When it comes to this little horse, any shred of logic I've ever had disappears.

So I've been really busy this week. 

My tiny mare came up lame last weekend.  She walked past me Saturday evening totally normal, got a drink at the trough, and came back with her right hind sort of... dangling.  She's had her hind legs wrapped up good and tight since then.  

And she's walking on it.  Trotting and loping too, actually.  

The thing about Copper is that she's been a strange combo of fragile and resilient her whole life.  And we are stupefyingly in love with her.  She's so cute.  Look at her up there.  Everything about her is short and compact.  We joke that she's got a big head compared to the rest of her, but that big head is little compared to any other horse.  I buy stuff for her in the pony section which suits me fine, cuz I buy my clothes in the kid section sometimes.  

The kid section?  She belongs to my kids.  This summer we've had to finally admit that they have both grown out of her.  We knew it would happen.  So what?  She stays.  I'm not outgrowing her.  She's got a home for life. If I'm the only person who ever gets on her back from now on, that's fine.  

I decided years ago I'd probably not use her in lessons, partly because she is ridiculously sensitive and responsive.  I can stop her without touching the reins, just a shift of my weight and a quiet "whoa."  She moves from a walk to a jog and back again the same way, just with me shifting my seat.  Having an inexperienced rider would frazzle her.  She kind of spoiled my kids, having learned to ride with her, because they can't get why every horse isn't like that.  I'm not saying she's easy to ride; you have to be on top of every cue or she gets confused.  She's so eager to please she almost turns herself inside out to get it right for you.  But it's not work to ride her.  

I'd also not use her for lessons because she's had problems with That Leg before. 

I mentioned fragile and resilient.  

She's had all kinds of crap to deal with.  As a weanling, the other two foals in the herd only let her up to the feeder for leftovers.  Last year I figured out that her new bitchy snappy behaviour was due to a stomach ulcer.  She got a nail in her hoof a couple years ago and before that had to have stitches in her forehead.  (See why I'm paranoid about sharp things???)  And before that, when she was a yearling, soon after she arrived at the Ol Homestead here, she had a broken leg. 

Yep.  Right hind.  

We fixed her up the best we could.  Our vet couldn't promise anything.  We knew that... and decided to keep her anyways.  She healed up quite well, and I went ahead and saddle broke her when she was three, always keeping an eye on That Leg. She didn't take a wrong step, although her back end has always been a little... swishy.  I don't know how else to describe it.  She would probably have a little swagger anyways but it seems like her stride is just a tiny bit shorter on one side.  But then, I admit that I am looking for it.  Always looking for it.

We have enjoyed nine years with her.  She taught my kids to ride, which I would never recommend - young green horse plus little kids?  Nooooo! - but under my watchful eye they all thrived together.  

For nine years, it never left my mind that she could possibly end up really, terribly lame again.  I was always looking for that limp. Time bomb.

All the crap this horse had dealt with, and she just goes with it.  She still wants her forehead rubbed. She's always happy to see us.

When Dr Rob the Vet came to look at her on Tuesday, after I'd been wrapping her for a few days, I opted not to do the $200 Xray.  What difference does it make if it's cracked or sprained?  The treatment is the same:  wrap her legs, keep her still as possible, mild exercise, a little bute for painkiller, some mineral ice gel to help with the swelling... and no promises.     

I lived over an hour away the first time she was damaged, and had two small kids, and couldn't do much to care for her.  Copper got put on stall rest and got walked twice a day, usually by my dad.  Dr Glen the Vet was amazed at how this little yearling filly walked at the end of the lead rope with her head level, well behaved after being in her stall all day.  I wasn't there: no bandages and no fussing.  Now, at the age of ten, I don't know if she'll heal as well as she did then.  I'm cautiously optimistic.  

Part of our decision all those years ago to give her a chance, was that we would NEVER sell her.  I mean, you could tell a buyer that she has a healed injury and should not be worked hard - no jumping, no barrel racing - and after she appeared sound, it might be, oh heck, she's fine, let's take her to the rodeo, and then a few months or weeks or years later she's ruined and suffering.  It didn't matter because the kids wouldn't consider selling her in any case.  But, we also had to think about... the end.  I told the kids she might not live to be an old horse.  If she is suffering and I can't help her, we have to make The Hard Decision.  

I don't wanna talk about that right now.  Like I said, cautiously optimistic. 

Look at the muscles on this little fart.  

If she hadn't been injured, I think she would have been one hell of a competition horse.  She is blindingly fast, and can turn on a dime.  Just plant one hind hoof and pivot.  (Hmmm.  Wonder how she hurt herself this time?)

I've been putting her in a stall overnight, with the top of the barn door open so she can get lots of fresh air and see the other two, who are in the corral overnight.  During the day, they go in the pasture and she stays in the corral.  They have to be in her sight or she'll go berserk.  She can't function unless she knows where they are.  She'd hurt herself worse if she's left to spin and fret in her stall, worrying about the other two.  

