Wednesday, May 01, 2019

I’ve a longtime fascination with pigs. They’re supposed to be very smart, and many people say they’re good pets. Many years ago, I wanted to adopt a pet pig from people who were moving away. She was their very friendly and fully housebroken pet. But I lived in a neighborhood community that except for dogs, cats, and “pocket pets” wouldn’t allow animals. Later, after moving onto a small acreage, I looked on the internet for small pigs, but since my horses, dogs, cats, and birds kept me busy, it didn’t seem fair to a new pet, or to me, to adopt again. Besides, rumors have it that teacup or pigmy pigs, descending from potbellies, usually grow quite large.

This week, I met the massive and beautiful Shasta along with her week-old babies. Shasta is a recent import from California, two years old and very special, for she’s a show pig. I’m a novice, to my eyes Shasta could have weighed 400 lbs. with her every inch lean and solid. She’s very friendly but pushy, and it was astonishing to find how easily she could have pushed me completely off my feet. Apparently, a pig’s low center of gravity gives it power. Standing low and compact, it has the strength of a mini-tractor.

A show pig must be as perfect a specimen of the species as possible. The animal should be correct in its every component. It ought to demonstrate an appropriate lean-to-fat ratio, and have good legs, feet, tail, and ears, and have correct numbers of teeth and nipples. Besides herself having it all, Shasta passed her good qualities on to her new babies.

In the “babies photo” above, the littlest one at the back, the litter’s runt, would have been my pick if I could have afforded her, although she’ll ultimately become a very big girl. These little piglets are being much-handled by adults and children, will become people friendly like their mom. Some will grow into breeders, others will be shown as 4H projects.

Oh, how I’d love to have had the experience and fun of a pet pig!

Dear Friends, the luxury of enjoying animals heightens appreciations of them. Diana

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Rosie is my 22-year-old mare who’s lately not been asked to do much work. I hope to return her to action by starting to hitch and drive her. Her earliest years were as a driving horse, a role she knows well, and again n0w she needs a job. We’re only getting started on this path, because I’m a new driver who finally knows my role in a hoped for collaboration.

Yesterday, Rosie went to Dr. Paul Edmonds who had determined that she needed chiropractic work. She stood quietly, without objecting, while he pushed and pulled on her every inch. He worked on straightening her hips and aligning her spine from head to tail. Dr. Paul was very thorough, in aligning her body his goal was to adjust the action of Rosie’s rear legs and feet.

Rosie moves in a manner that’s “narrow in the rear”. While she trots, her left back foot tends slightly to cross over to the front of her right back foot. Ideally, her rear legs would move straighter, more sturdily apart. Dr. Paul estimates that her “off movements” are caused by out-of-alignment hips. He sees while she’s trotting that Rosie’s right hip dips and rises less than her right hip.

So, we’re fixing her.

Today is stage two of straightening Rosie’s legwork. Our farrier understands corrective shoeing and will adjust her hooves. He’ll shape each, to suit Rosie’s conformation and make it optimal to its task. Then he’ll create shoes that will balance each hoof to support the desired rear action. We’ll ultimately see while she’s in motion, adequate space between her back legs and that her hooves rise and land evenly.

The third stage, my daily responsibility, will be exercising Rosie to strengthen her readjusted body and reinforce improved moving. She’ll be long-lined–or controlled by 30-foot ropes and asked circle, trotting in both directions–with me handling her ropes. After Rosie appropriately has become stronger, she can be hitched.

Rosie’s team includes our driving trainer who’ll provide guidance and techniques to help return the renewed Rosie to action.

Dear Friends, accomplishing nearly any worthwhile goal “takes a village”. Diana

Monday, April 29, 2019

When I got my very first horses, not so long ago, I imagined hooves as wooden blocks at the bottoms of legs. That’s how much I knew about horses and feet in general. Unfortunately, or fortunately–whichever way I look at it–my earliest riding horse had a background of laminitis–a hoof condition about which I knew nothing. That mare always had been shod, but preferring a barefoot horse I had her shoes removed. Our first long trail ride glaringly indicated something wrong. She moved slowly, seemed in pain, and increasingly so as we continued. Someone pointed out that her feet were sore. I wondered, “Hooves get sore?”. Thinking back, my early ignorance is beyond embarrassing; it’s self-flagellation to remember having made a barefoot horse in laminitic condition carry my insensitive self.

I learned about laminitis, an inflammation of soft tissues in the hoof–that part of a horse that I’d thought wood-like. Within a hoof is a key bone, called a coffin bone. Surrounding and supporting that key bone are all sort of tissues and blood vessels that are essential to a healthy and functioning foot, and to a fully-functional horse. I began realizing that a horse’s hooves are components one must get right. I studied hoof structures, the dynamics of flexing and movement, and eventually became enough educated to evaluate farrier skills. Also, I did start shoeing my mare, using the type that a rider buckles on the horse prior to riding and removes afterwards. In them, she easily covered trails.

