Looking for and Seeing Princess, Miss Daisy in Waiting

Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of my nineteen year-old Beagle/Whippet dog, Princess. Last Thursday, my husband, Don, and I tearfully said goodbye to the old gal, burying her in the pet cemetery here at the ranch.

Since then, I've been looking for and seeing Princess everywhere: her favorite, now empty dog pillow; the tuft of hair the vet shaved prior to euthanizing Princess; the worn leather collar and nametags resting on our coffee table.

Today, I cleaned out my fridge and there was the last of Princess's canned dog foods, the ones she'd firmly refused all week. Her dog brush is sitting on the porch, hair from the last brushing still there.

I confess that I see Princess in all the usual places, but it's not the feeble elderly companion that left us recently. Instead, I see her stretched out sphinx-like, looking regal as she did in her younger years. I think this is Princess's way of letting me know she's okay, that she wants to be remembered as a vibrant, determined dog. A survivor with huge, endearing, brown eyes. A friend, even now.

When I lose someone dear, I always look for a sign -- something that says I'm okay. Late this afternoon, as I was near the upper pastures checking on our pregnant Charolais heifer, Daisy, a beautiful rainbow stretched across the dark dramatic sky, a message from Princess.

Seeing that rainbow made my heart skip and the burden that I've been carrying, the guilt I feel for taking Princess's life before she starved to death, lifted.

Spring at Sweetgrass is always a reminder that life is bookended by a beginning and an end.  For us, the end is Princess leaving us.  Thankfully, a new beginning is about to unfold.  Daisy is getting ready to deliver her first calf, due sometime between March 22 - 24. Our heifer will go about five days longer if her baby is a little bull calf. Here's a snapshot of Miss Daisy in waiting.

Goodbye Fair Princess

The first time my husband, Don, met Princess was at the Bonnie L. Hays Small Animal Shelter in Hillsboro, Oregon. The kids and I had phoned him to say we thought we'd found a dog.

"She's skin and bones, loaded with fleas, and she's timid around men. They're worried that she may be a biter," I'd told him.

Don's answer: "I'll be right over."

He'd walked into the meet and greet room, cupped his hands and said, "Hi, girl." Princess, who had seemed starved and lethargic, knew a good thing. She trotted right over to Don and laid her head in his hands, staring up at him adoringly. We'd found our dog, a Beagle/Whippet type cross who was then six or seven.

That was thirteen wonderful years ago, time in which we came to love the kindhearted mutt who was so good with children. Princess helped raise our daughter and son and was a delight for visiting nephews and nieces.

These past few months, Princess's health has been see-sawing back and forth. At each turn, we've done our best to support her and the good days have always been a tremendous blessing. Just a few weeks ago, Princess was tearing around the living room, playing like a puppy with Sprite.

Sadly, our Princess began to refuse food this past Monday. She lost a fair amount of motor control in her back end and seemed chilled much of the time. The most worrisome symptom was how her heart pounded erratically -- and visibly-- on the sides of her increasingly frail chest wall.

Some part of me knew it was time. On Tuesday, I gave our vet a heads up and for the past three nights, Sprite, Lei Lei, and I camped out in the living room with Princess, keeping her blanketed or turning on the propane fireplace to warm her.

Late yesterday, Don and I made the difficult decision to euthanize Princess humanely -- we called our vet and arranged for her to come here this afternoon. Thankfully, Princess's last night at home was good. She took in a bit of boiled chicken breast and rested comfortably. It was a warm night, but I left the fireplace on anyway.

Throughout the day, our dear senior dog slept more and more and seemed less and less aware. Until Don cancelled his meeetings and came home early to spend time with his Princess. When she sensed Don's presence, Princess brightened, stretching up to again lay her head in the palm of his hand, gazing lovingly at her favorite person in the world.

Today was hard, but given the chance, Don and I both agree that we would do it all again for a kind, gentle spirit like Princess.

Greener Grass

This past few weeks, we've been getting ready. Last week, we fertilized the long upper pastures and small pasture in anticipation of the usually warm March weather and we marked March 13 on the barn calendar, a best guess at a good day to move our small herd of cattle to the upper pastures.

In response, the grass bolted skyward. Everything looked good until this morning when it started snowing sideways. Much of the day was blustery and a wintery bone chilling cold.

The foul weather didn't deter Lorenzo. He decided to do a practice run by taking our Black Angus heifers, Libbey and Tove to greener grass. The journey involved walking Libbey and Tove past three very excited horses -- Irish is known to enjoy charging the cows -- and it went off without incident. All the way, Lorenzo spoke the language of horses and cattle. As if by magic, the horses listened to Lorenzo's voice, quieting as he asked them to.

Despite the stormy conditions, Libbey and Tove had a grand time grazing in the snow.

