What do you do when the survival strategy you've been using no longer works?
When I watch the various animals out here at the ranch I can clearly see how evolution has shaped their instincts for survival. At the first hint of danger -- whether a lurking puma or a flapping shopping bag -- those things can asphyxiate you if you're not careful! -- horses are built for fear and speed, with fast legs and big hearts. Eternal vigilance and a willingness to flee have served them well, and they're still ever-watchful here.
The donkeys went down a more aggressive path, facing directly into danger, finding safety in numbers not through the sacrifice of the less-fleet but in the power of multiple striking hooves. When the dogs get after them, the donkeys turn and fight.
The sheep, on the other hand, settled on screwing their way out of trouble. Not at the deciding moment, of course, but rather they breed rapidly enough that they could travel in massive flocks. They huddle together for safety, ensuring that only the ones on the outside get eaten. I'm not exactly sure how they decide who gets "Outside the Circle of Trust" duty, but I would guess it involves those poor individuals who insist on chasing an inside straight to the river.
On our ranch we only have four sheep, and yet they cling to their instinctual method of survival even so. Rarely more than a few feet from each other, they still clump into a ball when danger threatens. Of course with only four of them, they fail to realize that they're ALL on the outside of the flock, putting them equally at risk of being dinner.
You can look at their insistence on the old ways as either an honorable and commendable adherence to proven tradition, or as a hopelessly hidebound reliance on a now-irrelevant custom.
So what do you do when the survival strategy you've been depending on no longer works? I'm not sure, personally, but I plan on keeping an eye on those sheep just in case they hit on something new.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Survival Strategies
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Starving Horses
The next pasture over from our place is home to four horses who are all in terrible shape. Their owner lives in Austin and rarely (if ever) comes up to take care of them, assuming I suppose that all they need is whatever grass nature sees fit to put inside the fence. Here's the result of that kind of neglect:
Annie has contacted the county sheriff before to report the abusive neglect, but they did nothing. She tried again, with the same result. So this time we used the power of the Internet, posting some pictures along with a request for people to call the county directly to Craig's List.
At least ten different people called Animal Control on behalf of these horses, and the responses they got were illuminating. Half were told there'd never been a complaint before, which we know is a lie because we've complained. The other half were told the case had been investigated and they were just "old horses".
That is not an old horse, that is a starved horse. You should not be able to see the ribs and the hip bones like that unless an animal is in the last stages of death; he's barely more than skin and bones. Plus, one of the four is the filly of another, so clearly that one isn't ancient. We've seen these horses over the course of the last two years go from reasonably healthy to skeletons, and all the while the public agencies whose job it is to look after their welfare have failed to do much of anything.
A few hours after the calls started rolling in to the sheriff's office, the owner showed up and was frantically shoving grain through the fence. He's an attorney and apparently, law enforcement sticks together. I can imagine the panicked officer getting his buddy on the phone, telling him he better figure out something quick because other people were starting to notice.
The Good Ol' Boy Network only goes so far.
On the one hand, it's good that the guy gave his animals, finally, something to eat. On the other hand, when you've got horses in conditions this dire, giving them too much grain at once can make them colic and die. I'm sure he's only going to be paying attention long enough for people to take the heat off, and then the horses will be right back in the same spot -- starving, alone, and with no one to look out for them.
Except us. We'll be watching, and now, thanks to the power of the Internet, hopefully the rest of the world will be too.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Dog Meets Horse
I took this photo shortly after we moved out to the new ranch and the border collies were still very young. I like to imagine that Radar the dog is thinking "Holy crap, you want me to herd THAT?!" Or maybe it's "Holy crap, that's the biggest damn cow I ever saw."
It's always a lot easier to act tough when there's a fence between you and the other guy, but Radar's got the courage to at least give it a go. That's the nice thing about border collies, they don't ever think they're outmatched. I ought to learn something from that, but so far the best lesson I can come up with is "Good fences make good neighbors", and that one's already taken.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Hung Like a Horse?
It's not the size of the pasture ...
And that may be the Greatest Sentence Ever on this blog.