Fast forward to my current horses. They arrived with feet tough as nails, and hooves that had been everywhere, done everything, never needing shoes. For years, I rode these horses barefoot, until parts of my own body began to fail. With an increasingly sore back and painful knees, I began considering starting to drive instead of riding. That forced me again to focus on hooves. Pulling a cart or carriage creates traction that pressures hooves, and they quickly wear too-thin. Keeping a driving horse’s hooves healthy requires shoeing them with iron. My horses often pull on pavements that add landing impact, so shoeing them requires an impact-absorbing pad between hoof and iron.

Hooves and physical structure are essential to equine health and veterinarians are improving their skills in observing and understanding, diagnosing and correcting movements. My “horse career” has taken me far from an early single desire to “trail ride on a horse”, until now, when much of each spring requires attending to joint and hoof health.

And, there are my feet. They’ve carried me through career years that forced them into high heels and other just-awful shoe designs with inadequate support. I’m sorry for my feet in that past and feel lucky they still support. We humans could use easy accesses to standardized periodic routine foot diagnoses, for best-way-to-treat-feet guidelines. Assessing feet relative to life styles and activities to inform care could increase pain-free living.

Dear Friends, our feet deserve the best and its appropriate to address needs. Diana

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Several years ago, I was in turmoil over having to say goodby to an old mare that had lived with me a long while. She was the most dependable, willing, and sweet horse I’d ever known, and still is, even compared to my current dearly-loved horses. That old mare taught this elderly novice horsewoman to ride. She took care of me on familiar and unfamiliar horse trails; and when we would amble into brand new areas to explore, she had absolutely incredible radar about directions, always returned us even to remote trailheads.

I was equally determined and heartbroken while hauling this horse to where I last would see her. She long had been arthritic and in pain, barely able to move around and tired. But on this ride, like all the animals that ever have ridden with me to their last stops at a veterinarian, she seemed unusually alert, it appeared too early for her to face what was ahead. Alternately, I was in a steely state of defiance or soaking in teary heartbreak.

A friend had ridden with me to support this event. She reached toward my shoulder and said, “It’s okay”, paused thoughtfully and added, “A horse is like no other pet.”

To this day, whenever I’m around horses, I consider how horses aren’t like other pets. Watching those 1,000-lb. animals, behaving normally or getting into mischief, it’s always in my mind how vulnerable they are–to injury, colic, noises that spook them. And how much commitment it takes to care for them–having space, acquiring hay, covering expenses, adequately transporting, and experimenting with tack.

Horses are bunches of fun. They’re huge commitments, all consuming, beautiful and captivating. And to the emotions, in so many ways unlike all others.

Dear Friends: Have a lovely day. Diana

Saturday, April 27, 2019

On entering my house, one first notices the loud noises of machines, and approaching the main living area’s center, feels blasts of chilly, strong multi-directional winds. For in my kitchen several wind machines are running full-on. They’re in an area adjacent to where I’m sitting now, in chilly winds and wearing jacket and hat. I’m hoping my fingers will remain warm and flexible for computer keys.

It’s totally my fault that a massive under-cabinet leak went unnoticed long enough to cause this hub-bub. For several days, I noticed that water from the kitchen sink tap wasn’t flowing normally. Also, the faucet dripped even while shut off. Throughout my life, a noticeable personal trait frequently costs me–it’s my wanting to avoid seeing something that my intuition senses might be off. Honestly, it occurred to me to look under the sink; of course, it did. And I didn’t.

That is, until the faucet’s shrinking water flow became unusually noticeable. So, I sighed and bent, pulled out boxes of cleaning supplies, and peered into the under cabinet where floods of water had poured from a faulty faucet connector. Evidently, that had happened awhile, as now, the soaked cabinet area was grungy-looking. I moaned, “Why didn’t I look earlier!”, while turning to a computer to seek a plumber. Sigh, problems from “things-off” are likely when I’ve fallen into avoidance mode.

Long story short, a plumber came and replaced the faucet–the easy part. His visit was followed by an intrusive restoration team, and for days to come, their fans will consume needed space and force me to exist in big noise and air. Last evening, the racket put my cat Maxwell into his own avoidance mode, I had to sling him into the house and encourage him to pass the machines toward his dinner beyond. The dogs were easy, rushing toward their dinners and ignoring all else.

In the middle of this unhappy invasion, I sigh, if only I’d followed my instincts and looked for a problem; but alas, I didn’t. And at the expense of repeating myself, this avoidance trait again is costly and giving me penances. This time they’re noise and wind as I mutter my old old mantra, “In the future, I will be different!”

