Bovine Warts, New Fears and Precautions

Two or three weeks ago, Lorenzo pointed out some growths on one of our Black Angus heifers, Libbey. A quick phone conversation with Dr. Steve Vredenburg of Banks Veterinary Service confirmed that Libbey has bovine warts. It's not clear how she got them, but we suspect the virus arrived on the hoof trimmer's cattle chute.

The warts are cosmetic in most cattle, but Dr. Vredenburg cautioned that the virus has been implicated in equine sarcoids. The mention of the word, sarcoid, sent me into a panic. A sarcoid is a large localized cancerous growth that can be quite aggressive. Cutting or burning the sarcoid away is successful in some cases, but more often than not, the sarcoid recurs with a bang and requires multiple, subsequent treatments. Some horses eventually resolve; some never do.

Years ago, I had a gelding with a persistent sarcoid problem in one of his ears. It was a miserable condition and the treatments, localized chemotherapy injections and ointments to burn away the sarcoid, seemed equally horrific. So sarcoids are both familiar and terrifying.

To be certain we were dealing with bovine warts, I asked Dr. Megan Jurasek to check Libbey. Sure enough, Libbey's trouble spots were warts.

A Flat, Circular Bovine Wart Appears Above Libbey's Eye -- A Bigger, Cauliflower-Like One Is Masked By The Clay at the Top of Libbey's Head

Dr. Jurasek pinched the warts with some narrow forceps, explaining that if we released the virus to the heifer's system, her body would mount a defense resulting in immunity. At the same time, we vaccinated the other Black Angus heifer, Tove.

Our Charolais cattle, Tad, Daisy, and Daisy's calf, Tip, are at risk for the virus, too, but since they are in the upper pastures, we've used the past couple of weeks to devise a method for safely vaccinating all three. Our cattle chute is in the lower pastures with the Angus, and it isn't safe to mix the two groups right now.

Since Dr. Jurasek's visit, we've doctored Libbey's warts every day, twice daily, using a combination of clay and insect repellent. Most days, Libbey has brushed away my applications, inviting flies into her open wounds and knocking bits of the warts off of her top knot. Since flies are a huge vector for the bovine wart virus, keeping the pests out of Libbey's wounds has been a major concern.

In all of the literature that I've read, transmission of the virus requires a cut or scratch on the new host animal. So, we've been particularly vigilant when it comes to keeping an eye on our healthy animals. Any cuts, scrapes or sores will require prompt doctoring.

We've taken other measures to protect our animals, too. All of our horses and cattle are on a feed-through larvacide to kill flies and I've hung fly traps in strategic locations around the property. Tomorrow, I'll put out the first batch of fly parasites. The tiny insects consume fly larvae. Our horses have always sported fly masks, but they are now wearing masks that have ear coverings, too. Our daily insect spray routine has evolved to include applying an insecticidal lotion along each animal's pectorals, ventral line, bag or sheath, and dock. At night, when we remove the horses' fly masks, we also re-apply bug spray and an insecticidal ointment to each horse's ears, cheeks and muzzle.

Tonight, we tried adding garlic powder to the horse's grain. It's supposed to cause the horse to excrete a garlic scent that naturally repels insects. While a fine idea, it isn't practical as the horses simply turned up their noses at the garlic laced fare, refusing to eat. Well, it was worth a try.

There's always the option to remove the infected animal. While I expect Libbey's warts to successfully resolve, I'm also prepared to cull her from our herd.

This year, it's bovine warts. Last year, it was a rhino outbreak. Several years ago, it was Pigeon Fever. There's always something to fear, always something looming in the shadows. At times, the fear of what might happen can be overwhelming.

For now, we've put precautions in place and we'll continue to do our best. It's all anyone can do.

Good Deeds and Good Intentions

When an injured orange tabby cat appeared in front of our barn well over a month ago, I didn't think about good deeds or good intentions. I simply did what I would want someone to do for my cat.

Since it was close to midnight, I took the kitty to the nearest veterinary urgent care. There, the kind and capable doctor and staff determined that the cat had likely been struck by a car, that his pelvis was fractured in two non-weight bearing locations.

