Barnmaven

Brighter days

Its almost seven a.m. and I need to get up and get moving.  The farrier's coming in two hours and then the vet, and if the girls get the all clear, I can get them vaccinated and wormed.  The oldest of my guest horses is the slowest gaining weight.  Getting her teeth floated helped, but I'm hoping that once I can worm her we'll turn the final corner and start seeing some roundness to her.

I've been sitting in bed watching Gizmo chew on Roscoe's ears.  He does this weird thing where he'll start chewing on the end of one long floppy ear, and then he gradually pulls it all the way in so he's got a mouthful of ear which he masticates with eyes half closed, clearly enjoying it.  After chewing blissfully for a few seconds he spits it out and starts all over again.  By the time he's done (or I speak sharply at him to stop), Roscoe's ear is absolustely soggy with Chihuahua saliva.  He patiently lies there the whole time Gizzy's chewing on him.  I can't tell if he really likes it or simply tolerates it.  Dogs are simply unknowable at times.

SG comes home today.

Yes, it was a surprise.  He picked up a cold that turned into a bronchial infection the last week or more of the job he was working.  He'd been to the doctor and gotten antibiotics and such, but as he was packing to head to the next job, he still wasn't feeling right.  He went back to the doctor and his blood pressure was really high, which is worrisome.  But the doctor wasn't comfortable with him driving 2500 miles to work six twelve hour days a week for several weeks, so we talked it over and he made the decision to come home.  Fortunately he may still be able to go to the next job on a delayed basis, so if he gets the all-clear from his doctor here, it won't be a complete wash.  He'll get the work AND I get a conjugal visit.  We all win!

I've been on vacation most of the week with the kids on spring break.  I've managed to do at least a few of the tasks I was hoping to accomplish, which means my house and yard have begun to approach "acceptable" status.  They'd look even better, but I wisely chose to use as many days as possible this week to ride Bugs.

Its hard to put into words just how satisfying its been to ride him.  He is progressing so nicely right now.  Mentally he's become a more reliable and mature fellow.  Physically he is beginning to understand and respond to my requests to collect and round his back.  As he begins to collect and round for longer and longer segments, the pleasure of being the person on his back becomes indescribable.  There is something intensely pleasurable about riding a horse who is completely collected.  His face is at the vertical, he's flexed at the poll and his neck is nicely arched.  His feet are underneath him and the action at his knees and hocks becomes more obvious.  If  you're watching him from the ground you can hardly take your eyes from him because he just looks so great, and if you're lucky enough to be riding him, you can't keep the grin off your face because you know he feels and looks spectacular.  My cheeks are actually sore from the grinning this week. 

We also worked on some trail obstacles in preparation for our riding clinic tomorrow.  Michelle dragged out some old tractor tires and we took the black plastic from her garden and made a "black hole of death" obstacle.  Bugs negotiates the tires quite well, and even when he's stepped on the side of a tire and it flipped up and banged him in the hocks he did not get perturbed.  I can run him through them on the ground or on his back and he's a tire-crossing demon.  The black tarp of death is an entirely different matter.  He's pretty sure its going to kill him.  We made great progress with it, and yesterday I had him standing on the tarp while I flipped and rattled the edges of it.  He didn't like it much, but he stayed put. 

To have a good trail horse, you've got to get two things to happen.  You have to get your horse to trust you enough that he believes you will never ask him to do something that will get him killed.  He is a prey animal, and as such is highly reactive to unfamiliar stimuli.  Things that flutter or move can be terrifying.  Water looks like its a huge hole he could fall into.   A level headed horse who doesn't spook easily is wonderful to have, but more often than not a horse is not born that way, you need to help him learn to be that way. 

It is also a lot of fun to torture your horse when you think he's being unreasonably sensitive. 

Chicks arrived this week.  I've got three silver-laced Wyandottes, one Rhode Island Red, and four tiny little yellow banties.  Four layers and four pets. They're so cute and fluffy, we love to hold them and listen to them chirp.  If you hold one long enough it will fall asleep on your hand, and its almost unbearably cute.  They are doing much to satisfy my baby cravings.

Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate it this weekend, happy Spring and happy Eoster to those of you who don't.  Spring reminds me that life is a continual opportunity for renewal and redemption.  This week has certainly felt that way.

Its better if you do it quickly

I've added another guest to the pasture this week, a mare that was injured after getting her hind legs torn up in barbed wire.  The people who were boarding her didn't even notice she was injured for several days, so she was in some need of doctoring and pain management.  Fortunately her injuries are not going to leave her permanently lame.

