Bear the Barn Cat

Writer Jon Katz is fond of saying that they last thing many small creatures see are the gorgeous green eyes of his Bedlam Farm barn cat, Mother.

Similarly, many critters have met their end while staring into the lovely visage of Bear, the Sweetgrass Ranch barn kitty.  Ten this year, Bear is the sole survivor from a group of three kittens that I took home from Missy Pfeiffer's barn many moons ago.  Her brother, HooDoo, disappeared at ten months and last year, Bear's lifelong companion and sister, Shadow, was euthanized due to kidney failure.

True to her sunny nature, Bear has soldiered on.  Her pattern has changed, though. She used to spend long hours in the horse pastures, stalking moles and voles and unsuspecting mice.  Nowdays, Bear is hanging close to the barn and house.  She's lonely in a way that only cats can be -- she finds me more often and I'm mindful of her need to visit.

My encounters with Bear often take me back to the Pfeiffer barn.  The largest of her litter, Bear was the first kitten to come out of the hay bales, the first to greet me.  I remember a time when her two siblings seemed to be eating all the food and Bear had become scrawny.  Sensing the need for some supplemental feeding, I brought Bear into the house.  After each meal, the curious kitten would dart off and if, by chance, the toilet seat lid was up, I would find her splashing in the water.

It seems fitting that Bear remains.  Jon Katz says that animals come into your life when you need them and they leave when their work is done.  I believe he is right.  Bear has a bit more work to do here at Sweetgrass and I'm thankful for her presence.

Bear the Sweetgrass Ranch Barn Cat

Spring Is Nature's Way of Saying, "Let's Party!"

The title line for this post is a quote from actor and comedian Robin Williams.

Yesterday, I asked my husband, Don, to help me roll away the rocks that cover the girls' graves.  Sounds kind of hinky, doesn't it?

The girls refer to Mighty, Jane, Shadow and Mimi -- four kitties that we loved and eventually lost.  Last fall, as a tribute to the girls and a nod to this great big engine we call life, I planted bulbs over each of the graves in the Sweetgrass Ranch pet cemetary.

Lorenzo helped me plant bulbs other places, too, and when I saw the first shoots emerging, I knew it was time to check on the girls.  Here's how it looked after we moved the rocks away.

If you believe in science, the second law of thermodynamics says that energy is neither created nor destroyed -- it just changes form.  I know the girls have gone on to become something else and I like to think I see them in the newly emerged plants, the beautiful blossoms to come.  For me, this transformation is symbolic of new life and eternal spring.

Robin Williams is right.  Life is short and meant to be lived boldly with lots of parties.  I'm thinking we'll have one with music, lots of good food, and dancing.

As for cats, just one of the original five remain.  Bear, our barn kitty, is having a hard time keeping up with Sweetgrass's expanding mole population.  We may need to add a kitten or two.

Recovery

One early April morning in 2010, Lorenzo and I stood shoulder to shoulder outside Drifty's stall here at Sweetgrass Ranch and watched the mare deliver a beautiful blue roan filly.  For us, it will always be a miraculous day.

The following day, after a visit from Dr. Jennifer Posey to make sure all was well, we turned Jetblue and her mama out to the paddock.  Amazingly, our blue roan filly jetted around the run and jumped the water bucket, earning her the name Jetblue.

From the start, Jetblue was a home grown collaborative project between Lorenzo and me and I have copious notes and photos about every step, from haltering to clipping to Jetblue's very first show.

So you can imagine how we felt when Jetblue suffered a life threatening right dorsal displacement of her colon on the snowy morning of January 18.  We did everything in our power to save Jetblue and so did a lot of other folks:  my husband, Don,  Dr. Barb Crabbe and Nikki James of Pacific Crest Sporthorse, my daughter (Rosie), and the amazing staff at Oregon State University's Veterinary Teaching Hospital, particularly Dr. Jill Parker and Dr. John Schlipf.

Last Saturday was Jetblue's first full day at home and the beginning of her recovery process here at the ranch.  The first task -- disolving a monster aspirin in warm water, applesauce, and molasses and syringing it down Jetblue -- took some teamwork, but Lorenzo and I managed nicely.  We hotpacked the area of Jetblue's neck where the catheter had been and carefully openned up a small scab there to ensure drainage.

There were some wonderful, almost magic moments Saturday like this interaction between Jetblue and Lorenzo.

 Thanks to Lorenzo and Rosie, Jetblue had a fair amount of hand walking...

And even some hand grazing...

Since I'm in the process of trying to mend three ribs myself, Lorenzo graciously volunteered his time to help out and what a blessing it was to have him here.  The talented horseman also helped aid yet another recovery by saddling, walking, and trotting Whisper.

As of this point in time, I feel very blessed and I'm thankful, relieved, and happy that Lorenzo and I get to continue our adventure with Jetblue.

“A single day is enough to make us a little larger or, another time, a little smaller.” ~Paul Klee

Homecoming

Jetblue came home from OSU today, one week and two days after major life saving surgery.  Lorenzo backed her out of the trailer and walked her down toward Drifty's paddock, calling the mare.

Drifty loped up to the gate and reached over to sniff her baby.  She and Jetblue touched noses -- it was a very sweet moment.