She's not the first one to comment on Milagro's lack of endowment. Even our miniature donkey, Sparky, has more to boast about in that department, which considering he's only about two feet tall must be humiliating. Milagro certainly acts like a creature who's overcompensating, so I suspect he's aware of it. He charges around the barnyard, snorting and stomping at the other animals. They seem to almost chuckle as they move just far enough to let him think they've been bullied -- I think they're trying to make him feel better about himself.
Plus he's always saying things like "It's not the size of the pasture, it's the quality of the oats!" I don't think any of the other animals are buying that at all.
I would bet that before long we'll see Milagro cruising around the back forty in a cherry red Corvette, with a hip new hairstyle and enormous speakers, belting out high-bass rap songs that really, between the lines, all say the same thing:
"I'm hung like a horse, baby!"
The trouble is, in Milagro's case that's not a good thing ...
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Jimmy Says Kick It
I drove out to a small town two hours away last weekend to watch Annie in a horse training clinic. The sky was a crisp blue and the weather perfect for a country outing, so it was with a happy heart I pulled into the arena. Unfortunately the flat tire I saw on Annie's truck, with the enormous horse trailer still attached, put a bit of a damper on my spirits.
Rolling up my sleeves and switching from "Sensitive Husband Supporting His Wife" to "Manly Man Doing Manly Things in a Manly Way" mode, however, I swung into action.
The Incredibly Expensive Pain In The Ass
So I had to root around in the glove compartment to find the little metal key device. What if it had been lost? What if the truck had been purchased second-hand and the new owner wasn't aware it was missing until they were stranded on the highway with a flat? What if it breaks? You'd be screwed, that's what. For the sake of -- what, security? -- there's now an additional piece you have to keep track of just to change the tire. That's ludicrous.
To make it even more irritating, you have to go to three totally separate places to assemble all the parts you need to change a flat. The jack itself is located behind the rear seat, the jack handle above the radiator beneath the hood (and of course there's a special bracket that comes off to hold that in place, something that's also easily lost), and finally the "spare tire key" in the glove compartment. Any system for changing a tire that requires a map to find all the pieces is a bad design.
Not our friend Ronnie.
There's nothing like yelling "FUCK!" at the top of your lungs to really draw the attention of an arena full of young women trying to control their wild horses. I considered it a public service, giving them a reason to have to earn the trust of their horses with a wild, invective-spewing man dancing around in earshot, but surprisingly no one thanked me.
Women.
Anyway, my friend Ronnie (also there to support his wife in the clinic) came over to inform me that you don't have to disconnect the trailer to jack the truck up, so I lost a finger for nothing. Great. That was good news, though, because the batteries on the trailer were dead and I couldn't get it lifted off the truck anyway. I suspect the trailer knew this and tried to eat my finger on purpose as retaliation for letting the batteries die. Trailers are mean that way.
I finally assembled the far-flung pieces to let me jack up the truck. "Five minute job," I had confidently sworn to Annie an hour earlier when I started. But with the lug nuts off, I felt like I really was in the home stretch, and I grabbed the wheel to jerk it off the axle.
It didn't budge.
So I tugged again, with the same result. It didn't move even a little. I carefully examined the hub, making sure I hadn't left off some sort of catch or even overlooked a lug nut. Nothing. I glanced at Ronnie, a little red-faced. What kind of wuss can't get a tire off its mount? It's positively unmanly! So I stretched my muscles a moment, then threw my entire, not-inconsiderable weight against the tire, neck tendons straining and temple veins standing out in stark relief, a manly grimace of effort on my face.
Nothing.
Time for another set of choice expletives, I thought, but out of deference to Ronnie (and the horses, which were only just now losing that wild-eyed maniacal fear from my earlier rampage) I kept it quiet. "Is it stuck?" he asked.
"I think so, but I can't see where," I said. Ronnie tried to get it off as well, but he had no more luck than I did. He stepped back and we eyed the beast.