Part of doctoring her for the moment involves hosing down her legs until the scabs are softened and then scrubbing them off with a bristle brush so that I can get antibacterial agents into the wounds themselves.  The first time we treated her there were some pretty big scabs that had to come off.  Just scrubbing wasn't working and I had to grab them and pull them off.

Its one thing to grab your kid and pull off a bandage or a scab. You know they're going to yelp, you know its going to hurt, but you have to do it fast and all at once.  And your child is (hopefully) smaller than you are and so you're not taking your life in your hands.

Its another thing entirely to put yourself within striking distance of a 1200 pound animal and do something that you absolutely know is going to hurt like hell. 

I've been fortunate in my years not to have many injured horses that needed doctoring.  Only twice have I ever dealt with having a horse stitched up.  Both of those times I just held my horse and let the vet do their job, then made sure I kept the stitches clean until they could come out.  My friend Michelle, on the other hand, has dealt with a sizable herd for a long time and is no stranger to doctoring horses.  She says that its the uncanniest thing sometimes, even horses you don't think will be able to tolerate what you need to do will actually be very quiet and patient when you have to do something that hurts.  Perhaps they realize that they need your help to get better, and so they stand still and let you work.

For whatever reason, this lovely mare allowed me to grab hold and yank some fairly large scabs from her hocks without kicking, rearing, biting or bolting.  She was an angel, and has been every day since as I clean and reopen her scabs and treat them with Betadine and a gel spray. 

I guess she knows the truth - the only way to take off a scab is to stand still and yank it all right at once. 

When SG and I got married its not like I was unaware of the fact that his current career means he is gone for weeks at a time.  I'm still getting used to it, though.  I liked having him home, having two of us doing the heavy lifting together.  Enjoying each other's company, having him there to come home to at night, to kiss goodbye in the mornings.  With him gone life seems emptier, less meaningful.  Far too stressful.  The part of me that is logical acknowledges fully the need for paying work in a down economy.  My inner drama queen, however, is less inclined to care about logic.  She's far more concerned with her creature comforts.  She wants her man home, and NOW.  She puts up such a fuss and my inner Spockette has found herself drowned out by the brouhaha.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a murmur of further jobs on the road.  Maybe months worth.  My inner drama queen blew up like a unicorn full of glitter with a hand grenade shoved up its ass. Then she stuck her fingers in her ears.

Its been a merry spectacle, let me tell you.  Tears, emotionally charged text messages.  Hangups.  And really, nothing had been decided yet. 

Fortunately, my inner Spockette and I tag-teamed her, stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth, duct taped it in place and shuttled her off to the back of the attic for the time being.   When SG called, inner Spockette and I had it all under control.  He ripped the scab off - he will be going directly to North Carolina from Arizon with no time for a visit home, and he will be gone until the end of May.  Inner drama queen made a barely recognizable muffled yelp and hasn't been heard from for a couple of days.

If you try to pull the scab off a little bit at a time it takes forever.  Every little tug hurts just as bad as the one before it and the one after it.  All you have accomplished in the end is to make your pain last longer.    Even horses know this.  Hopefully my inner drama queen has figured it out as well.

 

Where happy lives

I've been on a Buck Brannaman kick lately.  I've watched the documentary at least three times, and blew through his biographical book The Faraway Horses in about two days.   My trail riding partner Michelle and I are making plans to go watch him give a four-day clinic this June.  We've signed up for the incredibly long waiting list to ride, knowing that we likely won't get to do that, but also knowing that just watching him work with other people and their horses and listening to him teach will benefit us a lot in our own horse journey.

Buck's observation that whatever issues a person has in other areas of their lives will be reflected in their relationships with horses.  There are some incredibly concrete examples of this in the movie, and I'm sure many more on the 300+ hours of tape that hit the cutting room floor.  I see it in my own life. 

The mare I bought on a whim was sensitive.  More than sensitive - she would bolt at the touch of a feather.  If it was evidence of my own troubles that I added a horse to my barn that was drama personified, it was at the same time evidence of the working of God (or the spirit or the universe or whatever name you might give to Him) bringing me the challenges I needed in equine form to help me become a more balanced, calm and compassionate human being.

My standard approach simply did not work with her.  I had to learn a whole new sense of feel.  If all it takes to get your horse to respond is a half pound of pressure on the lead rope, why would you start with fifteen pounds?  And so I had to learn how to start with the smallest amount of energy and increase it only to the point where my horse responded to it.  I had - and continue - to learn how to recognize exactly when that response came in order to reward with a release more immediately.  To help my horse be able to make the connection between those two events.

And I took that mare as far as I could, and then my gelding entered my life, and while not the flight risk that little mare was, he is still a sensitive soul.  The only way to help him - and me - grow was to continue along that path.