No one can say for sure what was going through Drifty's mind this past week, but Lorenzo and I both noticed that she seemed disheartened and a little depressed.  Her former life as a broodmare probably lead her to believe that she would never again see Jetblue.  So there was definitely a sense of relief and joy in the encounter at the gate.

Jetblue has lost a lot of weight, so we'll be carefully adjusting her diet to add a few pounds and then maintain her during her two-month stall rest.  Her care will involve hot-packing the catheter site to encourage drainage from a bit of swelling there, and administering aspirin to avoid any blot clots.  We'll be aggressive with the use of the cribbing collar, too, since cribbing can definitely lead to things like a right dorsal colon displacement.

This night, our barn once again seems complete.  Jetblue is home and there's a sense of renewed hope and purpose.

Thank you for your prayers!

Jetblue, Back at Home

Jetblue Comes Home Tomorrow

Jetblue's surgeon, Dr. Jill Parker, cleared the filly to come home today.  So tomorrow, Lorenzo and I will work to knock off our chores as early as possible before taking the truck and trailer south to Corvallis.  There, will pick up Jetblue and head home.  The filly is scheduled for two months of stall rest before graduating to a small paddock.  Her incision will be totally healed at three months.  Thanks for your prayers and well wishes!

A Single Conversation With a Wise Man Is Better Than Ten Years of Study

The title line for this post is a Chinese proverb.

In my case, the most illuminating conversation of the day was with a wise woman.  Terri at Outwest Saddlery in Pagosa Springs, Colorado really knows her bosals, and mecates, and fiadors.  About now, you're probably wondering what I'm talking about...

A bosal is a braided rawhide noseband, a vaquero hackamore.  Bosals come in thick and narrow widths and are rated by the size of the braid, a PLAIT number.  The higher the number, the tinier the braid and typically, the softer the action of the bosal.  There's more to it.  Terri taught me that the bite of the bosal also depends on how the edges of the rawhide strands are finished.  If they are smoothed down, the bosal has a much more mild action.  If they are left square, it's a sharper sensation for the horse.

Yesterday, I posted a photo of Lorenzo riding Whisper in the rain and you can see that he's using a bosal with a mecate, the long horse mane hair rope that doubles as both reins and an extra length of rope to either tie or lunge a horse.  Here's a snapshot of my bosal, mecate, and the leather hanger that goes up over the horse poll, behind his or her ears.

Terri taught me that it's important to have a mecate that is a similar thickness to the bosal for proper balance.  So, I snapped this photo and shot it off to her via e-mail today.

If the bosal knot and mecate are not properly balanced, a fiador or throatlatch can be added to achieve this.  If a fiador is used, a browband is generally added to the hanger.  For more information, check out these links:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bosal or http://www.outwestsaddlery.com/html/mecates___bosals.html.

The advantage of starting a young horse in a bosal is that you don't have to use a bit during a period when the horse is actively replacing baby teeth with adult teeth.  A bosal is also very useful for teaching flexion, although it has a limitation in that it isn't as good as a snaffle bit for obtaining lateral flexion in the horse.

Here at the ranch, we've taken to using a bosal, mecate, and hanger when a horse seems to be having trouble working well in the bit.  Every horse here is up to date on dentals and we're constantly evaluating saddle fit, but occasionally, we run into some resistance that we just can't explain.

Our bosal been very useful for riding both Irish and Whisper and we're really considering starting Jetblue with this set-up in lieu of a snaffle bit.  Over the next few days, Terri will help me understand the pluses and minuses of various bosals and I'll do a little more research so I can make an informed decision.

Gosh, I love learning.  The following quote from freelance writer Robert Brault is one of my favorites.

"Each day learn something new, and just as important, relearn something old."  ~Robert Brault, www.robertbrault.com

Shooting for Friday

It's looking like Jetblue will be able to come home this coming Friday.  She's eating, drinking, and pooping just fine and the infection near her former catheter spot does not appear to have made it into the filly's blood.  The swelling along her ventral line is going down, too.  All good news.

Jetblue's surgeon, Dr. Parker, advises keeping the filly on stall rest for a full two months when she comes home.  This means lots of hand walking and hand grazing and stall toys or activites that engage Jetblue, but will not get her too hyped up.  Ideas or suggestions?

Keeping Jetblue occupied is going to be important as she tends to crib when she's bored.  Since cribbing is a key factor which can lead to colic, we'll be doing everything we can, including the as needs use of a cribbing collar or a grazing muzzle.

Riding in the Rain -- Whisper Goes Back to Work

It was downright soggy today, but we managed to get Whisper tacked up, adding a new tacky pad and crupper to her gear.  In between the downpours, Lorenzo lunged Whisper good to work out any kinks.  The pressure of the crupper was new, so the mare humped her back, bucked and balked before settling down.

Taking advantage of a small break in the weather, Lorenzo put Whisper in the bosal and mecate, mounted, and worked the mare at the walk and trot before asking her to canter.  Being Whisper, she pawed at the huge puddles in the arena,a usual precursor to dropping like a fainting goat and having a good roll in the water.  Thankfully, Lorenzo was always one step ahead of the mare's game.

Come see Lorenzo and Whisper by clicking on the following video link:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wmtz01va8Bs

Lorenzo and Whisper Riding in the Rain

A Quick Update On Jetblue

The area around Jetblue's catheter became inflamed today, so Dr. Parker ordered it removed, put Jetblue on aspirin to prevent any possible clotting, and took a tissue sample from the swollen area.  The latter will be cultured and the bacteria identified, so a targeted antibiotic can be selected if necessary.