Now when a man sees a piece of mechanical equipment that's stuck, his neurons fire in a pattern that's universal. Burundian Bushmen have the same reaction as the most tried and true American greasemonkey. And Ronnie and I are no exceptions -- we looked at each other and said in the same instant, "Better get some WD-40."
Half a can of silicon lubricant later, however, the tire still wouldn't budge. Not even a little. It wasn't like it was wiggling but resistant to our best efforts, it was like it was a fused part of the axle itself. I pried at it with the jack, I beat it with my fists, I wept and raged like a spurned lover (ok, not really, but I would have if Ronnie hadn't been there!), but all to no avail. When even the Wonder Lubricant comes up empty, there's not much else a country geek can do except the Most Dreaded Thing Ever For a Man:
Call tech support.
I fished the manual out and got the number for Ford's Roadside Assistance. Well actually, to be honest I made Ronnie do it. As bad as it is for a man to call for help, it's even worse when it's your truck you're calling for help on. At least Ronnie could say "Hey, my idiot friend can't get his tire off his truck," but I had no such excuse.
Not surprisingly, Ford didn't know squat. "Well, I guess you'll have to take it to a gas station or something" was their helpful reply. Awesome. That's wonderful advice when you HAVE A FLAT TIRE! They did give us the number of a local tow truck company, though, so Ronnie handed me the phone. One call making yourself look like an idiot is all the Man Friend Code allows.
So I dialed up "Jimmy's Towing" and waited. Here's what the conversation sounded like from Ronnie's point of view:Yeah Jimmy, thanks for the help. Listen, we've got a Ford F250 and the drivers-side rear tire won't come off the hub. Do you have any tips for us to try so we don't have to bother you with coming out on a Sunday? Mmm hmm. Mmm hmmm. Really? Interesting. OK, thanks.
Ronnie raised an eyebrow as I hung up the phone. "Well, what did he say?" Ronnie asked.
"Jimmy says kick it," I replied. We both grinned -- that's the kind of advice a couple of country boys like! "Well that's great, because to be honest, I feel like kickin' something right about now," he said, and I couldn't have agreed more.
So we squared off on that tire and kicked it like kickin' was goin' out of style. Flying kicks, roundhouses, standing punch kicks, we looked like a couple of cowboy ninjas letting loose on that sucker. Laughing and sweaty, we gave pulling the tire off another try, and immediately groaned when it again didn't budge, not so much as an inch.
"I think I might have to go kick Jimmy," I said, panting.
Instead, though, I recalled having heard someone say that sometimes if a tire is stuck, you can get it loose by driving on it for a ways. So I loaded myself into the cab, put it in drive, and pulled forward slowly. I was watching the tire in the side mirror, and sure enough, after about twenty feet it started to wobble as it unstuck itself.
I also saw Annie in the arena, shouting something at me, but I figured she was just telling me the tire was coming loose. "I know," I yelled back over the roar of the diesel. I was feeling quite manly and was sure she was impressed, but she kept shouting and waving. "Yeah, neat hunh!" I yelled back, feeling cocky. Then she jumped the rail and started running towards me. Probably she wanted to give me a big smooch for figuring it out or something, I thought smugly. I put the truck in park and hopped out.
"Stop!" I could now hear Annie yelling. "You're about to run over the field where all the pipes are, the owner said we couldn't drive on them or it'd ruin the arena!"
Oh. Oops. So much for feeling smug and manly!
In any event, I finally got the now-loosened tire off and the spare put on. It had been two frustration-filled hours and I'd missed most of the clinic, but at least my wife was now rolling on four known good tires. I plopped down next to Ronnie in the stands and thanked him for his help.
"No problem," he said, turning back to the horses. One of them was having fits and the trainer was struggling to get it under control. "What do you think Jimmy would do in that situation?" Ronnie asked, grinning.
Well of course, that's a no-brainer. "Jimmy says kick it," I said, a philosophy that I now have decided to adopt for every challenge in life. Bills due? Boss a jerk? Your favorite sports team losing? Just do what the Master advises and all will be well:
Jimmy says kick it.
And I will, Jimmy, believe me, I will.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
It's Milagro, not Merlot-go
Some pictures are worth a thousand words. And they have to be, because if the people involved talked they'd probably get thrown in jail.