And as I have worked on my issues through my horses, I have seen the results carry through to my home and work life.  I am not the same person I was two years ago.  I am a better parent, a better partner, a better employee, a better boss.  I'm not in such a hurry anymore.  I don't feel this frantic sense of urgency, I don't feel the need for everything to be resolved or understood NOW NOW NOW.  I am more in tune with others and how they react to me and to the way life unfolds around them.

Still, there are challenges.

The loss of my brother and the annual winter doldrums have brought a sluggishness into my days, a lack of desire to get out of bed in the morning, a heaviness of heart that makes doing the things I love seem less inviting.  And so I am learning that in order to keep the happiness in my life growing, I must apply some discipline.  In the same way that we make the wrong thing hard and the right thing easy so that our horse can learn in the safest way possible what it is we want from him, I need to create pathways for me to continue to do the things in my life that create joy and not those that simply lay waste to the potential of my life's moments.

I know that the terms "discipline" and "joy" might seem mutually exclusive, but I'm absolutely certain that there is a relationship between them. 

If I want to maintain a level of fitness that keeps me healthy, that provides the endorphins I need, that gives me the energy and mobility I need to be an active parent and to enjoy my horse, I need to be disciplined. 

If I want to make sure that my relationship with my horse continues to grow and develop, I can't just get on him once every couple of weeks and expect that's going to benefit either one of us.  I have to have the discipline to get out there a few times a week, even if its just to do groundwork or give him a good grooming.  He needs to have my attention, he needs to feel useful in order to be truly happy.  The time I spend with him is incredibly beneficial to me, it is one of the foundation stones of my own happiness.

Spending time with my husband and my children makes me happy.  But sometimes, especially when I'm feeling pulled under as I am lately, it seems easier to give my attention to a book or a social media stream or an email I want to answer.  Finding the joy in my relationships means applying discipline to the amount of time I spend online or disappearing into a novel.

Sometimes it is as simple as saying, Stop doing this and start doing that instead.  Sometimes I need to be even more authoritative with myself and schedule time for my joy.  Put it on the calendar, make a date with my husband, make plans with my kids or with a friend. 

And most important of all, I must take the time to savor those moments with the people I love, doing the things I love.  Death reminds me that life can be brutally short, that there might not be another time to express my feelings to someone, to hold their hand, to wrap my arms around them and hold them tightly.  Death reminds me of the pricelessness of moments spent doing meaningful things, even things as simple as stroking the small dog on my lap --  and of the futility of time wasted over pointless drama or feelings like anger and bitterness, jealously and resentment.

There is no time but now, but not everything needs to be accomplished right now.  Happiness waits to be found in being mindful of the way that I spend my time. 

This post was written in response to the question How do you plan to create happiness in 2012? from BlogHer's Life Well Lived section.  

Tired for all the right reasons

I had a bunch of things I meant to try to get done today. 

Bathrooms to clean.  Laundry to do.  Floors to sweep and wash.  Dishes to put away.  Painting in the living room and the kitchen.

Its after 8 pm, its dark out now.  I'm tired, mentally and physically. And not a single damn one of those tasks were accomplished.  Far from being wasted, however, the day was full.

I took my first dressage lesson with Bugs -- and I think I'm hooked.  It was cold and windy and by the end of the lesson raining sideways on us -- and I'm still hooked.  So much forward motion, so much contact, so much FUN. 

And then I took my kids to an afternoon movie, and then out to the local pizza buffet, and then we played arcade games until we ran the machines flat out of tickets it seemed like.  You forget as an adult how much fun it was to take your tickets up to the counter and trade them in for prizes.  Remember how shiny and fantastic those plastic slinkies and parachute army guys seemed when we got them from the counter at the arcade at the skating rink?  The slinkies are still there and so are the army guys, and they're every bit as wondrous to my children's young eyes as they once were to mine. 

And we stood in line forever to get the tickets turned in and then to pick our prizes, and they didn't fight and they stayed calm, and when it was their turn at the counter, as they walked away with their loot they both politely thanked the gangly teenaged boy behind the counter, making this mom awfully proud.

And I'm exhausted and we all got a little overwhelmed by the noise and the birthday party crowds at the pizza joint, and maybe one of us got a little bent out of joint and had a meltdown, but all he needed was a little quiet time in his room to gather himself back up.  They're playing with their doodads now, and bedtime will come soon for all of us.  Tomorrow they head to their dad's and it there will be far too much time to do things like clean and paint and fold.

My house is messy, but it will keep.  Days like today are precious and too quickly gone to let them pass by.

Its just what I do

S asked me the other day why it is that I like having so many animals.