If all goes well, we'll move all four cattle to upper pasture tomorrow and begin work to restore the lower pastures. Our Charolais heifer, Daisy, is due to deliver her calf the last week in March or the first week of April. Will keep you posted.

Give Me a Red Coat

Princess in Her Red Coat

Give Me a Red Coat 

by Susan Fay

Give me a red coat

That I may cover my years

And walk with you as I have

These past twelve

~

Make me again sleek

And fast as the wind

Cavorting with life

My energy strong

~

Give me a red coat

That you may not look

Upon my frail

Boney frame

~

Make my heart beat strong

As my utterly charming

And sincere brown eyes gaze

Up at you in canine adoration

~

Make my tail wag so you'll know

You've been my world

Since that glorious day

When you walked

Into the pound and, from the long row of dogs

When I was already seven years old,

You reached out and

Made me yours

~

Give me a red coat

To hide my shame

For the extra work demanded by my nineteen years

The special food you so lovingly prepare

The hand feeding I adore,

Not so much for the food

As for the chance to lick your fingers

There's the Adequan

You draw up into the syringe twice weekly

Carefully injecting it into my muscles

To help stave off

The terrible pain in my joints

~

Even now, in my winter

I will run like a pup

On our walks to the barn

So you can feel my joy

At being your dog

My joy that you are my human

~

I ask God to make me ready

For the end that is nearing

When the only appetite I'm left

Is that of your comfort

~

And when I am done with this life

~

Bury me in my red coat

So your last glimpse of me in this form

Is not of ravaged body, but beauty and kindness

And a life well lived

Give me a final resting place

In sight of the front door

So that you may see the flowers and blossoms

You'll surely plant over me

~

Be sure, dear one, when your time draws near

And it's time to cover your years

To follow my example

By flaunting a marvelous red coat

So that you, too

May go in style

~

Give Me a Red Coat, copyright 2012 by Susan Fay. All rights reserved. If you would like to reprint this poem, please contact me at susan.fay@coho.net. Thank you!

A Safe Place for Drifty

More and more, I'm convinced that my mare, Drifty, is here to teach me about Natural Horsemanship. Started lightly as a long two year-old and then commissioned to a broodmare band, Drifty never had the benefit of one-on-one training early on. So working with her requires great care, consistency, and finesse. Now ten, Drifty is in some ways like a youngster, a three year-old filly.

My challenge -- and it's a big one -- is to do a good job of providing Drifty a safe place for every right action. When things don't go quite how I expect them to, I need to realize it's not a big deal. Instead, I need to slow down, ask again, and reward Drifty's try. In this, patience and time are my allies.

Drifty

As with so many things my life, anger has no place in horse training. If Drifty seeks to bully or improve her position through force, there's always a consequence. The consequence can be constructed of something that challenges Drifty or is a lot of hard work, but it can never be a punishment. Just a consequence without anger.

Natural Horsemanship doesn't mean letting Drifty do what she or he wants to do -- that would be foolish -- but it does require strong leadership on my part. Clear, consistent, firm, and kind leadership that provides Drifty with a safe place. Leadership and the time and patience to help guide Drifty to that safe place.

A Safe Place for Jetblue

The last time Lorenzo and I walked and trotted Jetblue through the snow was January 18 of this year. Back then, the two year-old filly was in the throes of a bad colic, one that required emergency life-saving surgery.

The mood was much different today. Jetblue is still on stall rest, but she's mending nicely. It's feels good to know that Jetblue is in a different place during this snow event, a safe place.

Lorenzo and Jetblue

A Safe Place for Whisper

No horse has ever tested my metal like Whisper. From the getgo, the mare wasn't sound and for much of the past nine years, she's been injured or lame. Always, I've done my best to mend her. Doing so has taken an emotional and financial toll and I've struggled with the question: How do I balance Whisper's needs with mine and my pocketbook?

Recently, my dear long term horse vet told me it would take a thousand dollars to thoroughly diagnose Whisper's latest trouble spots -- swollen rear fetlock tendon sheaths. My husand and I had just covered the massive cost of my filly, Jetblue's, unanticipated colic surgery, so finding the money to help Whisper wasn't possible.

Insead, I've kept Whisper in compression wraps and put her on paddock rest. Two days ago, Dr. Megan Jurasek, a vet I know and trust, ultrasounded Whisper's rear deep flexor tendon and suspensory ligaments for a fraction of the original estimate. Everything looked fine and we settled on using a slow impact exercise and supplements program to see if Whisper can be made pasture sound.

Whsiper's riding and show days are over, but for the first time in a long time, I'm guardedly optimistic that we may be able to reduce any overhead, like shoeing, and get her sound enough to mow pastures. Finding a safe, sound place for Whisper would indeed be a miracle.

Whisper and Lorenzo