In our defense, Milagro has a very refined palate, for a horse. Ahem.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Bees and Horses Don't Mix
We have a very special treat here at NerdCountry today -- a guest post from the lovely lady herself, Annie! I think you'll all agree that she is not only prettier than I am, but a better writer as well. Take it away, Annie!
I try hard to not interpret our animals' actions through the lens of being human, but instead try to see a horse as a horse and a dog as a dog. Sometimes, though, it is obvious that we share many emotions with our animals, and one of the most primal of those is fear. This weekend Jeff hollered out to me that the horses were galloping. I love to see them do that so I ran to the windows to look. This time it didn't seem that they were playing; they were running away from something. My very large, very clumsy 16-hand Palomino was bucking and kicking out into the air like an athlete, something this rather lazy pony has never done before. I ran to the back fence and as I ran I could hear Avalon snorting. Horses only snort when they are in full instinct fear mode. Something had clearly scared the bejeezus out of two of the three the horses. Milagro, the oldest of the three, was safely in the barn scavenging for any loose kernels of horse grain. Ah, the wisdom of the aged!
When I got to the back fence, the two young horses saw me and came galloping, bucking and twisting over to me. They stopped just in front of me, eyes bulging, hearts racing. I put a hand out to them and they both walked closer to me and they each put the heads over my shoulder at the exact same time. It was like they ran home to Mom where they felt secure.
When I saw the piney looking leaves of a cedar tree tangled in Avalon's mane, I decided to go out the gate and take a closer look at the horses. I wanted to make sure they had not been bitten by a rattlesnake. As I moved my hand over Avalon's back, he flinched and pulled away from me. I saw then what must have occurred. He had been stung by bees or wasps on his back. He had large welts that were tender all along his back. I think he was grazing on grass near a cedar tree and out of nowhere he was attacked by bees, so he reared up and might have fallen into the cedar tree. Then he headed for home.
In the midst of the bucking episode, Cousin Jill's spotted donkey Cody came barreling out from the same direction the horses had come from. He was steering two of his lady donkeys out of the danger area as well. He herded them off and then galloped over to the barn where the horses had first run to. I swear his feet were hardly touching the ground as he ran. He clearly was going to check on his buddies. They all sniffed noses and then Cody skipped off to check back on his jennets. Concern for members of his pack seems very human, doesn't it?
After the horses calmed down, I stood between both horses and calmly pet them. They were worn out from their experience and their heads hung low to the ground. I decided I better get Avalon the horse version of aspirin, Bute, so I started walking to the barn. Both horses walked on either side of me and again I was awed that they choose to literally stay by my side. They all got a treat of sweet feed (their favorite!) because I have to mix the Bute into the sweet feed.
I was relieved they weren't hurt and I was deeply honored that they ran to where they felt safest – with me.
I had forgotten I wanted to write this experience down until yesterday. I was about 3 hours late feeding the horses because I had woken up in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep for several hours, so I read a book. I work up at 10 a.m. the next morning and sauntered out to feed the horses, who no doubt had been standing around waiting on me since 7 a.m. Avalon walked up to me as he always does and I stopped and petted him. As I walked off to get his feed bucket, he quickly turned his head towards my retreating back and took a small bite at my shirt! He wasn't trying to hurt me and he'd never done anything like this before. I got the message though: woman, don't keep us out here waiting like that again!!
He reminded me that even though a horse is a horse and a dog is a dog, it is possible to communicate with one another. And, we all share some very basic emotions. The most basic for me is my deep love of these animals and the gifts they give me everyday.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Bella & Madison
We had a great visit today from our friends Lori and Tom and their two adorable daughters, Isabella and Madison. The girls are also our goddaughters, so it's always wonderful to see them. We put them on Milagro, our steadiest horse, and rode them around the front part of the property and in the round pen, where there's soft sand in case something goes awry.