I had a really hard time answering that question.

They certainly complicate life, and fostering (especially fostering highly energetic puppies) makes even the standard daily routine a lot more difficult.  Its not as if I don't have enough on my plate to begin with.

 

I've always loved animals.  We had a dog growing up, a german shephard mix my folks adopted from the Humane Society.   Queenie was a big furry baby sitter to me.  When the big kids were playing too rough, she would pen me in the corner of the yard and not let me out, despite my rather vigorous protests.  If my mom's hands were full with groceries, she would herd me from the car to the porch to the slider door.  She tolerated my attempts to treat her like a horse without ever once losing her temper.  She was my father's dog, loving him the best of all, but she was my other mother.  She was always there, for 15 years, and I can still feel the tug on my heart when I think of how much I miss her. 

When we moved from the city to the country, my parents set the bar for me when it comes to farm life.  We went from being a one-dog city family to a one dog, three cat, five duck, one (and at times two) horse, ten chicken and occasionally a donkey and a steer or two country family.

Rescue and having a large contingent of animals was never something I planned to do, but for whatever reason they just kept showing up.  With one exception, all of the animals who found their way into my life were either strays, adopted from a shelter, or adopted through a rescue.  Its not that I need to have them all - its that I can, and that the need on their part is so great. Each and every one of them is an individual, with unique personality and traits.  Hercules wiggles, Roscoe can be counted on to tolerate the loving abuse of children with equanimity, Juliet rules the house like the little princess she is. 

 

T-Bone, his job is just to follow me and make sure I don't get lost.

I see no reason why people should be irresponsible with the lives of animals.  With dominion comes great responsibility, and it is my fixed opinion that a great number of people have been terribly lacking in their duty to properly care for our planet and the animals who inhabit it.  The best leaders are the people who understand that leadership is not power at all, but a terrible burden.  In the same way, being at the top of the food chain doesn't mean that we ought to be sitting on our front porch having target practice with the neighborhood squirrels or killing animals simply for a trophy set of horns.  We are stewards, and we ought to be mindful of that.  I'm not against hunting and I'm not against eating meat.  What I'm against is the irresponsible decimation of animals for no other reason than sport.  Killing for the sake of killing.

We have, over thousands of years, formed a partnership with dogs and with cats.  We have bred them to be loyal, loving members of our household.  All recognized breeds have a purpose for which they were created, and there are a number of breeds whose only job was to be human companions.

I've seen dogs treated horribly by people, abused, neglected, starved.   They come in to rescue with no reason whatsoever to retain any loyalty to the human race and still they trust us to care for them.  Back in New Jersey we'd get dogs surrendered by the puppy mills in Pennsylvania (there are Amish farmers in PA who use those great big barns as breeding facilities) who had never in their life been out of a crate.  They'd never been OUTSIDE.  Or seen a vet.  Or played with a toy.  Elderly dogs, sick, taken to shelters by owners who couldn't be bothered to care for them in the last days of their life.  Abandoned dogs, starving, barely alive.

I've never been able to see an animal or a child suffer abuse without feeling all the way into the center of my being that I should do something about it.  Now, my therapist has told me that is an emotion I should be on the watch for, as it apparently connotates something unhealthy.  Frankly, I beg to differ.

My mom said in passing a while back, "You know, you really need more acreage for all these animals."  Then she looked at me and laughed and said, "I take it back.  If you had more room you'd just have more animals."  She's right.  I'd run a horse rescue in a heartbeat if I had the acreage and resources.

While browsing one of my favorite horse blogs, I clicked on a link that led me to this story.  I'll warn you that if you click through, you'll see some graphic photos of a horse that was terribly abused and near death.  The person who responded to the craigs list ad for her realized how poor her condition was and convinced the owner to let him take her away for a decent burial.  She couldn't even stand up, and had to be loaded onto his trailer by being carried on a plywood board.

Miracle's story has a happy ending, she has made a remarkable recovery and just last week made the trip to her new adoptive home.  Sadly, for many animals who are abused or neglected, there IS no happy ending.  The people who volunteer for the rescues, who donate food and supplies, who foster, who give us air time and feature our adoptable animals on the news or who write articles about us in the paper, they are the ones standing in the gap. 

I stand with them.  I can't explain to you why - nor should I have to.  Its just something I do.

A Horse Story

I rode three days in a row this weekend.  Three rousing "Huzzah"s for warming weather and ignoring housework in favor of feeding one's horse addiction.