Initially, the prognosis was not good. The cat's hindlimbs did not appear to be responsive. I was told that I could not make any decision regarding euthanasia. That could only be determined by the cat's owner. The vet assured me that she would do what was best. I donated a hundred dollars toward the kitty's care and headed home.

The next day, I went door to door to nearly thirty of the rural acreage properties near my home. At the fifth or sixth house, a young father answered the door and when I asked if his family owned an orange tabby cat, he told me they owned two. I did my best to give the fellow an accounting of what had transpired the night before, but he kept interupting me.

Finally, he pointed to an orange tabby cat that had wandered up and demanded, "Is the cat bigger or smaller than that one?"

"Well, I think it's bigger," I replied.

Looking triumphant, the man dismissed me with an adamant "It isn't our cat!" I talked him into taking my phone number, in case...

Soon after my fruitless door to door search, I returned to the vet clinic and asked permission to photograph the orange tabby. The snapshot was used to make fliers that I hung in the library, post office, gas stations, vet clinics, and coffee cabana. It was easy enough to use the same picture to create a "found" ad for Craig's List. While on the Internet, I submitted the snapshot and info. to the local animal shelter, too.

Still, no owner.

By this point in time, the kitty, whom I had dubbed Pumpkin, had acquired feeling in his hindlimbs and was doing remarkably well. His new, guarded prognosis, with extended cage rest, was excellent.

At the end of a week-long stay at the urgent care, Pumpkin was ready to come home. Only, there was still no home to go to. His medical bill was a thousand dollars, money I didn't have, so I negotiated a Good Samaritan rate and brought Pumpkin to our place.

Three weeks following Pumpkin's injury, the phone rang and a woman who identified herself as the owner of two orange tabby cats told me she thought I might have her cat. I had her over straightaway and sure enough, this gal identified the kitty, Mason, as hers.

It should have been a happy moment. I had, after all, been doing what I hoped someone would do for my cat. But it didn't play out that way.

Mason had been missing from his home for three weeks and his owner was just getting around to looking for her cat. From the getgo, I was uneasy with the gal. Three pieces of information heightened my worry factor: 1) Mason had been disappearing every since the family had adopted a dog six months earlier, 2) the woman was intentionally putting her cats out at night, a time when coyotes traditionally prey on pets, and 3) there was no emotional connection between the cat and his owner. Sighing, the woman had told me she was considering giving Mason to her mother.

Near the end of our brief conversation, the gal dropped a bomb. She told me her father was dying and that she and her family planned to go on vacation with her father and mother the next day.

"I suppose my father-in-law might watch Mason," she said.

"Why don't you leave him with me," I suggested. "He's doing really well here and I can charge you a small boarding fee to keep an eye on him."

At this, the woman hugged me and agreed to settle up when she returned from vacation on Saturday, May 5.

"I'm good for it," she assured me.

A week-and-a-half passed and Pumpkin Mason's strength and dexterity continued to improve. Saturday, May 5 rolled around and no one called or came to collect the orange tabby. Ditto for Sunday.

Finally, last night, while I was sitting in my Screenwriting class, my cell phone rang. After class, I picked up a message from Pumpkin Mason's male owner, the young father who had declared the injured orange tabby was definitely not his family's.

It was a strange message, but the jist of it was that I should phone his wife back to talk about Mason. The situation was perplexing, so I slept on it.

After all my chores were done this morning, I phoned Pumpkin Mason's people. In my message, I explained that my expenses to date totalled up to four-hundred-fifty dollars -- Good Sam vet bill, medications, food, litter -- and that I had not yet added board for the twenty-four days during which Pumpkin Mason had been in my care, days that included medicating Mason four times.

At the end of my message, I floated an offer.

"You mentioned that you were thinking of rehoming Mason and if so, I may be able to help."

All day long, I thought Mason's people would call me. No one did. Tonight, the man of the family phoned. He wanted to "talk."

In this fellow's eyes, I had been wrong to rescue Pumpkin Mason.