Later we piled into the truck and went in search of the mini-donkeys to pet them and hand out treats. When giving food to an equine, you have to be careful to hold your hand out flat so your fingers don't get caught up in the excitement. Horse and donkey teeth hurt when they bite down! Unfortunately Madison learned that lesson the hard way, as she tried to shove a cookie in the mouth of Sparky (our cutest and smallest donkey) while he was already chewing. I don't think she was hurt badly, and it was hard to tell if any skin even got broken, but it was pretty scary for a bit. Before too long though she was clamoring to get back down among them, so hopefully there was no long-term harm done, either physically or emotionally. That's one tough kid!
Some of the photos we took were priceless, I'll put them after the jump for those who are interested.
This is Bella, the oldest of the two, and as you can tell from this photo she's very shy, introverted, reserved, and demure. NOT!
I love, love, love this picture of Bella on Milagro. She looks totally confident, in control, and ready to do some galloping! After all, what would a princess be without a valiant charger to carry her among the adoring throng?
Then it was Madison's turn to get in the saddle. This child has no fear. Every animal is "Toby", which is the name of their dog at home. This was confusing to the horses, since one of them really is named Toby, but not the one she was either riding or talking to. I had to sit the horses down afterwards and explain it to them, which is tiring because frankly, horses aren't very bright.
Finally we moved on to the donkeys, where we learned that the maximum number of cookies you can shove into a minature donkey's mouth at one time is five, leaving no room for a finger. 
We had a great time with the girls, and it's renewed our resolve to have a "Oops we forgot to have kids" party out here some time. There's something about the donkeys in particular that kids can really relate to, and I love seeing them get to experience animals up close and personal.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Drought Farmonomics
The drought hanging over most of Texas continues unabated, and it's having an impact here on our little slice of heaven. Hay for the horses and donkeys used to be anywhere from $3-$4 a square bale, and that's when it's delivered right to our door.
We just had to buy some at $10 a bale, and felt lucky to have found any at all.
It's just good old-fashioned supply and demand -- since there isn't any hay to be had for hundreds of miles, what there is has to be shipped in from other states. That means more gas to get it here and less of it overall to sell. So even if you're lucky enough to find some, it's going to cost you.
What's worse is, the animals hate the new hay. It's dry and yellow, with very little nutritional content. I put out a whole bale the other day and they just turned their noses up at it. Heck, it's so bad they almost refused to pee on it.
We still have a bit put aside from the last good batch, but we're going to have to ration it out. Luckily there's a fair bit of green grass coming up, and with 80+ acres for 3 horses and 7 miniature donkeys we should be all right. Although if we don't get some rain in the next few weeks, even that's going to die off as temperatures hit the high 90's.
Droughts in the city didn't matter much beyond maybe having to not water your lawn for a few days, but out here I'm beginning to understand just how devastating they can be.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
A Good Country Day
My nephew Paul and his girlfriend Leah are in town for their Spring Break and we've really enjoyed having them out here. Getting to show off your home town to new people helps you see it all in a new light, and gets you out of your rut too. For instance when I lived in San Antonio, I never went to the Alamo until some friends came in to visit.
So today me, Paul, Leah, and Annie met Aunt Sharon at Colbert Ranch right here in Bertram for a day of horseback riding. We went for about three hours and had a great lunch by the creek with the most delicious strawberries and blackberries you've ever seen. The owner's nephews and niece were there as well and we had a good time getting to meet and know them.
The highlight of the ride was Leah's horse, who expelled gas at a rate rarely experienced outside of a NASA launch. Never was I so eager to be at the head of a column of horses.
That did bring to light the fact that both Paul and I, as children, used to "Engage the Fart Boosters" while riding bikes, putting on a furious burst of speed after lighting the afterburner, so to speak. This never occurred to any of the females in the group during their entire childhood, proving once again that boys are smarter than girls. Or something.
Sharon was then nice enough to take us on an exploration of Longhorn Caverns, where she works as a tour guide. The transition from vibrant, ever-changing surface ranch world to serene, constant, geologically-slow underground complex was both jarring and moving. Seeing the steady work of millenia up close and personal really brought home how brief our time on this planet is. Sharon did a great job of bringing to life the cataclysmic history of the region and I couldn't help but come away with a sense of appreciation for the living, slow-breathing planet we live on.