Yesterday the kids and I spent the day up at Michelle and Mike's place, I rode Bugs in the arena and the kids pretty much ran all over the farm and wore themselves out.  Michelle dug out Bugs papers and made a copy for me.  I was reading through it and drooling a little bit over the foundation horses in his bloodline.  As Quarter Horses go, Bugs' is pretty well-credentialed.  His sire, Lenas Pretty Buck, a/k/a "Buck," is one of the stallions at Michelle's barn.  He's a handsome buckskin with a gorgeous head and a nice build.  Buck's daddy was Mr. Cool Hand Lena, a/k/a Mr. Cool.  Mr. Cool was a black stallion, built like a (pardon the french) brick shithouse.  He was a special horse, and he had an awesome personality.  They lost him this winter to colic, it was horribly sad. 

Bugs is bay in color, which for you non-horsey folks means that he is a rich dark brown color with a black mane and tail and long black stockings on his legs.  His winter coat ranges from almost black to a shockingly bright reddish brown in the spring. 

Bugs' bloodline on his daddy's side goes back a few generations to a historic breeding between two of the American Quarter Horse Association's Hall of Famers, Doc Bar and Poco Lena.

If you've never heard the sad story of the famous Poco Lena, grab a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and read on.  I shall regale you.  It's International Women's Day.  I'm writing about a horse, a mare that continues to wield great influence on her breed to this day.

 

Poco Lena was foaled in 1949 in Arlington Texas, a bay mare out of Poco Bueno and Sheilwin.  She was owned by Paul Waggoner, and began competing in halter and cutting as a two-year old. 

Now, to understand her value to the breed, you must understand the history of the American Quarter Horse.  These horses are really the Cowboy Horse of the American West, built for short bursts of speed and with a low center of gravity that makes them quick turners, ideal for herding cattle on a working ranch.  The name "Quarter Horse" comes from the breed's proclivity for sprint racing.  While Thoroughbreds were bred to go a mile and a quarter, the Quarter Horse is designed to knock the socks off the track for just a quarter mile.  When you look at pictures of the Quarter Horse, the breed standard is obvious -- barrel chested, big-hipped with superior musculature and strong legs.   Think of the thoroughbred, long and lanky, like the marathon runners you see.  The Quarter Horse is the Carl Lewis, the Ben Johnson of the horse world. 

Cutting competitions are big-time money for the top horses, and Poco Lena was winning from the get-go.  This video clip of Poco Lena shows you just how really good she was.  Not only was she athletic and "cowy," she was a physically superior norse, conforming in all ways to her breed standard.   She as been described as having "the head of a princess and the rump of a washer woman." Here's a list of her awards and accomplishments:

• AQHA Championship
• Performance Register of Merit (ROM)
• Superior Cutting Horse award
• Superior Halter Horse award
• AQHA High-Point Cutting Horse in 1959, 1960 and 1961
• National Cutting Horse Association (NCHA) Certificate of Ability
• NCHA Bronze Aware
• NCHA Silver Award
• NCHA Hall of Fame Inductee

In her cutting career she earned almost $100,000 in winnings. 

B.A. Skipper of Texas bought Poco Lena from Don Dodge in 1959, and between 1959 and 1961 she won the AQHA Honor Roll and was reserve in the NCHA's world standing all three years.  Its interesting to note that she managed to continue winning with Skipper aboard, as by all accounts he was not an accomplished horseman. It was reported that he rode with a seatbelt attached to his saddle.

In 1961, Poco Lena foundered badly, likely due to feed mismanagement.  Founder is what we call the resulting tissue damage and complications in the hoof of a horse who suffers from Laminitis, an extremely painful inflammation of the hoof.   (Founder is what claimed the life of Barbaro, the much-loved winner of the Kentucky Derby in 2006, who broke down in the Preakness.)  Laminitis is most often caused by overloading on grain, eating too much lush green grass, or drinking too much water when overheated.  Horses can recover from founder, but if the disease has progressed too far, the outcome is usually very sad. 

In Poco Lena's case, she recovered from the first founder incident and returned to the show ring, but in 1962 a series of events occurred that nearly took her life, and resulted in her eventual death.

Her owner was having her moved back to his Texas ranch after winning a big show in Arizona.  While Poco Lena and another horse were being hauled by a hired driver, B.A. Skipper flew his private plane home.  On October 1, his plane crashed and he was killed.  Four days later, the truck and trailer carrying Poco Lena and the other horse were found by the side of the road.  For some unknown reason, the driver had abandoned his truck and trailer after hearing of the owner's death. 