"If a cat had been injured that badly and required surgery, I would have had him euthanized on the spot," he declared.

"Your cat didn't have surgery and his prognosis for a total recovery has always been good," I replied.

"Well, your intentions were good, but you were wrong to do what you did. We are not legally obligated in any way."

It was a jaw dropping moment. All along, I had assumed that someone loved Pumpkin Mason, that someone was worried and missing their cat. I was wrong.

After a civil, if strained discussion, where I pointed out that this man had been given the opportunity to take charge of his cat's care early on -- an opportunity he delined -- the fellow agreed to pay Pumpkin Mason's expenses.

"We don't want the cat. You can have him," he said.

With those words, I learned a powerful lesson. People don't always hold the same values and this is particularly true when it comes to companion animals and livestock.

Back on April 6, the big orange tabby now named Pumpkin, somehow managed to drag himself, broken pelvis and all, from the road to the front of our barn. There, he stretched out in front of the doors and waited for our help.

I live by relatively few codes, but here's a big one: When an animal or a person asks for my help, I am ethically and morally bound to respond. Sure, there are limits -- limits which I determine. Pumpkin asked for my family's help and, right or wrong, we delivered. He's one smart cat and for now, he's ours.

"Life is short and if you're looking for extension, you had best do well. 'Cause there's good deeds and then there's good intentions. They are as far apart as Heaven and Hell." ~Ben Harper

Moving Forward in Faith

The first time my mother handed me a camera -- it seems like I was in grade school -- the point and shoot felt as if it belonged in my hands. I've been loving and making photographs every since. Occasionally, a scene touches me deeply. Such is the case with the image below.

Last Wednesday, my two year-old blue roan filly, Jetblue, experienced a colic episode. Colic is, by definition, a horse stomach ache that can be caused by a variety of things ranging from mild (gas) to deadly (a torsion).

Jetblue's colic was minor, but it followed a very serious and life threatening event back in January, one where Jetblue had to be rushed to Oregon State University's Veterinary Teaching Hospital for emergency surgery to correct a displaced colon.

Late last Thursday, after Lorenzo had hand grazed Jetblue and was leading her into the barn for the night and after it seemed like the imminent risk of the colic had been overcome, I made the image below. It's a sweet photo and one that I want to remember, a slice of normal following an all too scary brush with death.

Jetblue is way more than a horse for everyone here at Sweetgrass Ranch. Lorenzo and I watched as the filly was born and we've worked side by side to help prepare her for the world. She is, in a very real sense, the best of many folks' combined efforts. I'm not sure how it is for anyone else, but when Jetblue is in peril, it brings out my inner bear. I long to do battle with the demons at hand.

The future is always uncertain. Jetblue may outgrow her predilection toward colic or it may one day be her end. For now, we are blessed with her presence and we move forward in faith and the belief that we'll capably ply our resources to rescue Jetblue if need be.

Coming Into the Barn for the Night, A Slice of Normal

Giving Thanks

The week following a big horse show is always one of recovery and reflection. This past week was particularly busy and there is much to be thankful for.

• A successful horse show. Irish and Drifty placed very well and Lorenzo did a fabulous job at his first "official" competition.
• My son, Nick, realized a couple of big dreams. He moved to his first post-college apartment, a wonderful beachfront unit, and launched his career as a park ranger. HUBBA, HUBBA NICK!
• Colic again struck my two year-old blue roan filly, Jetblue. This time, it wasn't as serious and we managed the episode here at home with some great phone support from our veterinarian, Dr. Meagan Jurasek.
• The orange tabby kitty whose pelvis was broken when he was struck by a car, the same one who drug himself to the front of our barn and waited for our help on the evening of April 6, turned serveral big corners in his recovery process this past week. Pumpkin "Mason" will be headed back to his home soon and we'll miss his cheerful presence.
• Bovine warts struck our Black Angus heifer, Libbey, a couple of weeks ago. Both of the Angus heifers have been suffering pastern mud cracks and poor Libbey's hoof had somehow gotten split on a rock. With the help of Dr. Meagan Jurasek this last week, we initiated a program to contain and eliminate Libbey's warts. Since bovine wart virus has been implicated in equine sarcoids, we've taken a couple of precautions to protect the horses, too, including equine and bovine feed through larvacides, and horse fly masks with ears (sarcoids often claim the tender real estate inside a horse's ear). Friday afternoon, hoof trimmer Dennis Burlingame worked his magic on both Tove and Libbey's hooves and, per Dr. Jurasek, we are treating the girls' pastern cracks with a dilute Betadine solution.