We are but hangers-on, clinging precariously to the outermost layer of this massive planet. But in our small little shell we still find the excitement of pounding hooves, thundering blood, wild joys and fierce friendships. What a brief, wonderful, amazing ride we get, here on the skin of Mother Earth.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Bad Beats
Horseback riding is inherently dangerous, as anyone who's heard of Christopher Reeve knows. You accept the risk when you decide to get into it, much like skydiving or motorcycle riding or, heck, even getting behind the wheel of your car.
But it's always the risks you don't anticipate that get you. That's what happened to a friend of ours, horse trainer Ricky Moore.
Ricky before the accident
Ricky after the accident
Ricky was always a risk taker, an old-school cowboy if you ever met one. He'd ride from sunrise to midnight, on anything with four legs. He never met a horse he couldn't tame or a dare he wouldn't take. He's been bucked, bit, kicked, and thrown more times than you can count and he always kept coming, with a big smile and hearty laugh. He's tough as nails and has a kind, giving spirit that makes animals and little kids instantly trust him.
He trains horses for a living, so he's dealing with the worst of a species that's very dangerous to begin with. But it wasn't a horse that hurt him.
No, he was just touring the new Austin City Hall and fell off a rail two stories. He fell on his head and suffered severe injuries to the brain and broke every bone in his face. His memory was shot and he's going to have to spend some time learning the basics again like speaking, walking, and remembering who everyone is.
Ricky got one of the worst of bad beats, but knowing him he'll keep on playing, happy to be in the game and ready for the next challenge. Our thoughts and hopes are with him, and we hope you'll do the same.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Spring Ranch Update
Spring has sprung everywhere at the ranch except (ironically) in the spring; we're well into month 7 with no water in the creek, and however lucky that is for people who like to dump their vehicles into it, we'd really like some relief.
Nonetheless the plants and animals are definitely in a springtime frenzy. I mentioned earlier that trees and grass have started blooming again. The crepe myrtles in particular are beautiful and the wild plum trees are also bursting with color. The oaks have dropped their leaves, which seems weird to me, but everything else is alive with greens, pinks, and whites.
The last week has also seen the return of our hummingbird swarm. Where these little guys spend the rest of the year I don't know, nor how they managed to survive without our containers of sugary water, but they're sure out in force now. We've counted up to 11 at once swarming around. This morning one had gotten stuck in the garage. Apparently having a brain the size of a very small raisin isn't conducive to figuring out how to escape a window. I had to scoop him up in a pitcher and carry him outside, learning in the process that hummingbirds can fly really, really high. I thought they were ground-huggers, kind of like bees with beaks, but they can definitely get up there.
We've got the two standard donkey females (jennets in the lingo) locked in the barn area, Annie thinks they're close to giving birth. Since they don't crave ice cream and pickels or complain about bloated feet, we have to use less sure signs like swollen teats and such.
The temperatures are going up but for now they're tolerable, in the upper 80's and there's usually a decent breeze going. We get very few weeks of nice weather before summer roars in with temperatures in the high 90's and low 100's for months on end. We've been walking the dogs most every day and trying to enjoy it while we can.
The wildflowers are coming back, though not in great numbers, and the air is alive with possibilities. I can see why cultures have celebrated spring with rites and festivals for thousands of years; you really feel like anything can happen and the best is yet to come.
Of course, this is also the time of year the IRS wants their tax money, which blows the metaphor all to hell. And they say there's no such thing as irony!
Monday, March 06, 2006
Bobcat vs. Donkey
At one point during my weekend-long cedar-whacking extravaganza, the donkeys and horses came over to see what I was doing in that loud, clattering contraption. I always thought equines were prey animals and, as such, ran from anything in the least bit out of the ordinary. (And if me working on a weekend isn't out of the ordinary, I don't know what is!) But on the contrary, they're very curious, so they sauntered over to check out the Bobcat.
