty good in some spots. I patted his rump and there was NO dust cloud. I patted him all over and got NO dust!! WOOHOO!! On to the next victim!

We vacuumed 4 horses, if you consider little "Weena" a horse. I consider her more a woolley pot bellied pig with hooves myself. Her hair is the densest of the bunch. It's long, it's thick and that's just the top coat! She's got an undercoat that can rival any sheep. I thought we'd need to have at her with a rug beater before vacuuming to have any success, but lo and behold that Shop Vac sucked every bit of dust out of the Weena Wool. Now, if we could only use it for a bit of Weena Liposuction, she might start looking like a horse by spring.

See title choices

This post has two title options, so just pick your favorite.

Magic and Those Who Just Don't Get It
or
The Ball Cap of Christian Kindness

Call me childish and I'll thank you because youth is what my heart strives for. Children believe in magic. In spite of the disappointments of their unanswered wishes they do not fail in this belief unless some fool of an adult preaches it out of them. Someone too "grown up" inside to bother with such things and thus decides that others shouldn't bother either.

There are people who twinkle. The twinkle comes from the magic of the heart and shines in the eyes. There are people who cannot twinkle because they are too grown up for magic. I endeavor to twinkle, although I cannot always. I tend to allow others to douse my spark and it is this tendency that should become my resolution to abolish each and every new year.

Some people lose their twinkle because of life experiences. They daily see vile things and soon grow to expect vile things everywhere and in the hearts of all others. They cannot live freely and always attempt to warn others away from living freely. Here are a couple of clues. Not everyone is out to rip you off. MOST people are honest. If you do not feel this way, then this is a dark spot on your own soul that is begging to be healed and needs your attention so that you can twinkle once again. Unless such people heal their souls, they grow more and more untrusting and more and more miserable. Unable to contain all that fear, sadness and paranoia, they want to spread it around and have everyone looking over their shoulder or looking suspiciously at their neighbors.

There are some people who cannot twinkle because they assume that their favorite deity will twinkle through them without assistance. They confuse what amounts to wearing a bright ball cap with a giant logo of the words Christian Kindness with a true twinkle. As long as everyone knows they believe in this logo they're good to go and just fine and dandy individuals. Magic? HAH Phooey. No time for that silliness! Just do the Christian Kindness thing and we can be to dinner in an hour. Our deity will take care of the sparkle in our souls so we don't have to! Wrong.

Becoming too grown up is easy, that's why so many people are. If retaining the twinkle of childhood magic were as easy as becoming too grown up, I'd be better at it and more people would attempt it. Being grown up or mature are what we've always been told we're supposed to strive for. We are not often told to strive for wisdom, which is a helluva lot more important than just being mature and only on the rarest of instances are we told to retain magic. Being mature is "In". Retaining a child-like nature is silly.

What is truly sad, however, is when non-twinklers work to ruin the enchanted moments that twinklers work very hard to gift to others. They feel like they'll just burst open if they don't run around waving that ball cap with the giant logo around showing how wonderful we all have been. "TADA! There was no magic, it was us, in all our Christian Kindness glory because you were so hard up and we were so fabulous and care so very deeply that you're in deep doo doo!! Aren't we just the greatest! Here, give us a hug because we care so much! Okay gotta jet, we're running late". Or they rain on the magic parade by instilling the fear that something will go horribly wrong and all will be lost because evil beings lurk in every shadow ready to pounce.

Non-twinklers can really pee on my spark, because deep down everyone needs magic. Even as our brains hand us a list of probabilities and facts surrounding an unexpected boon, a healthy heart will flutter with the excitement of magical possibilities. Why? BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT MAGIC IS! It's not evil, it's not vile, it's not from satan, nor is it foolish. Magic is from the heart. It is an invisible gift to share with others. If you are too mature, too saintly, too busy or too careful to nurture and share this magic then you and the world around you grow colder.

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.