This way she can see them, without them pushing her around, and also get some exercise as she walks in the corral.  

I make no money with this horse.  I can't afford to spend a whole lot on these horses at all but it's especially hard to justify for the little pet here.  I don't care.  For the cost of a few bags of shavings to bed her stall, I'll stable her at night for stall rest.  It doesn't cost anything but time to wrap those legs until I see the limp go away.  Maybe it's a stupid priority to keep feeding her when she's not the most useful horse in the herd, when I've got debts to pay and a truck that needs work, a husband who needs to go to the dentist and kids who need to go to college some day.  I don't know... My farmer's daughter practicality tells me it's foolish.  My foolish heart tells me I can't let her down.  She deserves to be taken care of.  

...those blinky eyes and brown ears, and that soft pink muzzle... 

Oh hell, what's a few hundred bucks a year for a couple hoof trims, a few squirts of dewormer and a  rabies shot?  

She's priceless.

bizarre gardening accidents: they're not just for rock stars anymore.

Warning: This post contains gross things like blood and barf and broken bones.  Also, possible Gaga content.  Readers are advised to use their own discretion and look for Spinal Tap references.  Also: LINKS. 

Well I survived the First Aid course this past weekend.

It was a re-certification. Mine expired in February and I have to have it in order to be a riding instructor.

When I took the course the first time, in 2008, I had a pretty serious panic attack.    With that kind of precedent, I was a little nervous going in.  At least I could assure myself that I do have a clue what I'm doing now.  I've been teaching for two years (not much but it counts) and I've had time to build up some confidence.  I'm quite sure if you were riding my horse and you fell off, which believe me, I would do everything to avoid, I could scrape you off the ground and put you back together until the professionals got there!  But like I said, I am on a mission to never have to use my First Aid training.

I left home at 7:30 am and got home at 6:30 am.  In between, I had 40 minutes of driving altogether, about 20 minutes of break time, and an hour for lunch.  So I'm not good with numbers, but I think that means I did 9 hours of All The Awful Ways People Can Almost Die And What I Must Do To Not Have Them Die.

This could also be known by its alternate title, What To Do When A Person's About To Die A Horrible Accidental Death.

Or, the whole thing can be referred to as just, Boneheaded Injuries To Fix.

Being me, I can't stop my brain from taking off in a different direction.  Rolling an unconscious victim into "recovery position" makes me think of that time on the beach when I was 13 and my buddy was kinda drunk and kept barfing, so the other buddies kept rolling him over, because this recovery position will prevent a person from choking on their own barf, which makes me think not only of drunk buddies but also the amount of rock stars who die of choking on their own barf, or even, somebody else's vomit, which is even more complicated, because you might not ever find out whose barf it was.  You can't dust for vomit.

I'm not kidding, after about Hour 6 this all starts to morph away from Serious into Unbelievable and all the way into Ridiculous.  By that point, I'm looking at videos of people hacking sharp things into themselves (accidentally) and I'm holding back the giggles.  Or maybe that's just me being weird and nobody else in the room felt the same way.

The creepy little plastic rubber mannequin torso starts to morph too.  I'm bitching at the thing for having such a stupid little mouth.  How the hell am I supposed to pretend to scoop a grape out of there to stop the choking, when I can't even get the mouth open?  I'm pressing on its chest, counting compressions, and thinking about how a real person's chest wouldn't squeak like that... or at least it shouldn't...

Try as I did, I could not think up a good name for the creepy torso mannequin.

(and now I find myself wondering if that term will ever come up on an internet search.  THAT would be weird.)

I was one of 12 people pretending to get hurt, grievously injured I could say, and then taking turns pretending  to save each other.  It really reminded me of my son Bucky at 4 years old, wearing a plastic fireman's hat, dragging a wagon up and down the lane, between little orange pylons, clutching a Cabbage Patch baby under his arm.  He'd set the baby on a step ladder, then with the most serious face in the world, go Rescue The Baby.  He'd put the doll under the wheel of his tricycle, then go Rescue The Baby.  We were talking about that a few weeks ago and giggling about, you know, GOOD TIMES in our past.  Bucky's 15 now.  He has a babysitting gig.  He shook his head and said, "Man, that kid got into a lot of trouble."

Ahhhhh yes.  People get themselves into a lot of trouble.

I remarked to one of the other girls, during the bandaging part of the course, that I've spent long hours bandaging horse legs after an injury.  She asked if horses get hurt a lot.  I rolled my eyes and said yes.  What do they hurt themselves on, she asked with surprise.  My answer?  EVERYTHING.  They're worse than toddlers.  They see a nail sticking out of the fence on the other side of the pasture and they take a flying run to impale themselves on it.  You spend a day looking for every sharp protuberance in their environment, and they kick themselves in the bone with the other hoof.  They cannot be trusted.