My filly's ventral line, along the surgical incision scar, was swollen as well, indicating possible bacterial infection in the abdomen.  The folks at Oregon State University's Veterinary Teaching Hospital will be closely monitoring Jetblue and will slap her back on some powerful antibiotics if need be.

In the meantime, the absence of a catheter has actually made taking Jetblue out to graze a whole lot easier.  She's eating four flakes of hay and seems to be doing well otherwise.

Your continued prayers for a swift and total recovery are much appreciated.  If Jetblue does well over the next few days, she may come home as early as Thursday.

When It Rains, It Pours

The title line for this post is an American proverb that seems particularly relevant since we're due for an inch of rain tomorrow.

Rain isn't the only thing that's abundant at Sweetgrass lately.  Mayhem has had a good run here, too.  After suffering for a week plus with a good deal of pain in my left ribcage, I learned that Whisper's recent gift to me, the unexpected flying lesson, produced three broken ribs.  Gosh, thanks Whisper.  I guess my fall wasn't as graceful as I had thought...

What does it all mean?  No riding for the next five weeks, which is our prime season for getting the horses ready for the 2012 horse shows.  The horses will still get worked on days when the weather cooperates.  Lorenzo has volunteered to both lunge and put rides on all of them and Nick will start tuning Gin up next week.  My guess is that Jetblue is going to need some time to recover, so that leaves Whisper, Irish, and Drifty for Lorenzo.  He's more than up to the task.

Actually, after Whisper dumped me little over a week ago, Lorenzo hopped on and put the mare through some serious paces.  He's always been an amazing horseman and he's made stellar progress on his equitation this past year.  As I watched him ride Whisper, I was impressed and proud and I told Lorenzo so.

For the next five weeks, Lorenzo will be focusing on quality work time for Irish and Drifty.  In the past, I've found this to be a very effective training mode prior to show season.   If all goes well, we'll ramp up to more intense training for a month or so before competition, leaving a few weeks ahead of the shows for more relaxed sessions.

When he returns from Montana, Nick will begin a conditioning program from Gin.  Our goal is to find him an awesome show home with a youth rider who is involved in 4-H or high school equestrian team. This gelding is mega-talented and his many gifts need to be exercised!

Whisper is coming off a very long lay-off for a multitude of lameness issues, so our goal for her will be much different.  Lorenzo will work to condition her, assess her for fitness, and ready her for a new home.
In the meantime, Livestrong.com has some excellent advice for mending broken ribs:

http://www.livestrong.com/article/11104-treat-fractured-ribs/

Bored and Busy - Jetblue on the Mend

Over the past couple of days, I've had some pretty good visits with Jetblue's surgeon Dr. Parker.  While there is no clear underlying cause for what happened to Jetblue -- the displacement of her bowel which required emergency life saving surgery -- the filly does have one big risk factor.  She cribs.   Horses that crib or grab onto a surface and suck air are far more likely to colic.  We've tried to minimize this behavior as much as possible, but we clearly have more to do.

For now, Jetblue is off both of her antibiotics and being weaned off her pain medication.  She's made phenomenal progress on every front but one.  Jetblue is still on IV fluids because she's not drinking her water.  And...  she bit Dr. Parker yesterday.

This afternoon, Don and I spun down to Corvallis.  When we first saw Jetblue, I thought she was eating her bedding.  Not true.  What she was doing was sifting through the bedding for any stray pieces of hay.  We gloved up and entered her stall, expecting to pet her.  Instead, she pinned her ears, the queen bee of CRANKY.

Looking over her chart, I learned that Jetblue is up to three flakes of hay per day, has passed five piles of manure in the past day-and-a-half, is cribbing badly enough to warrant a grazing muzzle, has gone out and grazed well, and is generally developing a bad ass attitude.  That a girl.
Here's a snapshot of Jetblue messing with my camera.

Don told me he thinks Jetblue looks really good, that everything is going to be all right.  I agree with him on both counts, but I also know that Jetblue may always be a high risk for colic or have related trouble.  At some point in time, she may even lose her life to colic.  As the filly's advocate, all I can do is my best and that has to be good enough.

Jetblue's Second Day After Surgery

Lorenzo and I got all the a.m. chores knocked off in short order this morning so we could head to Oregon State University's Veterinary Teaching Hospital to see Jetblue.  Despite heavy rain and very high water everywhere, we made it to campus just after noon.

It was really good to see Jetblue so alert and moving well.  The giant IV bag still hung overhead, its tube snaking down into a catheter into Jetblue's neck.  A lovely fourth year vet student named Meagan explained that Jetblue was being given tiny amounts of soaked grass hay and had been walked out on the grass and allowed to graze.  We watched as the filly greedily chowed down her hay and slurped up the water.

Clearly, Jetblue holds me responsible for her confinement in the concrete prison and the host of pain she's experiencing.  I was, after all, the one who brought her to OSU.  As I tried to smooth my hand over her, she camel-faced.  With Lorenzo it was different.  She was all kisses for him.  After spending some quiet time with Jetblue, she reluctantly slobbered a few wet kisses on me as well.

