Tuesday, November 24, 2020

I took my equines to a ranch on the eastside where a veterinarian and a dental specialist would float their teeth. For those unfamiliar with horses, they have teeth that constantly grow. Equines are built to live in the wild, to forage across rough terrains having small rock fragments, non-grass particles that keep chewing teeth in check. Domestic horses eating clean food and grazing on cared for pastures have teeth that grow long and uneven. The teeth become “hooky” and cannot cut and grind food adequately. The floating is adjusting teeth levels, removing hooks, and checking for broken, loose, and diseased teeth.

So, that’s floating, and the modern method is by using power tools. The tools are designed to reach far into a horse’s mouth, to grind, saw, and rinse. The process begins with an anesthetic, making a horse drowsy, and just enough, for the dentist to keep open its mouth, diagnose the teeth, avoid getting bit, and even-out the bite.

For each horse the process, in which they remain on their feet, takes about an hour. Afterwards, the animal needs time, about forty-five minutes to an hour, to recover from anesthetic. In a drugged state, it responds to a handler enough to move groggily to a safe place where it hangs out until awakening.

Yesterday, we arrived on time but the appointments had been backed up by the late arrival of a first appointment, because that horse refused to load into a trailer for the trip. I got there to find several horses still ahead of mine. I decided to wait, and long story short, Sunni and Rosie got done first. While they recovered, Pimmy had a turn with the dentist.

A donkey differs many ways from a horse. The small-dose anesthetic given Pimmy made her too sleepy to stand and move without assistance. Her teeth needed work, and the dentist did a good job. But afterwards, Pimmy couldn’t walk out of the stall. We were patient, finally managed to get her into the open, but she remained too sleepy to walk.

Long story short, I waited with Pimmy over two hours, until finally, she could, if forced, take steps as I insisted, urged with a lead rope. Although she improved, no way could she have made the small leap that takes her into my horse trailer. Meanwhile,, Rosie and Sunni were loaded and awake and willing to drowse in the trailer while I tried to awaken Pimmy. Finally, I gave up, had to leave her there to recover in a stall. This morning, I’ll return for her before I must be at work.

The veterinarian, whom I consider experienced and competent, insisted Pimmy’s dose had been very small, but in reality he overdosed. Over Pimmy’s years with me, her teeth several times have been floated. In my experience she does recover less rapidly than the horses, but slower by minutes, not hours.

Next year, in preparing Pimmy for floating, the veterinarian and I will plan for her dosage. I will opt for a series of tiny injections while we observe and evaluate her responses. Yesterday, Pimmy’s sleepiness proved incredibly stressful for her, the horses, and me. Worse to me is knowing that when finally she awoke, alone in an unfamiliar stall and among strange horses, Pimmy must have been bewildered, felt deserted.

On another note, here are the ranch’s Aussies, “people dogs” and good companions to my wait.

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Dear Friends: I must hurry to retrieve what’ll be a very very pitiful little buddy. Diana

Monday, November 23, 2020

One goodness from being outside early to feed horses is witnessing the early light. The sky so beautiful you want to reach and try to touch it. One of my early childhood memories is of my habitual staring up at clouds and wondering about them. I try now to imagine what then might have been on my young mind. Guessing is impossible after a lengthy blank, but clues to those early feelings might be in my wishes to capture a morning sky.

This day will be our “horse dental day”. Soon I’ll load all the horses and travel east to visit a mobile equine dentist. Once their teeth are done, worries about handling annual “big things”, may for awhile be set aside.

I’m running short on time, have been distracted by trying to capture a lower interest rate on my mortgage. The work to support a refinance has scooped up hours–all about finding, copying and sending documents.

Just briefly, my supervisory training at work is done. Starting tomorrow, my daily working hours will be shorter, except for two days weekly that the lead supervisor will be off, Sundays and Mondays. On those days I’ll be in charge, working full time. My regular days off will be Tuesdays and Wednesdays. At least, and hopefully, going forward will prove less stressful than the last couple of weeks. It’s been a personal test, learning a computer reporting system and having to perform reasonably well.