Humans aren't much friggen better, though.

Just when you think you've seen enough video dramatizations of people having heart attacks, or brain implosions, or lawn rake fractures and garden hose strangulations, I dunno, it started to blend after two hours, you get to learn about how trying to help can make a person's problems worse.  Then you start thinking, what have I gotten myself into here I am never going to teach another riding lesson because if I person trips over a dragging latigo strap on the way back into the barn carrying a saddle they'll break every bone in their spine let alone if the person actually falls off my horse which I don't want to happen screw it I'm never leaving the house ever again.  

By the time we got to the part where we got to watch videos of people slicing off appendages - oh lucky us eh? - I was finished.  I couldn't stop the howls.  It was like watching Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd.  You know it's fake.  You know it's all buckets of red paint.  You know it's all ACTING.  But when that fake red-paint-blood comes squirting out of the fake-wax-arm, I'm the one right up at the front (better to pay attention, right?) cringing my knees right up to chest, shrieking with nervous laughter, wiggling sideways in my chair, plastering my hands over my face.  How embarrassing!  I might as well be the chick in Grade 10 who pokes the formaldehyde frog in biology class, exclaims how gross it is, then pokes it again.

Seriously?  How can I not laugh though.  All I could think of was...

Do you believe this?  Just call me Mr Butterfingers!    This hardly EVER happens... to me....

You have to watch this youtube video.  Please.  I beg you.  If you haven't seen it before, you won't truly be able to understand why I was unable to control the giggles.  If you have seen it and you get it, oh heck just watch it again.  It'll feel like you're 14 again.  Just watch it.

So yeah.  That was this year's First Aid Course experience.  If I'd had a panic attack instead of a laugh attack, maybe people would feel sorry for me instead of thinking I'm rude and insensitive.  Ohhhh well.

Then I didn't watch the MTV awards.  Dammit, I always say I'm going to but then I don't.  This time it's because the Canadian Government has decided we all have to watch high definition digital broadcast, because we need to see every forehead wrinkle on every actor or newscaster over 16, or something, and they've been running commercials all year telling us that if you watch TV over cable or satellite, but if you're still getting signal off your rabbit ears antenna THAT WOULD BE YOU, HEIDI'S FAMILY then you have to either spend out for a new TV or spend out for a little plastic box that will take four weeks for a brilliant recording engineer to set up leaving me to wonder how the hell all the normal people do this and why the hell do we have six remotes in front of Grandma's couch now....

But I found out the next day that I'm not the only chick with a split personality...

Heck if people wanna speculate that she's a guy, why not mess with their heads a little? I guess?  I mean, I didn't watch it, but the pictures are hilarious.

Heck who am I to criticize?  I've done it.  Except it was HALLOWEEN.  

If you wanna get the highlights, you have to just do what I do and go read Go Fug Yourself.   They get all the good pix and they're WAYYYYY FUNNIER 'N I AM.

I can't... I have to go catch three horses who need their hooves trimmed.  Sigh.  I know.  Busy life.

The Will & Kate Show goes to the Stampede! Plus - Bucky's birthday! Plus - Heidi goes off on a rant!

First thing I said to the kid this morning was, "You are a lot bigger now than you were when you came out." He rolled his eyes in disgust.  At least I didn't remind him that he came out with racing stripes.

Yesterday I bought the kid new shoes.  They are size 11 so he's only got another three sizes to go and he and his Dad can swap shoes.  That should save me a couple hundred bucks for a few years.  Also, last space shuttle EVER launched today.  Bucky used to draw pictures of the space shuttle and give them to his Kindergarten teacher, Miss Leonarrrrd.  Awww.  Space shuttles.  Bye.  (nostalgic tears)

Big news - THE ROYAL COUPLE GO TO THE STAMPEDE!  You know what, I give up - I love Will & Kate.  Yeah I know their little 9 day whirlwind tour of Canada is costing me - that all of us Canadian tax payers are funding this trip.  I know they didn't actually DO anything useful other than like, do a smudging ceremony (smoke!  feathers!) and eat BBQ caribou.  Whatevs.  It was very entertaining.  And she wore the same dress on Canada Day that she wore in her engagement pictures.  See?  Like a real person and all.

It's worth having them here to get fun pictures like this!

So of course the animal rights groups are upset about this visit to the Stampede.  

Listen folks.  You know me. You know I love critters.  I grew up surrounded by critters.  I am the caretaker of seven, including the two barncats.  I'd like to think my critters are well taken care of, respected and yes, loved.  I'm disgusted by animal cruelty. (Except lab rats.  I hate rodents.)

However.  Most animal rights groups set my teeth on edge.  I keep getting the impression that most members of these groups don't really understand that there is a huge massive difference between abusing animals, and living and working with them.  