When we got ready to leave, Jetblue raised her head and Meagan pressed a button that automatically raised the IV bag.  The motor powering the lift is a noisy thing, one that scares a lot of horses according to Meagan.  Jetblue stood perfectly still and seemed totally unphased.  That's my girl.
For now, all is well.  Thanks for your prayers and well wishes.

Jetblue and Lorenzo at Oregon State University's Veterinary Teaching Hospital

Taking Bold Measures -- Overcoming Loss, Grief and Fear

The last time I watched a horse being lead down the hallway toward the surgical suites at Oregon State University's Veterinary Teaching Hospital haunts me.  It was over two-and-a-half years ago and the horse was my favorite trail riding, colt ponying, and cow chasing gelding, Jack.  True, I stood by and watched as the surgeon sorted through a sedated Jack's inflamed intestines and bowels.  Numb, I nodded as she had pointed to the huge beaker of bloody abdominal fluid.  The last time I truly saw Jack alive, though, was in that hall.

So yesterday afternoon, when a surgical team prepared and walked my filly, Jetblue, down that very same hall, I was tempted to be terrified.  Instead, I snapped a photo and imagined that this time would be different.  Jetblue was young and generally healthy.  Her abdominal fluid was minimal and completely normal. 

Thankfully, the surgery for Jetblue's displaced bowel went well and I got to touch Jetblue before returning home last night.  So far, the prognosis is a guarded good to excellent.

Today, I spoke with Jetblue's surgeon, Dr. Jill Parker.  My filly seems to be doing well in this critical thirty-six hour post-surgery period.  She's calm and has even managed to produce several road apples.  Her blood protein level is a little low, but Dr. Parker remains hopeful.  If Jetblue makes it through this night, the odds of a full and complete recovery are very good.

The image of this particular hallway at OSU has held me captive for a long time.  Yesterday was as much about overcoming loss, grief, and fear as it was about taking bold measures to save Jetblue.  It was a big lesson.

Jetblue Being Taken to Emergency Surgery at OSU's Veterinary Teaching Hospital

Tomorrow, Lorenzo and I are going to knock off early and spin down to Corvallis to visit our girl.  Until then, please keep Jetblue in your prayers.

Why Ducks Live Near Water

A snowmaker moved into the Pacific Northwest last night, coating everything with a thick layer of white.  It would have been the perfect morning to snuggle under the covers, but my cell phone began buzzing just ahead of 5 a.m.  It was my son, phoning from sunny Santa Cruz.  Given the weather conditions, he'd decided to delay his return home by a day.  Can't say that I blame him.

The white stuff always means extra work, but it's a beautiful time as well.  I took some time to snap a couple of photos.

Putting the Horses Out

Drifty in the Snow

When it came time to rinse down the duck run and restock the feed, water, and vitamins, I decided to bring my video camera.  For the past few weeks, there have been small wild birds -- usually Oregon Juncos -- in the pen and I wanted to share the experience with you.

It didn't quite happen how I had planned, though.  I filmed the snow on my truck, Sombra in her dog run, and the duck run, which was -- even in the chain link regions -- coated with several inches of snow.  When I opened the door to the pen, there stood my three Indian Runner girls but no juncos.  Click on this link to see my video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUcI52oi62E

Switching off my camera, I wondered why no small birds?  By this point in time, the runners were flailing through the snow and it was very slow going.  Come see by clicking on the following link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BvZZYAL7Uc

As I watched the ducks struggle through the snow, it became clear why most wild ducks live near bodies of water.  If a duck has to make a quick getaway, doing so through snow is a little like running through quicksand.  On water, a duck has the advantage.  The girls finally made their way to the base of a large Hemlock tree, a snow free, grassy area where they swiftly commenced shoveling for slugs and bugs.

Feeling like I had some great footage, I took my camera to the garage and left it on the generator before filling up the ducks' feed dish.  When I returned to the run, there were probably ten juncos flitting back and forth across the enclosure.  Talk about a jaw-dropping moment.  Later, when I shared the strange experience with my husband, he provided some very good insight.

The snow had indeed coated the chain link portions of the run, creating an igloo-like environement and making it impossible for the juncos to squeeze through the links.  Amazing.

A Shutter Speed Slower Than Snow

Late last night, a snowstorm moved into our area, the first one of the season.  By morning, everything in sight had a beautiful blanket of snow.  The following is one of my favorite snapshots from the day.  My camera's shutter was slower than the blustery snowflakes.