The thing is, I didn't want them to be comfortable around it. You can't see very well in it, and I was fearful that I'd accidentally run over a donkey, or drop a tree on a horse, or mistake someone for a cedar and try to shear it. So I was in the awkward position of having to scare away these creatures who in general trust me very much.
I started out slow, just tooting the (incredibly pathetic-sounding) horn. No dice, they just twitched an ear. I stepped it up to driving towards them at top speed which, in a Bobcat, is about 2 mph. Again no deal, they seemed to think I was coming to play. Finally I raised the shears high overhead and waggled them back and forth, giving rise to a fierce clanging. At last the animals reacted with appropriate dread, and ran for their lives.
But it made me realize that I am just not a frightening individual. No one is scared of me. For the love of Pete I had a hard time alarming a herd of prey animals with a multi-ton bulldozer strapped around me!
This has always been true, even back in high school. For instance, our "Wilderness Club" had taken a weekend trip Ship Island in Louisiana to clean up the beaches and then soak up the sun for a few hours. The girls had wandered out into the deeper water until it was up to their necks, and had taken their tops off, waving them above their heads to taunt any hapless male members of the group who might walk by on the beach. One of the guys, Scott, made as if to charge into the water after them and the girls squealed and giggled with mock horror and delight, hurriedly redressing until he peeled off and resumed his walk down the beach.
So here I come, walking down the beach, and the top-waggling resumes. "I'm comin' in!" I yell, splashing towards heaven on earth. "Eeeek, look out, let's -- oh, it's just Jeff. Come on in!"
"Just Jeff, come on in"?! What am I, chopped beef? An extra from Brokeback Mountain? Apparently I just missed out on the whole "This guy is trouble" gene somehow. I don't think I could scare a basket of kittens if I had a dog costume on.
Next time I'm definitely renting a bigger bulldozer. I think I'm gonna need it in case I run into a mouse or something really ferocious and need to scare it off.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Horse Dentists
The other day we had the horse dentist out to the property.
Yes, you are reading that correctly -- there are vets whose only job is to work on horse teeth.
I was going to make a crack about how we're going to have the Horse Chiropractor out next week, but it turns out that we really are having the Horse Chiropractor out next week.
So now we have people who do the whole horse, people who do just the horse's hooves, people who just make shoes for horses (not metal horseshoes, but literally boots that fit over a horse's feet), people who do chiropractic realignments on horse spines, and people who work on nothing but horse teeth.
The one thing they all have in common: Every damn one of them will be more than happy to work on your wallet.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Texas Winter
A run-in shed at our old house on a real winter day
The donkeys don't seem to like the horses' coats too much either. They huddle at the back of the barn, staring doubtfully out at Toby's blue blazer with particular disgust. I can't tell if they're afraid or if they simply have a keener sense of style than we do.
We've also shrouded the house and all outside faucets with snug winter wear, and the interior sinks are dutifully dripping. At our last house, we got hit several times with real winter weather, including snow and everything. It was my first time to ever actually see snow falling, so it was pretty neat. At least, until the pipes froze, thawed, and promptly shattered. For some reason the guy who built our last house thought that running the water supply tight up against the uninsulated metal roof through uninsulated pipes would be a great idea. Of course this is the same guy who had the brilliant innovation of running the washing machine's gray water outlet pipe uphill so I shouldn't have been surprised.
Hopefully we'll weather this cold snap in our new house a little better. Green grass has been popping up over the last few weeks and the occasional leaf has emerged, lulled into a false sense of security by the 80 degree temperatures earlier in February. They're done for now -- old man winter has snuck in a sucker punch just when they felt safe, and they'll be forced back into hibernation for who knows how long.
I know how they feel. Frozen water makes me want to snatch a few cubes, plunk them into a glass with some Jack Daniels and Coca-Cola, and crawl under the covers until it's shorts weather again. I imagine the horses feel the same way, though they'd probably settle for just taking the coats off, and weather be damned. An animal has to have pride, after all.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Don't Slap That Ass!
Something that surprised me when we got our animals is that equine skin is a lot like ours in many ways. Horses and donkeys don't have thick fur like on a German Shepherd dog, or thick skin like a rhino. Their hides are covered with a relatively thin layer of hair and it's even more sensitive then yours or mine.