Dear Friends: It’s become my life lesson, that personal testing is the ongoing challenge. Diana

Thursday, November 19, 2020

Katie is in charge of Costco’s Flower Department. A busy young woman who moved recently from the East to Bend, she holds two jobs and works toward a college degree. She’s passionate about volleyball, has played and coached the game, and moves with athletic grace. These Covid-19 days prevent participating in team sports, so Katie has refocused her passion. She runs daily on complex paths with her adored Husky.

We’re buddies at Costco, especially this past week as I wandered in my new supervisory role. She knows her way around the store and where most products are located. Customers ask Katie where things are, she takes them directly to items. Part of my new job is shopping, and well as I know the store, I get confused. Katie bails me out.

An essential in my new job is preparing samples daily for display. I cook only rarely and yesterday got stumped in the middle of preparing pancakes. My batter was too thick, the cakes on a griddle looked like hell, and I didn’t know how to start over and make things any better. That work had to be complete before the demo crew arrived. In the midst of my dilemma, Katie popped in to say hello. Guess what, she knows all about pancakes, took the spatula and rescued me by transforming my giant too-thick cakes into dollar-size sprinkled with cinnamon. That plate looked pretty good.

Moreover, my hero is strong, lifted a microwave from a high shelf and set it on a low table so I could prepare mac ‘n cheese (instead she prepared). Before the crew arrived we had finished my morning work! Thank you, Katie!

Katie is very bright. Hopefully, she may continue with school, and work on toward a Ph.D. I could visualize her as expert in a field suiting one of her passions, like sports or veterinary medicine.

Dear Friends: A “find” that delights, this cool, intelligent, modern “flower child”. Diana

Tuesday, November 17, 2020

This week I lost Potash, one of my three remaining elderly hens. Among them (all nearly eleven years old), Potash seemed strongest and most likely to be longest to survive. A gorgeous bird, Potash’s feathers basically were black, always flashing highlights of blue or green depending on how they reflected the light. A tough bird, Potash claimed leadership of the flock after its two ill-tempered roosters forced me to rehome them.

Often in mornings, I’d arrive at the gated area that houses my Dwarf goats and hens. Potash would be perched on a goat’s back, the team appearing comfortable.

The goats and chickens taught me lots. For example, hens often peck at the corners of the goats’ eyes and remove accumulated matter. Watching this I’d hold my breath, but the goats neither flinched nor blinked, and always, the hens were accurate.

Early last week Potash appeared okay, but one night something was different. Instead of being snuggled with LittleTail and Wellsummer, I found Potash settled deeply in straw inside the goat house and against its farthest back wall. That night promised to be bitterly cold, and in severe weather the hens usually roost as a batch.

The next day, I peered into the goat house and saw Potash’s eyes closed. She appeared comfortably asleep, but on reaching to check I felt her body cold and stiff. I wiped away tears, lifted her, and began thinking about bravery. This chicken might have felt herself in declining health and increasingly cold. She found a warm safe spot, but on a very cold night had been too weak to generate combative body heat.

Chickens are brave, and especially as they age, poor health in one isn’t always apparent. Ten years ago, my beginner flock numbered a dozen day-old chicks. Upon reaching six or seven years old, the hens’ laying days began to dwindle. Afterwards, and one by one, I began losing them, and understanding that mass-bred chickens are marketed as egg layers or meat birds with life expectancies at the low end of a bird’s capacity range. I feel grateful for still having two hens, but they’re old and ahead must cope with another dicey winter.

Those who’ve grown up in families that worked to manage large chicken flocks might have had enough, couldn’t give a hang about a chicken’s life or death. Those who’ve never lived with chickens might not value a chicken’s life or consider its death a blow. Well, from this small rancher’s experience, losing a chicken is a big deal emotionally.