For example.  Saddling a horse and riding him for a few hours.  NOT ABUSE.  Working a horse until he sweats.  NOT ABUSE.  Saddling a severely overweight horse who hasn't been ridden in a year on a 5 hour trail ride with no breaks for water while kicking him mercilessly because you don't know how to actually ride a horse and have no clue how to ask him to move forward, all the while sawing away at his mouth with a 5-inch shanked curb bit because it makes you look cool and bitchin like a cowboy.  ABUSE.  

Riding a bronc for less than eight seconds?  Okay kinda crazy but not abusive.  TO THE HORSE.  Where the hell is People for the Ethical Treatment of Cowboys????  Huh?   

On that note, here are Mr & Mrs Cambridge watching the mutton busting.  Yep, start 'em young.  

The sheep is the size of the average family dog, doesn't run very fast,  and the kid's wearing a hockey helmet. Most kids get way more damage doing organized sports.  Mind you if the kid grows up to be full-on adrenaline junkie crazy, he'll get into bull riding at which point, you can't tell him anything.  Just let him hit the ground and run a few times until he gets sick of it or can't walk without all his bones screaming.  (And he don't even have a PETofC to complain to the media about how meeeen this is.)  

Honestly, I've been to lots of rodeos (okay yes they were all Ontario rodeos so they weren't anything like the Stampede, Albertans please don't laugh at me...) and being the kind of person who just has to know everything, I like to have a good look around.  Ever seen the bucking horses load up after a rodeo?  They plod up into that trailer like nothing.  They stand there with their eyes contentedly half closed.  They have the best job in the equine world... get fed, get cared for, and only work for eight seconds.  

Also.  Horses like to work.  My hot little red half-arab half-QH was the perfect example.  He friggin well knew that the keyhole race was the last gymkhana event and he trotted in there like, "YO!  Champ is HERE people.  Here to WIN! Yeah, you know you love me!!!  CUZ I'M THE BEST!"

And another also.  Any cowboy who intentionally harms a cow or calf or bull is an idiot.  You don't harm the animals you make your living off of. Of course there are a few bad ones.  Hey, there are bad farmers and bad soccer moms too.  Nobody likes them and nobody wants to work with /for them.  

And one more also.  Seriously you see a bull rider in action and you think the bull is the one suffering?  I'm sorry, I can't help you.

Wow, A RANT! Yay!  I must be feeling better! O my gosh I wonder if I'll get hate mail!

But back to the real reason why we're here.  WILL AND KATE.  The Duke and Duchess.  The Hope For The Future of a Good Looking Monarchy.  

William.  Way to wear a plaid shirt.  Those are some shoulders, Your Highness!

I'm of the opinion that almost everybody looks good in a cowboy hat. 

But don't call these Stetsons.  They're not. They're  Smithbilt.   Canadian. 

Now it's time for one of my of my favourite Hick Chic features: WHAT ARE THEY THINKIN'?

I've been across this giant country and back in just over a week.  It would have taken two weeks to drive from one side to the other.  I've done fourteen events per day.  I am knackered.

However that overnight stay in the isolated cabin up in the mountains with no electricity was quite... relaxing.  Yet also invigorating. Yes my darling?  You are smashing in that cowgirl attire.  (If it's a girl, shall we call her Alberta???

Side note from Heidi - Prince Swagger!  I think he looks slammin' like that!  Anybody need some cattle worked?  The guy already knows how to ride a horse!

Here's a good one:

PRIME MINISTER HARPER: Darnit, even in a cowboy hat I still look slightly dorky.  Okay fine, just dorky.  I already tried public performances of Beatles songs.  Still not cool?  Geez.  Oh well, I am the Emperor Prime Minister of Canada, so...yeah.


PRINCE WILLIAM DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE PILOT OF RESCUE HELICOPTERS:  I feel so...stunningly handsome in this attire.  Shall I keep the cowboy hat, Kate?


CATHERINE "KATE MIDDLETON" DUCHESS OF CAMBRIDGE: Ha!  I've already arranged to have the entire outfit shipped back to our home in remote Wales where we live like normal people!!"






And since this blog is called "Hick CHIC" as opposed to "Hick No Sense of Style Whatsoever" I gotta say... I like what she's wearing!!!  Not very flashy, but in her line of work, flashy is not smiled upon.

But as much as I adore Kate - and I do, I give up, I give in, she got me - I just don't think she has enough, um, substance, uh, weight, to really make this work. To really pull off this look, I think a girl's gotta have more backside.  When have you ever seen a legit cowgirl with minimal backside? I'm not even a legit cowgirl and I've got some.  But she's got legs a mile long and makes everything else look like a million bucks so she's good.

And then poof they're gone. 

So Los Angeles, you're next.  