So when you're on a horse, or petting a donkey, don't slap at it like you see too many actors do on film. Rubbing is much more pleasant for them, or at most gentle patting. Think of them as four-legged human babies as far as their skin goes and you won't be too far off the mark.
Remember -- don't slap that ass! Or that horse for that matter. They'll appreciate it!
Friday, February 03, 2006
Crap, This is Dangerous
We just found out that last weekend, a woman riding on the property behind where we used to live fell off her horse and broke 3 vertebrae and 2 ribs. They had to have one of their group gallop back ten minutes to the house to call 911 ... all told it was probably 30 to 45 minutes from the time of the accident before help got there. Eventually they had to fly in a medical chopper to evacuate her, because the ambulance couldn't get through the rough terrain to where she lay.
They were in a sizeable group, and were pretty much done riding for the day. It was on the way back that her horse -- normally a reliably old hand -- spooked at something and reared up, throwing her. It can happen just like that, one second you're secure and confident and the next you've got a broken neck. And it happened right behind our old house, with our old riding group. I can't help but think that could've been us.
I worry about that every time Annie goes out. I try reminding myself that she's a good rider, that the odds are very low that anything bad will happen, but I can't help but think about Christopher Reeves and what a great rider he was and now what's happened to Judy.
Oy. I hope Judy gets better soon, all of us who have anything to do with horses will be thinking of her.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
IEPITA
If you had told me I would one day buy a $35,000 vehicle with at most 3 horsepower, I'd have laughed in your face. And yet, behold -- the Incredibly Expensive Pain In The Ass (or the IEPITA as I call it).
That's our living-quarters-built-in, tack-room-included, three-horse-stall gooseneck trailer. It has leather seats on the inside, sleeps up to four (or five if you're real friendly), has a shower and toilet for people, Texas-star cabinet pulls, and just about everything else you need to camp out in style while you ride horses.
It also has the undocumented power to drive me insane.
Ever week it's something else with the IEPITA. The winch breaks. The batteries drain. The solar panel for recharging the batteries fails. The pull-out canopy is moldy. You have to drain it for winter storage or the water lines explode. The generator needs testing. The butt-bar for the last horse stall is busted.
On and on and on and on and on ... Not to mention the difficulty of just hooking and unhooking it up to the truck. And driving it -- oy. It's like driving a bus.
But then, a bus has more than 3 horsepower, and the city has to foot the bill. I wonder if I can get a Cap Metro pass for the horses?
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Brokeback Pasture
Oooo, Milagro, perhaps if I blow in your ear ...
We think maybe one -- or more -- of our geldings are, shall we say, "playing for the other team". Or maybe they were just auditioning for a guest role in "Brokeback Mountain", I dunno. Here's the photo so you can decide for yourself if the kissing is sincere or just part of an audition.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
"Horse Apples"
Early on in our country adventure, we visited a stable. I noticed the dogs ravenously gobbling up something on the ground. "What are they eating?" I asked in full city-slicker innocence. "Oh, dogs love horse apples," chuckled the stable owner.
"Hunh, horse apples," I thought. "Must be some kind of weird plant they only grow in stables."
Well, I was sort of right, because I later learned that horse apples is a nice way of saying horse poop. For someone with LVT (Low Vomit Threshold) that was not a good thing to see.
And dogs don't just eat it, they chug it like they're bellying up to the finest caviar bar on the East Coast. I wonder if they have little doggie tasting parties, as if they were going on a tour of wineries. "Oh Radar, you simply must try this excellent Milagro scat, it's simply unbelievable. Just the faintest hint of rye grass with slightly oaky overtones. Divine!"
I looked at our dog food bill the other day and couldn't believe it. We buy this ultra-pure human-grade dry food for them, but I honestly think they'd be happier if we just scooped up horse apples and shoveled it in all day.
City Slicker Lesson of the Day: If you go out for a nice country drive some day and your host offers you "horse apple pie" -- say NO!