For four agonizing days the horses sat in the hot trailer with no food and no water.   When they were found, a veterinarian was called in to assess the horses' condition.  Lena was severely foundered, and this time she would not recover.  She was fifteen years old, had never been bred, and was hanging to life by a thread.  The other horse traveling with her was euthanized on the spot, but Poco Lena was taken to the Skipper Ranch and nursed back to some semblance of health.  She was put in the estate dispersal sale, and eventually ended up in the ownership of Dr. and Mrs. Stephen Jensen of Paicines, California. 

The Jensen's at that time owned a young stallion named Doc Bar, who was by that time a halter champion. 

 

Dude is HANDSOME.

The Jensen's hoped to rehabilitate Poco Lena in order to breed her to Doc Bar.  It is reported that when poor Lena hobbled off the trailer in Paicines the Jensens' were so horrified they were at first inclined to put her down.  Their veterinarian convinced them to give her a chance, and so began a three-year rehabilitiation. Her feet were so bad that the Jensen's kept her on their front lawn instead of out in the pasture with the other horses.  Hard ground of any kind was simply too painful for her to walk on. 

One of the things that owners of performance mares do is give them medication that prevents them from coming into estrus, and as a result of years of these drugs, Poco Lena's ovaries were shrunken to the size of peas.  Not only did her owners and veterinarians need to control her pain and rehabilitate her feet, they also had to bring her reproductive tract back to life.  It took three years, but they managed to finally get her well enough to have a successful breeding with Doc Bar, and on June 21, 1967, her first foal was Doc O'Lena.  Doc O'Lena was a small bay, with white on half of his left hind pastern.   Doc O'Lena grew up to be the only horse ever to make a clean sweep of the NCHA Futurity, and is only one of two horses int he AQHA Hall of Fame with both parents also inductees.  Doc O'Lena was a superior cutting horse, but his fame is probably more in his offspring, as he went on to produce some of the best cutting horses in the world. 

Doc O'Lena is Bugs' great-great grandsire.

But we were talking about Poco Lena, and her story is almost finished.

Poco Lena had only one more foal, another little colt christened Dry Doc, who is also an NCHA Hall of Famer.  Dry Doc was another bay, like Bugs, and he had a star on his forehead and a small white marking on his left hind coronet, just like Bugs.  That last pregnancy took a great toll on the big-hearted mare.  She had been on daily doses of pain medication from the time that she was pulled from that hot trailer in 1962, and two pregnancies and subsequent nursings were all she had to give.  The Jensens had her humanely euthanized in December of 1968.

Poco Lena left behind an incredible legacy.  Her sons sired many champion performers and the Poco Lena/Doc Bar line is considered one of the finest cutting horse pedigrees ever.

I wish Poco Lena's story had a happier ending.  She was an amazing performer, with brains and talent galore.  I'm thrilled to hold a little piece of her great legacy in Bugs.  I would have loved to see her in action. 

As the horse world judges such things, Bugs and I may never accomplish much, but we will have many happy hours together and that's worth more than any championship or title to me.

 

Spring fever, I has it.

Two reasons I might not write regularly:

1.  I have nothing to say

2.  I have too much to say

At the moment, I'm squarely tied on these two fronts.  There is so much happening, the pace of life these days seems to be at breakneck speed, and I'm coping with a great deal of emotional change and growth.  Understand, please, that all of this is positive.  And do take that pin away from my bubble, I'm not anywhere near ready to have it burst quite yet.

Over the last few weeks we've been mostly blessed, weather-wise.  A few weekends ago, on a day so sunny and pretty it almost seemed that we were having spring in the middle of January, I got to hit the trail for the first time in 2011 with my wonderful friend Michelle.  We had mostly a terrific ride, and Bugs was not nearly as hell-bent on charging out as I thought he might after a few months of inactivity.  However, we need to fine-tune his Alarm! meter.  We managed about halfway through the ride to flush a grouse, practically under his nose.   Instead of going back or straight up, Bugs went sideways.  I, sadly, did not.  So now its three days a week at the chiropractor, starting to walk straight again finally.  As if in sympathy, Bugs developed a limp this week requiring twice-a-day soaks in warm water and epsom salts and anti-inflammatories.  We're both much better.

That's not really what's kept me from blogging, though.  Blame it on him. 

Do you know that feeling of absolute rightness that comes when you are around someone who likes you just the way you are?  Not pretend-likes-you but really reallylikes you?  And you like them the same?  And everything is easy and calm and you can tell your deepest darkest secrets and fears and instead of taking it personally or thinking you expect them to fix you, they just listen and hold you?  And every time you're around them, no matter what you're doing, whether its cooking or housework or watching a game or reading or ...  you feel happy and content?  And you have intense discussions about things you don't necessarily agree on but throughout which there is no arguing, but lots of intellectual stimulation?  Who thinks you're beautiful, even on bad hair days?  And you smile every time you see them or even think about them?  Who puts up with your dogs even when they're being hooligans and chewing up things and barking like idiots?  And other stuff that my mother really doesn't want me to write about here, but I can sum it up in a single word:  Chemistry.  No?