I know, it'll be all over the news that The Royals Go To L.A. and nobody will even know they were in Canada let alone had not one but two romantic wilderness getaways and the rest of the world will wonder why the heck their first kid's name is Canada.  But it's okay.  Cuz they were wearing jeans and cowboy hats so things are right in my world.  

Now I just have to whip up a cake for the boy's birthday, make sure he and his friends don't shoot an eye out on the "target range" and then try to find a channel with some rodeo coverage!!!  

Yee Frickin' Haw!

I actually DON'T gotta get down on Friday.

Hey everybody, it's time for another Friday Brain Scramble!  I'm indecisive and ferhuuddled and easily distracted. Like, I can't even remember what I planned to write here - that's how confused I get.

Anyways.

My week has been mostly involved in my Great Corral Renovation Project.  I will write a whole big series of posts about the topic, but for now I'll sum it up like this:  Two weeks ago I had a 100' by 60' patch of sticky clay mud and deep s*** which became a hill of runny yucky stuff in the pasture field and then turned into a rectangle with some uneven gravel in it.  Now instead of sinking up to the pasterns in the yuck, the horses are tiptoeing across the rough stone, but not often, because I've been keeping them out of it.  I don't want to shovel manure off the gravel.  Are you kidding me?  Why not try to dig a hole in a box full of packing peanuts? NO.  The Project isn't done yet.  It will involve a few more tractor jobs.  Have I ever mention that I really like tractors?

Also my week has been full of lethargy and apathy.  It's like the ambition part of my brain just does not care.  Somehow I've been getting things done, but it takes a lot of catching up after that two hour nap before noon.  Hey gimme a break!  I wake up at 5:30 or 6 every morning to go take care of critters and young people!  I need that nap!

Speaking of which: I grind my teeth when I sleep and I'm not happy about it.  I got some little mouth guards, thinking I'd like to keep what's left of my tooth enamel.  If I put them in upside down I've got a Bubba Gum.  Be the capn of a shrimpin boat.  Tiger shrimp.  Buttefly shrimp.  Cajun shrimp.  When I take the thing out in the morning the little ridged plates that sat between my molars are all mangled and malformed and damaged.

I don't know where I was going with that.  Just thought I'd share.  You're welcome.

I hope nobody phones me.  I'm having phone phobia.  I hate when that happens.

Unrelated note: This weekend we'll be going to an auction sale...  I have such incredibly mixed feelings about these events but I cannot stay away!!!  I'm insane too.  Wanna know why?  I mean, shy specifically?  It's because I'll be there to see what stuff sells for instead of buying anything.

It's one of these auctions:

WE'RE GONNASELL EVERYTHING ONTHEWAGON and then we're gonna SELL THE WAGON.

Only tomorrow it'll also be:

WE'RE GONNA SELL EVERYTHINGON THE FARM and then we're gonna SELL THE FARM.

We don't have 20 G to put in the auctioneer's hand tomorrow.

I'd really like to buy a hay wagon.

Plus there's a nice John Deere 1120 with a loader bucket.  I could really use that.  You know how I like tractors.

So we're basically going to an auction to torture ourselves and watch stuff we like/ could use get bought by other people.  And I'm telling you, if that little 6 acre farm sells for a low price I WILL CRY.  Yeah I'm not kidding.  Cry.  Even though it isn't the perfect place for us, it's really cute and I could love that quirky little old farmhouse.  And the small hip roof barn.  And the crick.  The place has a crick.

Anyways.

What?

The Incorrect Assumption that the Weather Mirrors Our Moods...

I'm not actually in a bad mood today.  In fact, a rain day is good because it forces me to do jobs I usually put off because I have to be outside.

Well... to be totally honest, I never run out of jobs, I'm easily distracted, and I'm pretty good at procrastinating.

In any case, it's pouring out there today.  It has been since last night.  The corral is soaked, the eavestroughs on the house are overflowing, and the horses smell like wet horse.  It's not as bad as wet dog.

That lovely spotted gelding of mine is wearing pretty purple bandages on his hind legs since yesterday afternoon when I went to pick his hooves before a ride and discovered he wouldn't put any weight on his left hind.  I don't think it's a severe injury. He's already walking much better this morning.  Yesterday evening he came loping into the corral on 3 1/2 legs and I figured he'd live.  He's supposed to work tomorrow after school.  I hope he's okay.

Of course it could still be raining by then.  I can work around that, though.  I just give Phoenix the day off while the kid and I sit in the tack room learning about bits and bridles.

I still hope he's okay.  Partly, I worry about the potential vet bill, but also I just hate seeing him sore.  He's a real sweet guy and I prefer to see his face all relaxed and happy.  Mind you, I'm convinced he kind of likes the occasional ouchie.  He looooves the attention.