After a week like this past one, I always thank my angels. So, here goes. Thank you, angels, for your guidance, wisdom, and comfort. I would be lost without you!

Late yesterday afternoon, the sun graced the sky and all the critters took full advantage of the opportunity to do some photosynthesizing. The following is a snapshot of Tip and his mama, Daisy.

The Unfurling of Elvis's Bleeding Hearts

The Bleeding Heart plant is special to my family. Years ago, when my children's pet Hamster, Elvis, had passed away, we planted a Bleeding Heart over the pint-size rodent's grave.

Doing so was both a lesson and a reminder that we all go back to the earth at some point in time, that our bodies have "new life" as they become something else. In Elvis's case, he helped our Bleeding Heart become big, beautiful, and strong.

Elvis was buried at our first Oregon house in Beaverton on Dale Avenue. His Bleeding Heart has since made two moves with us and every spring, as the tiny colorful hearts unfurl, I stop to admire the blossoms and say, "You're looking good, Elvis!"

A Better Day for Jetblue

Colic can be a scary thing when your horse is just three or four months out from major abdominal surgery to correct a displaced colon. Yesterday, when I saw Jetblue kicking at her stomach, I was pretty worried. Worry has never handcuffed me -- I've always been blessed with the ability to remain cool during medical emergencies, to follow protocol.

The quick vitals assessment, the Banamine administration, the light exercise, the warm water, and eventually, the hand grazing, all helped Jetblue right herself. For now, my blue roan filly is feeling and looking good.

It was a better day for Jetblue, a better day for me, too.

Lorenzo Walks Jetblue to the Barn After Some Hand Grazing

Yesterday, Jetblue was Pinning Her Ears and Very Angry -- Today, She's Back to Being Her Typical "All Kisses" Self

When Your Day Gets Derailed, Just Go With It!

My "to do" list is always long and most days, I manage to check off quite a few items. Days like today are -- THANKFULLY -- the exception.

I was on task and making good headway. The dogs were fed as well as the ducks and chickens. Lorenzo and I had run through the things I hoped to accomplish today. The back yard was picked up and the house was reasonably tidy. My patient, the orange tabby cat, Mason Pumpkin, had been fed, watered, exercised, and medicated. I held two horses for the farrier, paid him for his good work, collected the dogs, and headed to the house to get an early lunch.

Passing the horse paddocks, I noticed that my two year-old blue roan filly, Jetblue, was kicking at her stomach. As I observed Jetblue, a sick feeling welled up inside me.  Not all that long ago, last January, I had to rush Jetblue to Oregon State University's Veterinary Teaching Hospital for an emergency life saving surgery. The scene playing out before my eyes this morning was curiously deja vu.

I called to Lorenzo and together, we swifty assessed the situation. Lorenzo walked Jetblue while I phoned my vet, giving her a heads up.

Jetblue's abdominal sounds were, if anything, a little bit louder than usual. Hedging my bets, I gave her a half dose of Banamine and headed to the arena to lunge Jetblue. We loaded and unloaded her to the trailer three times, then put her in a clean, hay-free stall with a big bucket of warm water.

The filly hoovered up a bucket-and-a-half of water and, within a half-hour, produced a nice batch of road apples. It's been thirteen hours since Jetblue first showed signs of a colic and in that time, we've hand grazed her, soaked small amounts of hay for her, filled her warm water bucket multiple times, and observed eight piles of road apples. A good sign.

I'll be checking on Jetblue through the night.

My motto: When your day gets derailed, just go with it!