I didn't either.  Until now.

We waited a little while for the kids to meet him.  It was angsty for me, of course it was.  You reach that point where you know you want this someone around, to have them really be a part of your life, not just the person you spend time with when your children are at their other parent's house.  But you can't really go forward until you know how they'll be with your kids and they can't really go forward until they understand you not as a single person but as a single mother of two wonderful albeit challenging kids.

So far so good.  We took the kids bowling this weekend for the first introduction, and even with C's major sensory meltdown (note to self:  Bring earplugs to the bowling alley for the kid who has sensory disorders) it was ok.  Better than OK.  What I saw was someone who was patient, helpful, tolerant and kind with my children, even when they were being challenging.  I have no idea what he saw from his end besides a stressed out mother in need of a stiff drink, after struggling with her child through two pairs of bowling shoes, one pair of pants that "felt funny" and one chair that was "poking me!" and so had to be flipped over (thank you, Atomic Bowl, for not kicking us out) but so far he hasn't changed his phone number, he's still taking my calls and he even had us over for family dinner the next night.  That's a good sign, right?

Life feels good right now.  And I know that I sound ridiculous and gushy and all "in love" and that's just so strange coming from me, who is normally prickly and reserved and untrusting of the human race in general, but there you have it.  I'm happy.  Deal with it. 

Tomorrow I'll tell you all what the school came up with as a proposed IEP for C. 

Make it stop

We've either had snow, freezing rain or subzero temperatures every single day this week. 

Look, I'm as big a fan of winter as they come.  I love skiing, I love sledding, I love the pretty fairyland all that white stuff falling from the sky creates.  I'm not afraid to drive in it and as long as the schools don't close their doors, depriving me of my few hours of respite from my offspring, I'm happy to go to work, go shopping, go wherever. 

My animals, however, would really appreciate a break. Horses, despite any evidence to the contrary, believe that the moment the snow starts falling that they are going to starve to death.  It doesn't matter how fat and shiny they happen to be, how many flakes of alfalfa and buckets of sweet feed they get, they are convinced that death is imminent.  The moment they sight you in the window or hear the back door open, they rush the fence, then stare at you with haunted eyes.  Its enough to make you lose sleep.

The dogs hate potty time, but since they refuse to learn to flush the toilet, outdoors it is.  And the big fella, the nearly 100-pound brute, has gotten it into his brain that he is somehow too weak and fragile to go outside to pee in the snow.  He stands at the door, looking at me with reproach in his eyes.  I can't go out there.  Yes, yes you can.  No, I can't.  I'll die.  I'll freeze.  The snow might eat me.  Look, buddy, I don't care if your pecker falls off from the cold, you're going OUT THERE to do your thing.  You are the meanest human being that ever lived.  I know, my offspring remind me of that fact approximately every thirty seconds.  Now go.  Out.  Go.  Fine, I'll go.  But I'm peeing on your lawn chair, here.

When is spring again?

 

Heavy

Some days the weight of it all becomes unbearable. 

Its not just the things that are unique to my situation, though those are a large part of the heaviness.  Living one paycheck away from God only knows what kind of financial disaster may befall is scary.  Looking at the half-ton of hay left in the barn and Christmas rushing at me on the calendar and knowing the old gelding needs his teeth floated and my daughter wants to sign up for basketball and my life insurance premium is coming due and my son needs interventions and god, the house needs cleaning and things need fixing and I need a haircut and I forgot my meds and we're out of groceries and and and...makes my heart want to thump right out of my chest and go careening madly down the street.  There's the faces of my kids and the other inmates at the zoo who all need some portion of time and attention, which becomes harder to give the more stressed out and tired I get.  There's the ungodly amount of work waiting for me at my desk and the burden of finding a new hire before the job kills me.  There's the worrying about so many things and so many people.

There's the stuff that we all go through - am I doing the right things with my kids?  Setting the right examples?  When I make decisions about life, career, finances, am I making the right ones?  Am I OK with my loved ones?  Am I OK with God?  AM I DOING THIS RIGHT? 

So.

Thursday I will cook a big ass turkey and all the trimmings and I will sit down at the table with my kids and my ex husband (yes, we do holidays together) and I will try, for at least one day, to put these things out of my mind and remember to be damned grateful for all the things that I DO have and stop worrying about the things I don't.

I have parents who support me in so many ways you can't even imagine.  Who love and listen and care and give, time and money and hugs and words.