I spent close to two hours in the open shed with my two horses.  I changed Phoenix's bandages.  I washed Copper's eyes, and rubbed zinc cream on her muzzle to heal up the last of the sunburn scabs.  I reminded myself that even if it isn't hot anymore, the sun is still strong enough to burn her little pink nose.  I combed my fingers through Phoenix's white forelock.  They each got enough of a forehead scratch to make them close their eyes, and twitch their droopy lips in happiness.

I love that.

Some days, I love fussing over them even more than riding them.

We stood under the doorway as the rain drilled past us.  I thought about getting the Old Order Mennonite guys out to put eavestroughs on the south side of the barn roof.  They'd have it done in a day, easily.  Then I wouldn't get drenched on days like these, just trying to get in the barn door.

Eventually I took down the ropes blocking the doorways, and the horses eagerly stepped out into the rain. They don't give a crap about rain.  It's not cold today.  There's nice juicy grass to eat in the pasture.

I watched them cross the sticky wet corral.  Phoenix walked more carefully than usual.  Each hoof slid slightly, but there was only a slight hesitation on the sore leg.  The Little Lady followed him walking all ladylike and polite.  Once he got out to the grass, Phoenix trotted like he was testing out the new legs, and then loped lazily to the other end of the field.  After I put all my stuff away, I peeked out and saw them at the far fence, grazing like normal.

In the house, my Pug was curled up on a couch cushion, looking at me like he was waiting there all morning for me to join him.  He'll have to go out in the rain for a walk (and a dump) one of these hours, but he clearly believes that a rain day means a slow day.

It's grey, trucks swish by on the highway, and I'm thinking maybe it's me who mirrors the weather, not the other way around.

Gaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Yeah I'm still here.

Working on the barn - pictures soon.  Maybe.

Not writing.  Want to, would like to, but any spare hour is often spent sitting on a couch watching something on TV that does not stimulate my brain in any way - and I like it.

My mom's taking a few weeks off work.  Did you know you have a little internal filtering organ called a gallbladder?  Well she doesn't anymore.  And soon she'll be much happier about it.  Until then, I take over all grocery shopping duties as well as all dish washing, cooking, and bathroom cleaning.  I continue with my laundry jobs.  She continues to instruct the universe from a position of relaxation, and continues to be amazing.

My dog is now full time foot warmer for Grandma.

I'm glad I'm here for her.

My ol' Man is 67 years old and might be close to admitting that he ain't 45 anymore.  Nobody believes him though. Will keep you posted.

Tribble wrote her Grade 10 english exam today.  Good thing she can read.  She doesn't have to go to school again until Friday, when she performs her Dance exam.  I fully intend to work her like a rented mule, hahahaha!  Good thing she likes the barn.

Bucky has to be at school at 7 am tomorrow for a field trip.  I will be getting up around 5:30 am, leaving the house with him at 6:30, returning home at 7, kicking the horses out of the barn with a half bale of hay, taking the Pug for a quick run in the melting snow, then going back to bed.  (Where Tribble will most likely be, taking up as much room as a 102 lb person can.)

Jethro got the floors in that house of ours sanded.  Looks gorgeous.  I think we should do that again soon in a house we intend to live in for many years.

There's a big grey and white tomcat hanging around the barn.  Larry and Moe kind of avoid him.  I figure if he's gonna hang around and eat our generic feed mill cat-kibble, he better tame up.  I can get almost 2 feet away from him, but he still looks at me like I'm a cat eating monster.  Maybe I should stop picking up Larry and telling him he's deliciously cute.

Lucy In The Sky With Ladybugs is still insane, stalks shadows, pounces on my feet in bed, thinks she's weightless and eats like a dog.  I suspect she might be a shapeshifter but she's so damn fast I can't catch her at it.  Hmmm.

Phoenix and the Little Lady both in need of hoof trimming.  I have neglected them.  I feel awful every time I look at their hooves, especially his.  I shouldn't even be posting this on the internet.  His hooves are all long and cracking and I must be a bad horse owner.  I had to choose between parasite control and hoof trimming.  Then I had to buy feed.  Then shavings to bed their stalls.  Then... my own children needed new pants.

I hate being broke.

I am working on getting work.

People I know are dealing with problems worse than mine.

That doesn't make me feel better.

I have a dream of wearing really expensive high quality overalls out to the barn.

I like having a radio out there.

I'll need a new corn broom soon.  This one's wearing down from sweeping all those miserable cobwebs. Will it ever end?

I miss Jethro.

My imaginary people talk to me while I'm working.  I hope they don't stop.  I'm listening.

I am behind on EVERYTHING.

I just remembered that my coveralls are still in the washing machine and I think I'd like them to be dry before I put them on to go back out to the barn.

I still have a huge amount of re-arranging to do before the last of our belongings will fit into this house.  I have nightmares about brown webs and cardboard boxes and garbage bags.

So, yeah, I'm just gonna mosey on down to the cellar and do some laundry.