Irish in His Paddock

Flying Lessons

     Sooner or later, if you own horses, you get free gratus flying lessons.  If you're lucky, you learn a good deal about landing safely while you're at it.  It's taken me ten years or so to figure out how to "fall" without injury.  During that time, my learning curve has been, well, painful:  multiple broken ribs, a broken leg, and -- worst of all -- a dislocated toe.
     Over the years, there have been multiple trips from the saddle to the ground, courtesy of a horse spooking at this or that.  Once, a gelding took off with me hanging onto his lunge line -- I swear that I was sailing six feet above the ground before I remembered to let go.  It was a hard landing.  My latest flying lesson, the one that occurred this afternoon, was a doozy.
     We were testing a panel saddle on a mare that has been on and off the injured list for the past nine years and possibly longer.  Our initial assessment was positive and the mare was moving out well and freely at both the walk and trot.  Feeling hopeful, I asked for the left lead.  Before I could react, the mare kicked up her hooves -- BIG TIME -- and I went tumbling over her head and neck.
     Somewhere between A-okay and hitting the ground, my body automatically responded.  I got my feet out of the stirrups, tucked my head between my arms, and cannon-balled into the arena footing.  I landed squarely on my left rear ribcage and rolled back up onto my hands and knees.  My trajectory put me directly in front and slightly to the left of the mare, who thankfully shied at the large oddly shaped object cartwheeling through the air:  ME.
     When my flying lessons happen -- it's always a surprise -- there isn't a lot that goes through my mind.  It seems that my responses are purely visceral.  Interestingly, there's a sort of protective mechanism to the whole affair.  For example, I never recall hitting the ground or, in one case, the tree.  One instant, I'm sailing through the air and the next, I've arrived at my "destination."
     Tonight, I feel like I had the crap smacked out of me, but I'm also feeling very lucky and just a wee bit accomplished.  It's taken a lot of years to get this landing stuff down.

"I'm very phobic about flying, but I'm also drawn to it." ~ Martin Scorsese

Bringing the Heifers In

Bringing the Heifers In

by Susan Fay

     The mud sucks at our boots as we enter the lower pasture.  Libbey and Tove, the Black Angus heifers, are there, waiting.

     "Oh, Libbey's halter," Don says.

     What he means to say is Libbey's halter is missing.  During the daytime, we leave the nylon halters on both girls to make catching them easier.  Libbey, the bigger of the two, has figured out how to slip hers off.

     "I know where it's at," I pipe up.  "If you want to go collect Tad and Daisy's feed dishes, I’ll grab Libbey's halter and meet you back here."

     Don nods, heading for the adjacent pasture, the one that houses a massive Charolais steer, Tad, and his very pregnant Charolais heifer companion, Daisy.  The steer is my beef project, having received two pardons for good behavior.  Unfortunately, logic dictates that Tad is on borrowed time here at the ranch.  Why I ever got into beef cattle is a quandary.  I love animals and Tad has an exceptionally sweet and expressive soul -- a bad combination and an even worse business proposition.

     Sending my steer to auction or to someone who will not necessarily ensure a kind end is a bitter pill.  Hiring a mobile butcher is the responsible, adult thing to do but every time I look at Tad -- and he meets my gaze with his curious, friendly expression -- I feel a tremendous weight settle on my chest.  Right now, I'm trying to decide if the trauma of on-site slaughter outweighs an uncertain end.  It's a tough decision, especially for me.  I probably should have opted to raise fiber animals.

     This is what I think as I collect Libbey and Tove's feed dishes, set them outside the fence, and make my way to a long tall pole, one that, until recently, supported a multi-compartment bird house.  Lying on the ground, blades of grass sprouting up around it like a monument to something deceased and properly buried, lies the nylon halter.  Smiling at the sight, I think of my enterprising Libbey, a gal who has figured out how to use this pole to neatly slip off her unwelcome, unwanted instrument of bondage.

     Thankful for gloves, I collect the thing up in my hands.  It's slippery, all right, and coated in a mixture of mud and manure.  The stink of it makes me wonder why Tove hasn't ditched her halter, too, and how on earth am I going to convince Libbey to wear a thing so vile?  Thankfully, Libbey does not share my sentiments.

     She's waiting near the gate and as I step up, she moves closer and stretches her short neck toward the beast of a thing in my hands.  Gingerly, I open the noseband up, slipping it over Libbey's soft, warm muzzle.  For a moment, and as I move the other loop of the rope halter over Libbey's oh so soft ears, I know what it's like to touch God.  Here I am reaching through space and time and this divine of divine creatures is willingly stretching to meet me.