I have beautiful, amazing children.  Children who are funny and smart and creative and kind.  Children who are sensitive and special and miraculous.  Children who out of the blue will come up to me and squeeze me around the middle and tell me they love me "more than the whole everything."

I have friends who love me.  Friends that come get me with their rig so I can ride my horse somewhere outside of my own pasture.  Friends who drive cross country to see me.  Friends who take me out to listen to a band when I'm so stressed out I can't breathe.  Friends who send me funny emails and make me laugh.  Friends who pray for me all the time.  Friends who find little ways to pick up some of the balls I drop. Friends who live in the box on my my desk, that share their daily struggles and joys and who listen to mine.  Friends who write comments here and other places that show me they are listening and that they care. 

I have these furballs, big and small, who bring meaning and joy to my life.   The warmth and weight of the purring cat on my lap, the dogs curled around my chair as I type, the horses who rumble and look happy when I emerge from the house.  My horses who let me hug them and hang on them and who put their soft noses near my face and breathe their horsey breath on me.  My silly little chickens who follow me around whenever I'm out by the barn and who give me breakfast almost every day.

And I realize that sometimes the heavy thing that I feel is not the burden of responsibility, but a large, solid blanket of love and support that wraps me up and helps me carry the weight of all the other things. 

Rolling along

Years ago I dated an older man, whose favorite response to "How are you?" was, "Rolling like thunder down the road of life." 

Five or six days ago, I think what I was doing was more of a crabwalk, and I've not quite hit "thundering", but at least I'm picking up speed.  Rolling like...a Red Flyer wagon wheel, or maybe a big, rather odd-shaped rock that tumbles down a slope.

And so, amidst what seemed at first to be a very terrible week, there was a bright spot or two.  The birthday of my daughter, the support of friends, the warm fur of my horses when I warm my cold hands under their manes on a cold morning.  The sweet brown eyes of my dogs as they gaze at me in love.  The warm weight of a cat who has taken my sitting down as an invitation to have a snooze on my lap. 

If I am grateful for anything today it is that when life seems hardest to bear, when I begin to wallow in those thoughts of "I hate having to do all of this by myself" that I realize I am not by myself.  In those times when I feel I just can't take one. more. step. -- He's there.  It seems odd that struggles might be the best way to grow my faith, but its true.  I'm not one of those people who believes that every difficulty we face in life is somehow placed there by God to teach us something.  Oh sure, there are things we need to learn and perhaps there are times when that's the case, but I rather think that we have struggles and pain and misery and suffering because of the things we as human beings do to one another.  But that no matter what the pain, now matter how many tears we may cry over it, that God sees our pain and hurts right along with us.  That He loves me, and you, so very much that the simple fact that we have suffering breaks His heart.  And when I think of what Christ endured, I feel somewhat ashamed of my suffering because it doesn't begin to equate with what agony it must have been for Him. 

So there's gratitude.

Gratitude for other reminders;  that my Mom is, always has been, and always will be the kind of mother who loves her children and feels that her job of providing band-aids for skinned knees doesn't end when we graduate from high school.  In the absence of daycare and the necessity of still getting to the office for meetings and to accomplish my job during what is our busy season, my mom didn't wait to be asked for help, she cleared her schedule and pitched in by picking C up from school and getting A off the bus.  She came to my house and folded laundry and did crafts with the kids and fed them lunches and snacks and dinners. 

Gratitude for new things learned; that even though in my self-pity parties I often feel that I am the only person who is handling everything and being consumed with worry and anxiety over my child's struggles, that they have a father who worries about them every bit as much.  Who will take C to his Doctor's appointment today because it was the only appointment we could get and I would like to make it to work again. 

Gratitude that I have an employer who is flexible and who values families.  A boss who says "Go do what you need to do." 

I found a solution that I think will work; a mom who gave up half her family's income to be with her kids until they are in school full time, who has a sibling with issues just like my children, who in all ways appears calm, patient and who loves kids.  Who, for what I can afford to pay, will pick my children up from school three days a week and alleviate the need for my struggling son to be in an aftercare environment that is chaotic and noisy and completely overstimulating and overwhelming for him.  The first day he didn't have to go there he was so much better.  Mom and I both thought he seemed relieved that he didn't have to go to group aftercare anymore. 

We started an additional medication last Friday for the ADHD and we increased the dosage on his medication for Bipolar.  The aggressive behavior tapered off significantly this week and he has gotten some good reports from school.  He's still very active - overly so, and perhaps the second medication isn't quite the right one - but we are on the right track.

So we're rolling right along.  Waiting for the next bump in the road, but I know we'll get over it when it inevitably appears.