I hope it doesn't take me a week.  Stay tuned.

FRUSTRATION! And relief... And, how am I gonna do all this???

When I let the horses out into the pasture this morning at 7:30, the Little Lady was limping.  

Not good.  This is what we've all been worried about for years.  Maybe you don't know this, but that left hind leg has always been a source of concern, because when she was a yearling, it was broken.  BROKEN.  We forked out the money back then to that leg x-rayed , and sure enough, it was cracked.  By then we'd ALL completely fallen for this tiny cute sweet big-eyed blinky baby.  The crack was right down into the fetlock joint and was getting ready to be a future arthritis problem.  

Nothing could be done but stall rest, and 10 minutes twice each day of hand-walking.  Glenn the vet couldn't make any promises about her condition.  He told us he could never tell us that she'd be sound, even if she appeared to be fine.  We might end up with a really cute lawn ornament.  A much loved little lawn ornament.

So, we did it.  Or I should say, my parents did it, because I lived too far away.  The entire family had a decision to make: if we put the time into this little horse, we make a commitment to keeping her for her lifetime.  No strenuous riding, no barrel racing, no jumping, no breeding.  Watch her weight, and be prepared to get into an arthritis management program at some point in her life.  Never sell her, because we couldn't trust anyone else to get it, and give her the care she needs.  Above all, know that when she is in pain, and we can't make her comfortable anymore, we put her out of her misery.  Scary, eh?  

She healed up.  A year later, she was a new horse.  She was muscular and fit. She didn't limp.  Glenn the vet was impressed.  You could say he was amazed.

Occasionally over the years, she'd look a little stiff if the weather took a cold turn.  Heck, so do I.  She always got over it.  We marveled regularly at how great she's doing, how awesome she is, and how glad we are that we put the work into saving her.

Then this morning, she's all limpy.  

They came into the corral after lunch and she was not putting any weight on it.  At all.  She was walking on three legs and dragging the fourth.  

I dropped everything, left my mother to do the work we'd planned together, and wrapped up the Little Lady's hind legs.  I put both horses in the barn to keep Phoenix from moving her around.  The horses both looked at me like I was nuts, because it's the middle of the afternoon, and this isn't when they get their grain, and can they please go back out?  The barn cats had those cool faces like, "So where's our kibble at?"  

We got in the car and dashed off to get the kids from school.  I was thinking about the stuff I wasn't getting done in the house, and thinking about a horse who will not be used for lessons now, and that maybe this is my wake up call.  Maybe she'll be okay but I can't push her too hard.  Maybe it's my fault for riding her almost every day for over two weeks.  Then I got into the What Ifs and that was too awful to say out loud. 

Back home again, I wrapped her legs with some cold lotion.  Then they blasted out to the pasture like their tails were on fire, and guess what?  SHE CAN RUN ON THREE LEGS.  Forehead slap.

I called the vet and left a message.

After supper I talked to Cindy the vet.  She said she'd come out in the morning, and told me to check the cold lotion jar, to see if it's allowed to stay on overnight.  She told to pick out her hooves real good.  If she's got a stone in there or something, it could affect the weight bearing and then irritate that old injury.

I was feeling a little frazzled by this time, and relieved that Mom happened to have the day off work, and she did the cooking today.  If I'd been alone, we'd be eating crackers and cheese for dinner.  Keeping horses in the barn overnight is a lot more labour intensive than keeping them in the corral for the night.  I threw down a couple hay bales, topped up the water buckets, and brought the horses in.  Fed the cats too, not that they needed it, judging by the pile of feathers in the aisle.

I undid the mare's legs and checked for swelling.  All okay.  I got out the nasty old polo bandages and wrapped her up again, making sure I got under the fetlock for support.  

I was putting stuff away in the tack room when I remembered Cindy's point about the hoof pick.  I wrestled Copper's leg up again - she was losing her good natured co-operation by this time - and dug the hoof pick into the cleft.  It stopped.  It stuck on something.  

Uh oh.

I felt around with my fingers and found...

A NAIL HEAD.  

I PULLED A HALF INCH LONG NAIL OUT OF HER HOOF.

Felt a little dizzy, folks.  It was right up in there, vertically.  

I'm so fanatical about picking up every nail and bit of junk that works its way to the surface of this old barnyard.  And yet.  

So, I got some iodine to squirt on the underside of her hoof, and a square or gauze with some duct tape to stick it on, and made a funny lookin' little booty around her hoof to keep the dirt out until morning when the vet gets here.  

I'm thinking now, maybe she's not permanently arthritic.  Yet.  Maybe it's not the old leg injury acting up - I mean, you'd limp too if you had a NAIL IN YOUR HOOF, right?  

Okay, so it's not so terribly horribly bad, other than the poor girl having a RUSTY PIECE OF METAL IN HER.  Which I pulled out and disinfected and wrapped and holy crap how long does a tetanus shot last???