So far in this intrusion, Peaches has been surprisingly quiet. Hopefully, he won’t start mocking the sounds of rushing wind.

Dear Friends, at least, this didn’t happen during our freezing wintertime. Diana

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Friday, April 26, 2019

A large factor in preparing my mares, Sunni and Rosie, for driving this summer has been to have a professional who understands sport horses assess them. I hauled the girls to Dr. Paul Edmonds, in Redmond, who spent lots of time studying their movements, limbs, joints, muscles, and hooves. He was on target, pointing out elements that I knew already, and adding insights new to me from his observations.

He felt that minor pain in Sunni’s front legs is from her too-long hooves. To this point, I’m chagrined that her hooves weren’t trimmed before this assessment, but fate had it that an accident put our farrier out of commission for two weeks, and I stalled for yet another week, hoping to learn that both horses are capable of being driven, and thus, could be shod. Once Sunni’s hooves are trimmed, Dr. Paul thinks she’ll be in fine driving condition–and today, our farrier is coming.

• 

• 

Dr. Paul wants me to wait before driving Rosie, he first wants to perform chiropractor work on her hips. He might be onto something, for Rosie has periodic rear soreness, and we’ve considered lots except that perhaps her hips are out of alignment. Until receiving that hip adjustment, she’ll be exercised on long-lines. Sunni will go along on Rosie’s next visit so the veterinarian can assess her hoof trims (he took hoof x-rays to guide the farrier).

All this is big, for when one asks lots from an animal–and pulling a cart or carriage is hard work–it’s reassuring when experts can help the animal produce adequate effort. Now, assisted by a capable veterinarian and our talented driving trainer, we’ll start hitching-up, for serious.

Dear Friends, it’ll be interesting, how a hip adjustment affects Rosie overall. Diana

Thursday, April 25, 2019

Nobody seems ambivalent about living with chickens; folks either love or hate the birds. When I decided to obtain a few, and reflected on what I’d heard about caring for chicks, this step seemed big and doubtful. There’s little resistance to baby chicks that arrive annually at feed stores, they’re the cutest things. I started my backyard flock with ten day-old chicks.

Appropriate space for them was no issue as the babies were too small and helpless to put outside. Plus, springs are very cold here in the northwest. For several weeks, my chicks lived in the garage–in a large horse trough on layers of absorbent bedding and under a heat lamp. Meanwhile, some friends with experience in housing chickens helped design and build my coop and outer-fenced area for the little ones.

When the weather warmed and babies were stronger, they went into their new home. Soon, I acquired three other day-olds–frail and with doubtful futures–segregated from healthier chicks in a farm store. These babies went into a terrarium, under a rigged-up heat lamp, in my living room. The two littlest typically crawled under each wing of the biggest, she barely bigger than themselves, and generous about offering shelter. The weakest chick didn’t make it, but the two that survived eventually joined the outside flock.

Most of my babies were certified as hens, but it’s impossible to be certain about bantams, and a couple turned out to be boys. To my disappointment, when the prettiest bantam chick began crowing, I recalled rooster stories and watched him closely. Eventually, when this fellow could breed, he saw me as an intruder and attacked with energy when I entered his chicken yard. Finally, it was him or me, and he went to a new home.

Life in a hen house is brutal. Within a flock is a pecking order and those lowest on the totem pole get picked-on. The low-ranking birds can become almost featherless, but loyally stay near their companions. I used purple-dyed medicine to cover bare red-hued skin that attracted more aggressive birds. During the hens’ young lives, my unending battle was helping low-rankers maintain decently-good skin and feathers.

Aside from the work required through many seasons, I learned to appreciate and admire chickens, enjoying their presence and individual personalities. It didn’t take long to recognize that they’re smart birds, in contrast to common opinion, and it’s always was fun to observe their habits and responses to new inputs.

Dear Friends, future blogs will say more about my adventures with chicks. Diana

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

On a beautiful day, all the equines and dogs, my friend Janet, and I, piled into the horse rig and headed for Tumalo Reservoir’s well-ridden horse trails. The recently filled Reservoir consumed most of the beach; the sky’s glorious clouds obscured surrounding mountains. I’d not been to the Reservoir for a couple of years and while on the road leading to it saw new landscaping and big homes. I’ve worried that construction might have altered the key Reservoir area, but mostly, it’s the same lovely, cool body of water.