We humans willing to house one or more animals, regardless of variety, embark on an amazing journey. Often with our charges, and almost unthinkingly, we find ourselves connected to and deeply attached to them.

Dear Friends: Ten years ago my flock had a dozen baby chicks, and now only two. Diana

Monday, November 16, 2020

My week has been one of mumble-jumble anxiety. I’m receiving speedy-like training for a new supervisory role in my part time job. Several days ago, my friend Susie got in touch and invited me to the Neubauer’s TiPi. She and Dale would provide wine, cheese, a fire. She added, “It’s a great place to ventilate.”

Last night, we gathered around the fire pit, sipped wine, and shared our stories. For me, their pleasant companionship was plenty, but they had a surprise. Susie handed me a flat package wrapped in comic-paper, “Here, this is for you.”

My little dream seems more true.

This beautifully designed sign turned my head completely from the complex topics of business, sociology, and politics. Their gift is an honor to my recently-named Eight Pines Ranch, with its three wonderful equines. The sign, a mark of achievement, increases the ranch’s individuality.

So beautiful and meaningful. I couldn’t look away from it.

The Neubauers have lived many years in this neighborhood. Dale, a helicopter specialist, is an inventor. His HeliLadder, a tool used in making repairs to aircraft, is designed to avoid damaging complex body shapes. Susie, his entrepreneur partner at Heliladder, makes certain that they maintain a life beyond work. In our neighborhood, Susie knows nearly everybody, her confident insight identifies and brings together folks with common interests. It wowed me, she had caught onto my casual mention, but deep wish, for a more identifiable property.

Thank you again, Neubauers, for offering on a chilly fall evening, the comforts of TiPi, fireplace, and talk. I’m beyond delighted with a beautiful sign identifying “Eight Pines Ranch”.

Dear Friends: Sharing seemingly small things often refreshes and keeps us going. Diana

Sunday, November 15, 2020

My “weekend” has begun, it’s delicious. During this partial week of my supervisory training, the mornings have been action oriented. Work wants me there by eight a.m., which means very early caring for my large animals. A dislike of working outside in early, dark, scary hours makes me pause for some natural light. This week, between limited early light and an onslaught of awful weather, I’ve not finished early with the horses and have been running late. It’s not been a huge problem because already my manager has been in the office and working.

We who oversee Costco’s daily sample serving process are responsible for bunches of early work. First, we generate mega computer numbers to report the previous day’s costs and sales, and we create documents to guide the current day’s demo servers. After the computer work and before sample server employees arrive to start working, we overseers must prepare and have ready the displays of foods. By ten a.m. all computer reporting and demo food preparing must be complete. My manager knows well the computer systems and keyboards. She’s fast. I’m still slow and aware of the pressure to get quicker.

Our plan upon returning to work on Tuesday (my final training day), is for me to handle all the computer and food prep needs. My manager will supervise and if necessary lend a hand, because on the next day, Wednesday, she’ll be away. On Wednesday I will be in charge, must get everything done, and accurately, by 10 a.m. Here I’ll pause a moment, to roll my eyes.

My manager on offering the promotion said my hours would continue to be part-time. Her supervisor interviewed me, too, and casually mentioned “computer work”, asking if knew how to “use a mouse”. My early expectations didn’t rise to the organization’s many real time needs, to manage and report in a big business focused on sales and productivity.

Learning Costco’s computers has made me aware of its very busy office. Out in the aisles, Costco employees hurry, moving products, cleaning up, and pausing briefly to assist customers. The employees working in its computing office are focused, intense, fast. They tend to ignore a novice to the system who needs help. My manager has responded, dropping what else she might be doing and coming to bail me from “stuck spots”.

This Wednesday will be my “final exam”. Hopefully on that day, I will be able to manage everything in a manner acceptably accurate and timely. Now, again I’ll pause, to sigh.

Dear Friends: An automated working environment tests brain capacity and memory. Diana