     Softly speaking to Libbey, I gently pat her forehead and carefully adjust the smelly halter.  I catch Tove's lead rope and pass it to Don, who has returned from his mission in Charolais territory.  Together, we walk the Black Angus heifers to the small covered arena, where a straw bedded corral, ample hay, and fresh water await my girls.

~~~

Copyright 2012, Susan Fay -- If you would like to reprint this very short story or use the photo, please contact me at susan.fay@coho.net.

A Big Day Here at the Ranch

Introducing the Bit

by Susan Fay

    Call it kismet, call it luck, call it providence - it doesn't really matter what you call it.  Some moments are so pure, so elemental and transcendent, that no word will do.  In my world, the world of horses, cattle, dogs, ducks, and a barn cat, that instant is most often some type of interaction between the species.

     The past couple of weeks, I've been working at communicating better.  From my posture to the way I position my shoulders and arms to the sequence I use to ask for an action, it's been an exercise in both consistency and clarity.

     So when my blue roan filly, Jetblue, nails every gait change I ask for on the lunge line, when she swiftly squares each "whoa" or stop, I know she is ready for more.

     For several weeks now, I've had the neon orange nylon headstall and bit ready, the jar of molasses waiting in the tack room fridge.  Lorenzo and I stand shoulder, excitedly predicting the filly's reaction as we slather the copper mouthpiece of the D-ring snaffle with the sticky, dark sweet syrup.

     It's tricky business, this introduction of the bit.  The occasion requires respect, sensitivity, and a measured persistence.  Done properly, Jetblue will accept the bit and perhaps play with it.  If the process is hurried or handled roughly, the filly will require countless sessions to undo the damage.  We carry more than a headstall and bit down the breezeway to the hitching post; we carry an awesome responsibility to Jetblue.

     Lorenzo clips the filly's lead rope to her halter, untying her from the hitching post.  His fingers are molasses black, a new scent to Jetblue.  She is at first wary, but Lorenzo coos to her and works his fingers between her lips.  Initially, she draws back.  Watching, I see worry then curiosity then comprehension flash through her eyes.

     Gently, we remove the bit and the cheek pieces from the headstall, placing the top portion over Jetblue's ears and buckling the throatlatch.  Lorenzo takes on the lion's share of this work, both holding the filly and softly encouraging her to open her mouth.  I hold the bit out, an offering, and Jetblue's head shoots up.  Patiently, we wait and visit about other things.  Sensing our ease, Jetblue's nostrils creep toward the bit.

     Smell gives way to touch and touch gives way to taste.  Before long, I am using my thumb along Jetblue's bit seat, the part of her mouth without teeth, to help part the filly's jaws.  It’s a delicate operation as I work to slide the bit into her mouth without clanking the metal on her teeth or being overly aggressive.  Quiet as I am, the sensation of metal on Jetblue's tongue sends her head skyward.  At the same time, she forcefully arcs her neck toward Lorenzo and me.  I jump back, but Lorenzo holds fast.

     Our girl is a hefty thousand-pound adolescent in the throes of puberty.  In a heartbeat, she could easily level us both.  Yet somehow we've earned the filly's trust.   Jetblue softens and drops her head.  Her lips quiver as she searches out the bit.  Five more times, we gentle the thing into her mouth.  Each time, she draws away less.

     Lorenzo takes the bit from my hands and folds the copper mouthpiece in half.  Slowly, he edges this into the filly's bit seat.  Before I know what has happened, the bit is in Jetblue’s mouth and she’s standing quietly.

     "I can't believe you got it," I whisper.  "It's like a magic trick.  You did it."

     Lorenzo grins.

     "That was pretty good," he tells me.

     We each take a cheek piece, buckle it once, adjust, and buckle again until the bit is low enough to be comfortable and high enough to stay put.  Jetblue runs her tongue forward and back over the bright shimmering copper mouthpiece.  For now, it's a toy.

~~~

Copyright 2012, Susan Fay.  If you would like to use this mini-story, please e-mail me for permission at susan.fay@coho.net.

Lorenzo and Jetblue

Lunging in a Cloud

Lunging in a Cloud

by Susan Fay

     No winter in all my Oregon winters has ever been like this.  It's not the absence of rain that gives these short days a sometimes surreal and often ethereal, enchanted feel; it's the presence of the fog.  Thick, soupy, and a mean grey; ghostly as white down feathers floating on a breeze; or translucent and brimming with blue sky, this fog has many guises.

     Some days are bone-chillingly cold; others are unseasonably warm.  Fog is, by definition, little more than "condensed water vapor," an earthbound cloud of sorts.

     To my eye, its presence softens every line and edge.  The seductively wonderful lines of a horse become even more so against this winter's dreamy backdrops.  Cattle are mysterious and wise.  The ducks -- tiny comical dinosaurs at best -- become regal busybodies.  There is a sensory value to fog, too.

     It is contiguous in a way that air cannot be.  Picture a horse orbiting you, trotting at the end of the lunge line, the one you hold in your right hand.  In your left hand, the lunge whip is strategically balanced.

     With each movement -- yours or that of the horse -- tiny water droplets are displaced.  If you close your eyes and empty your mind, I swear you will feel it.

     While others mourn their missed rain, the inches of mountain snow to crisscross, I do not.  Horses and cattle plus rain equal mud, mud, and more mud.  There is mud enough without the thundering downpours of a true Oregon winter.