Poor sweet little mare... she always gets it.  Cut her forehead in June, has to have baby-bum-cream on her little pink muzzle to avoid sunburn, got mudcrack this summer and had the have yellow goop on her pastern to get rid of the scabs, has super sensitive skin and hates being brushed when she's in heat, and also HAD A BROKEN LEG WHEN SHE WAS A BABY.  

I am really, really tired, folks.  I have to do all that laundry I didn't do this afternoon when I was wrapping legs.  Have to go to bed.  My hair is frizzy with humidity and sweat and that bath I had this morning has been totally negated.

How am I going to do this - take care of two horses, make a living with them, when I haven't even gotten my coaching insurance stitched up and therefore haven't gotten any solid gigs out here yet, and still be there for my kids, maintain a long-distance relationship with my husband (I don't recommend this by the way) and feed people, take my dog for a run outside along the hay field, clean the cat's litter box, sweep floors, write novels (which I am taking a break from this month, geez) and like, be me, and sleep?  And have a bath at least once a week?  

I mean, people do this, right?  People who DON'T live with Mom?  

At least I might have a bus stop for the kids, so I only have to drive 5 minutes instead of a half hour to get them to school.

I can do this, right?

I hope my little mare is feeling better in the morning.  When I left her, she was munching  hay like she always hangs in the barn with her legs wrapped up and one hoof encased in duct tape.  It's cool, baby.  Totally normal.  Leave the barn door open, eh?  The breeze is nice...

I haven't had a haircut in a year, but my horse's hooves look great.

Clearly, I have my priorities right.

A few weeks ago, Phoenix got his hooves trimmed and I've been meaning to show off pictures of his lovely stripes. Appaloosas, those amazing spotted horses, have striped hooves because of the pigment. The little Lady's hooves are mostly white except for one thick stripe in a hind hoof.

I was worried about some nasty cracks in Phoenix's hind hooves. My ol King had brittle hooves but this guy tops it. What happened to all those stories about the tough little Indian ponies with hooves like rock???? Not only does he have brittle hooves, he's a hoof growing machine. It doesn't even slow down in winter.

I do own a set of hoof nippers and I used to have a rasp... until it sprouted legs and walked away, which tends to mysteriously happen around here... but I'm not confident enough to trim hooves myself. I'll do an emergency trim if I have to. Imagine how bad a hangnail is on a horse. The thing is, I choose not to let the hooves get so ragged that I have to step in and fix it. I'd rather get regular trims by a perfeshnul.

So basically, I'll trim the cat's claws, maybe the dog if he's sleeping (he's a strong little monster) and I've been known to cut my husband's hair, but I'm way to picky to chance a hoof trim.

Here are Phoenix's front hooves, as he stood in his clean shavings and ate his evening hay.

(He's not really club footed, he's just standing like a dork. Must- get- face-- into --- grain-bucket!!!)

(And yes, I did get rid of that little piece of plastic from the shavings bag out from under his hoof.)


Let me just take a moment to reflect on how much I love this raggedy old barn. Yes, the ceilings are too low and the aisles are too narrow and the stalls are too small. But it's surprisingly warm in there. Cozy? And those shavings smell so good, and the horses smell so horsey. And the hay. I love the smell of hay.



Let's get a closer look. I love those stripes!





Here are his hinds. That near one is the one I was so worried about.


There is a surface crack in it, but we just have to keep an eye on it. So far it doesn't go anywhere that will cause problems. (And look at that long tail!)

His previous owner (whom I adore) told me the day I first looked at him that they'd always had problems with his hind hooves. They tried putting shoes on him but the shoes just fell off, and worse, the nails pulled out a few more chunks of hoof. Yeesh. No shoes for this guy. I prefer barefoot anyways, and have found an awesome farrier who only does barefoot trimming. She's a firm believer in letting the hoof function as it's meant to. It's more natural, healthier and yup, easier on my wallet. These horses aren't doing a lot of road work or high performance. They just don't need shoes. What they need is a regular trim to keep everything in shape.

Me however... I really could use a haircut. It's officially past that cool grown-in phase and into full on ratty. I'm having a hard time caring though. I really should get it done before I have to leave the house for a few days...

But today is all about my equine friends. Here's his handsome self! This is the first thing I see when I go into the barn.


I'd like to think he's happy to see me. I am really falling for this guy. I like him more every time I see him.



And everybody's sweetheart, the little mare. I couldn't get far enough away in that narrow aisle to get a good picture of her.


Hey little Lady, why the long face? Snort! Pfft! bwa hahahaha! (See the little brown shadows above her eyes? When Bucky was 6 or 7, he used to call them her "eyebrowns." It was so cute! I hope he doesn't read this.)

So I definitely spend more on the farrier than the hairdresser, but that's the way it should be. I don't walk around on my hair.