We turned the horses away from that water and started toward Bull Springs, about a mile and a half away. The dogs dashed ahead of me, riding Rosie, while Janet followed on Sunni, with Pimmy at our little parade’s rear. I feel ever-grateful to Pimmy who’s easily recognized and often identified with me. We bumped into other horseback riders coming toward us, and on seeing Pimmy one called out to me. She’s an old friend, Liz, a retired oncology nurse who long ago helped me, when I was a chemo patient and a brand new resident in this area. She’s a committed horseback rider who introduced me to the Reservoir.

Our trail still looked as always, except for changes caused by a huge wildfire several years ago. Today, the trail is weedy with Manzanita, framed by downed, burned trees and a once-forested surrounding area that’s become a cleared and graceful landscape. After our moseying had taken us to what remains of the once-lush Bull Springs area, we turned back.

Upon reaching the trailhead, another long time acquaintance recognized Pimmy, and also, then me. She’s Michal (pronounced Michelle) Bailey, who used to be the proprietor of Tumalo’s Blue Pony. Now semi-retired, she paused while helping a couple of riders adjust saddles to fit their horses properly and said hello. Michal very kindly also took time to help out with a problem that occurred at my trailer.

The afternoon had lots of worthwhile components: Janet recovered her “horseback legs”, I reconnected with a couple of nice friends, the dogs got exercised–worn out and slept soundly for hours, the horses behaved willingly and well, and Pimmy also had fun.

Dear Friends, the older we get, the faster time passes; let’s dive into summer. Diana

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Recently, I met a woman who said that last month her house had completely burned down, becoming a total loss. She and her husband lived in LaPine, a community south of Bend and in higher elevation with colder winters and more snow. A few weeks ago, over three-days a massive snow fell on Central Oregon. The frigid weather caused a strange sequence of events that set the couple’s carport on fire, plus a delay in the Fire Department’s response let a relatively-small blaze spread quickly. It destroyed the carport, adjoining garage, and the home.

In their very clean, tidy carport were parked two vehicles, and a set of tires was stacked between them. One vehicle was their new Jeep and the other her husband’s diesel pickup. In winter weather, he attached to the truck a line that heats diesel to start the truck. That line wasn’t activated, but a bit of it drooped and slightly touched on the stacked tires. Fire Department personnel estimated the blaze as a one-in-a-million occurrence. They figured that freezing high winds blew snow into the carport, and some landed where the diesel line met tire rubber, causing a spontaneous blaze.

The couple were home, saw smoke through a window, went outside, found the blaze and called the Fire Department. The fire fighters could not respond before they had finished fighting a blaze elsewhere. When finally a fire truck arrived at this couple’s home, the fire had demolished all.

Their destroyed vehicles were new and quickly were replaced by insurance. Their home recently had been remodeled with expensive interior components, such as countertops, woodwork, rearranged space, etc. The insurance company estimated the home’s replacement value at $17K, in contrast to the couple’s replacement estimate of nearly $50K. While the husband argued for hours by phone with insurance representatives, the wife managed to find before-and-after photos of their recent remodel and some receipts for work performed–all in all, enough evidence to force the insurance company to re-estimate. This time the valuation came in higher and near their own estimate of $50K.

They’re staying with relatives while their home is rebuilt. The woman added that, aside from all else, the fire destroyed many items of personal and real value that she considers irreplaceable.

This totally unexpected and weird fire-start forces us to think beyond typical fire prevention activities like tree trimming and ground clearing. If we had to face destruction from a fire, we’d have to negotiate with insurance adjusters. This story is a reminder to have photographs and other documentation of household items and their values. It also reminds that a good plan is storing such information safely, with a friend living elsewhere or in a safe deposit box.

Dear Friends, I’ll put my camera to this job and will keep receipts safer. Diana

Monday, April 22, 2019

Sunni, you need a haircut! But no fear, on my watch it won’t happen again. She’s the one who inherited a long thick mane; her full sister, Rosie, got a thinner mane but has a bigger tail. I like to keep both brushed and combed, but not in the winter when its too cold for me to stand working on them. Besides anyway, they’re always winter-filthy from standing in rain and rolling in mud.

We’re cycling through a spring comb-out that’ll continue another week. So far, they’ve shed enough winter coat and mane to create a dummy horse. Fortunately, the donkey isn’t yet shedding, will keep her winter bear-fur until nearly mid-summer when again I’ll wield the coat-strippers.

A year or so ago, Sunni’s trainer “pulled her mane”, meaning that she reduced the foot-long wave that adorned my horse’s neck to a trail of inch-long stubble. And then, she handed me a box of tiny rubber bands and suggested that I BRAID! Oh, Hello!

Fortunately now, Sunni’s mane is all grown out. Maybe in a fancy parade so much mane wouldn’t enhance a neckline, but I love the natural fly-swatter she sports.

Sunni could care less.

Dear Friends, have a wonderful day. Diana