     Give me just enough liquid to water the coming summer and no more and I will be eternally grateful for life in this lovely, low-lying cloud.

~~~

If you would like to use or publish this mini-story, please contact me at susan.fay@coho.net.

If the World Were a Logical Place, Men Would Ride Side-Saddle

The amusing title line for this post is a quote from American writer Rita Mae Brown.

I sold a saddle today, a beautiful custom buckaroo-style saddle built by the legendary Monte Beckman of Pendleton, Oregon.  In the past couple of years, I've owned two Beckmans -- this drop-dead gorgeous one and a smaller, more functional saddle that's been excellent for starting colts.  Both are built on a Modified Association tree, meaning they're suitable for young horses or narrower horses.

Truth be told, the saddle I sold today never fit my horses well.  Sure, it was pretty, but there's more to a saddle than the way it looks.  In terms of importance, saddle fit is at the top of my list when it comes to training, showing, or pleasure riding my horses.  I want my horses to be comfortable, so they're able to focus on the things I'm asking them to do.  If a saddle is ill-fitting, my horse is going to be cranky.  And if I fail to correct the problem, it can lead to permanent nerve damage on my horse's back.

It's a little like trying to run a marathon in shoes that are too small.  You wouldn't do it and you shouldn't expect your horse to do it either.

The money from today's sale will be "flipped" into a new saddle, a Hill View Farms Evolutionary saddle with flexible delrin panels that adjust and conform to the horse's back.  Proprietress Cathy Sheets-Tauer explains saddle fit and construction better than anyone I know.  I highly recommend visiting and viewing the saddle fitting and saddling videos available through the Hill View Farms site:  http://www.hillviewfarms.com/.

Cooling the Horses' Hooves In Mendenhall Creek

Cooling the Horses' Hooves in Mendenhall Creek

by Susan Fay

     We end our ride as usual, sitting on the horses where they stand looking upstream toward the bridge that crosses Mendenhall Creek.  Never mind that it is January or a drizzly thirty-six degrees.  Ending the ride here is our tradition, one born of the first attempts at crossing this very stream.

     Back then, a few of the horses didn't trust us.  Horses like Gin, the big Palomino Paint beneath me.  Lots of trail rides and consistent training make a world of difference.  Today, Gin willingly waded into the swift-running creek, dropped his head, and playfully lipped the wet stuff.

     The big guy has never been my first choice trail mount.  He's an accomplished show pony, formerly my son's horse.  Last fall, when the temperatures dropped, I noticed some stiffness and soreness in Gin's hocks.  The cause is uncertain, but it's likely a combination of age-related arthritis and a fusing of the joints that occurs naturally in the hock. The best remedy is work, so here we sit, cooling the horses' hooves after a brisk jaunt up the trail.

     Lorenzo is astride Drifty, a once-upon-a-time broodmare who is easily the ultimate trail horse.  Unless she's not the lead horse.  For the past hour, the back half of our ride has tested the metal of both rider and mare as Lorenzo forced Drifty to bring up the rear.

      Witnessing my companion's determination, the fire that burns in his soul when a horse gives challenge, is a divine gift.  Always and professionally, Lorenzo prevails.  Drifty, like every other horse, adores him for it.

     This quiet time, this peace after the fiery dance of horse and rider sooths, heals, and strengthens our connectedness to each other and to our horses.  There's a practical reason to stand in the creek, too.

      Hoof soles are tricky this time of year, soft and prone to stone bruises.  Soaking helps stave off any potential complications.  So here we sit – two humans and two horses in the middle of Mendenhall Creek – peacefully drinking in the cool, fresh air, the soothing chorus of water and rock.

     The water level is low, far lower and way less noisy than usual.  The high water mark, the base of the trees, is covered with last fall's wrinkled, brown leaves.  Most Novembers bring howling wind storms to sweep and rake away such things. Not so in this, our La Nina year.

Copyright 2012, Susan Fay.  If you would like to reprint this very short story, please contact me at susan.fay@coho.net.

From My Rotting Body, Flowers Shall Grow and I Am In Them and That Is Eternity

The title line for this post is quote from Norwegian painter and print maker Edvard Munch (1863-1944) who is best known for his composition The Scream.

Death and Life on the Trail

by Susan Fay

     Clearly, there has been a struggle.  The few small clumps of fresh skin and hair testify to it as do the skid and struggle marks written in the dirt.

     “Deer,” Lorenzo says as he rubs the hair between his thumb and forefinger.  I pluck a piece from the ground and sniff it.  The scent is rich, musky, and reminiscent of beef roast.  The odor is surprisingly appealing.

     “Hmmm.  Well, it sure didn’t go quietly,” I say, pointing to the patches of disturbed dirt.  My eyes register a deer track or two, but nothing more.  “What got it?”

     “Coyotes,” Lorenzo replies with certainty.  “You know, Sue, a deer is nothing for cay-O-tees.  They find the young; they find the sick; they don’t give up.”

     I am not so certain.  Amidst the rotting leaves of January, the tufts of green grass and busted twigs and branches, there is no sign of a predator.

     “Where are the tracks?” I say, knowing they can be difficult to impossible to see.  A coyote, after all, does not weigh much.

      Lorenzo, who is an excellent hunter, takes a wide angle view of the crime scene before shrugging his shoulders.

     We’ve come to the woods to scout location for a new trail, one we’ll use for the horses.  Instinctively, I look up.  I’m not really sure why but I do so anyway.  A primal memory -- a big cat hauling a carcass up a tree -- flashes through my mind.

     Life and death, the beginning, middle, and end are all sweetly seamless in nature.  The fallen deer ensures the health of the hunter and the hunter’s clan.  In turn, coyotes stalk the elderly and weak, culling easy prey and creating vibrant, strong deer populations.

     This is a wild thing’s purpose, to live fully in the present until there is no more.  To exist wholly in NOW.  How different it seems for humans and why is this?

     Recently, a friend wrote me about the death of her mother and the death of her best friend’s mother, which both occurred last year:  “I’m looking forward to a year of no goodbyes – that’s a wish to the universe.”

     Part of me wants to console my friend and the other part recognizes the stark, nature-based reality.  With all my being, I want to scream this is it, this moment, this very instant in time.  Breathe it in and live big.  Leave your mark on the trail so that others, the ones that will follow, will see you were here.

Copyright 2012, Susan Fay.  All rights reserved.  Please contact me at susan.fay@coho.net  if you would like to re-print this very short story.

I Won an Alpaca!

As I was cruising through fiber animal web sites last night, seeing if one might be a good fit for Sweetgrass, I came across an interesting contest.  Northwest Alpacas of Hillsboro, Oregon has been giving an alpaca away every month.  The newest giveaway was scheduled to happen January 5.

"Honey!" I hollered to my husband, who was in the next room, glued to his computer, doing meaningful, paying work.

"Yes?" he answered, somewhat dubiously.

"Can I enter a contest to win an alpaca?"

"A what?"

"An alpaca."

Silence.  Then, a fair amount of muttering followed by a

"Sure."

With a few quick keystrokes -- quick in case my honey changed his mind -- I was signed up.  Alpacas drifted through my mind as I tidied up and headed to bed.

This morning, an e-mail arrived from Northwest Alpaca's Steve Johnson:

"Thank you for entering our contest.  You have been selected as a winner.  We have either females or males to choose from.  In reading your survey I noticed that you do not own any alpacas at this time.  I am going to have Jamie Clark our herd health specialist contact you.  Along with working here and having her own herd of 30 animals, she also works with several other farms in the area and will ask you some questions regarding livestock experience, barns and pasture what your interests are with alpacas, whether it is fiber or breeding."

Reading this, I hollered a fairly loud WOO HOO!  The first hour, I felt really, really good.  Then, reality set in and I got worried.  To make things worse, today is a full two days ahead of the contest deadline.  A serious stream of doubts began to rattle my brain:  What if there's a world alpaca glut?  What if there's no market for the the cute little camelids and their oh so soft fleece.  Maybe someone is trying to downsize in this downturn by giving alpacas away in... contests.  YIKES!  What if... I'm just another SUCKER?

So I wrote Steve back and thanked him before getting down to business.  With the precision of a journalist, I shot him a list of questions about the alpaca market.  Stay tuned, dear readers.  The alpaca may or may not land at Sweetgrass.

In the meantime, here's a snapshot of my neighbor's alpacas.  Pretty cute, huh?

Barnheart

Reading is one of my passions and I love the unique voices of those who both love and live a country life.  Last October, my mom and I made the trip to Upstate New York to meet author Jon Katz and his better half, fiber artist Maria Wulf, of Bedlam Farm.  For several years now, Jon has chronicled rural life in his wonderful blog, http://www.bedlamfarm.com/.

It was while reading Jon's blog that I first learned of self-described farmer Jenna Woginrich, who writes eloquently -- and earthily -- of the longing for a farm of one's own.  In her new book, Barnheart, the Incurable Longing for a Farm of One's Own, Woginrich aptly paints a heartwarming, sometimes humorous portrait of her journey to farmerhood:

"And when you find yourself sitting in your office, classroom, or cafe and your mind wanders to dreams of the farming life, know that you are not alone.  There are those of us who also long for the bitter scent of manure and sweet odor of hay in the air, to feel the sun on our bare arms.  (I can just about feel it, too, even in January, in a cubicle on the third floor of an office building."  Even though we straighten up in our ergonomic desk chairs, we'd rather be stretched out in the bed of a pickup truck, drinking in the stars on a crisp fall night."

Woginrich's farm, Cold Antler, is the site of many how-to workshops -- everything from mountain music, to poultry 101, to disaster preparedness for small farms.  For those who are unable to travel to Cold Antler, Woginrich offers a subscription webinar program.  Check out both Barnheart and the Cold Antler Farm web site at http://coldantlerfarm.blogspot.com/.

CONTEST!!!!  Send me a short essay -- say no more than 1,000 words --  by this coming Friday, January 6 at midnight, saying why you love or long for a country life.  I'll ready through all the entries and award an autographed copy of Jenna Woginrich's Barnheart to the winner.

Fiber artist Maria Wulf's blog, Full Moon Fiber Art is equally compelling, a sort of life in the country through an artist's eyes.  Be sure to spin by her site while you are out tooling around this big beautiful worldwide web:   http://www.fullmoonfiberart.com/.

Happy reading, country lovers!

Working With Nature

Happy New Year!

Since we needed to stock up on some feed, supplements, and straw, I hopped into my big red truck today and headed for Wilco in Cornelius.  The sun was out and it was a balmy fifty-something day -- unheard of for this time of year.  I decided to drop down on the backside of Pumpkin Ridge.

One of the neighbors along this route has been installing a new pasture and I've enjoyed watching the progress.  Last fall, the soil was tilled and seeded and the fence went in.  Recently, a hot wire went up and an adjacent shed has been adapted to provide a run in shelter and a stall area.  This afternoon, I was thrilled to see that every fourth fence post supported a birdhouse.  Not your average avian abodes either.

These nifty wooden nest boxes are eco-housing in the purest sense.  The wood provides protection against the elements and temperature extremes and the location discourages predators.  The birdhouses have been built with a sliding side wall and bottom to facilitate cleaning once the chicks have fully fledged.  Best of all, each roof is actually a tiny flower bed planted with succulents.

Why install nest boxes along your pasture?  It's an ideal way to both help and work with nature.  By installing the birdhouses, my neighbor is helping to provide critical nesting habitat.  In turn, the birds will help control flies and mosquitoes.   Beautiful.

"If one way be better than another,
that you may be sure is Nature's way."
~ Aristotle - Nichomachean Ethics ~

There are many wonderful things afoot here at Sweetgrass.  My photographic work was just approved for Photographer's Direct, an online "fair trade" stock and assignment photo service.  And...  we are considering adding a fiber animal crop to our existing grass fed beef.  Stay tuned!  2012 is going to be outstanding!