Clear and Cold

We are finally getting some rain.  Today, we have one day of icy cold sunshine before the next storm arrives. 

Tex was feeling very frisky this morning; leaping forward, striking playfully, and romping across the frost coated grass.

Pistol has the sweetest expression -- sort of, "why, hello there.  I'm happy to see you." 

Lucy is sweet in her own princess sort of way too.  But its more like "Scratch my back, and I'll consider scratching yours.  But in the meantime, don't you dare touch -- or even look at -- another horse."

Once the ice thawed a bit, the birds enjoyed my new bird bath (Christmas gift from Brett). 

Another cold night tonight, then the rain returns tomorrow morning.  I'm going to bake bread and make a pot of soup.  What do you like to do on rainy days?

Getting Ready for Rain

A couple small rain systems came through last week.  Nothing very cold or very wet.  But today, a substantial winter storm arrived.  We spent Sunday getting ready.  Brett clawed leaves out of the rain gutters and shoveled them out of the drain pipe where our driveway meets the road.  I added more straw to the goat shelter.

Before dinner, we brought the horses from their pastures to the barn.  Lucy and Pistol were led in first; Lucy wanting to prance but holding it together, and Pistol slowly walking behind.  Pistol will be 22 this year and in the past month we've noticed that she is walking slowly.  Her appetite is good, and her attitude bright, but she walks slowly now.

Brett led Flash to the barn next and then I attempted to lead Tex to the barn at liberty.  He was very tempted by the grass growing around the barn.  He struggled, but stayed.  Until we got to the barn door.  He stopped; he looked down the barn aisle; he looked at the grass; he looked at me -- pondered a minute and then walked off to the grass.  I followed.

He had his head down, as I approached, under a maple tree behind Flash's stall run-out, when Kersey jumped up from where she had been sitting and dashed past him.  He was already feeling uncomfortable with me approaching to move him along and, as she flew by, he threw his head in the air, planted his feet and then pushed sideways, exploding into flight behind the turn-outs.  He stopped when he got to the corner, spun and stared at me with his head high and nostrils flared.

"What do you want to do, Tex?"

He trotted over to me and stopped, reaching his muzzle toward me.   I'm not sure if it was "sorry" or "save me" or "do you have a cookie?" -- I didn't really care about the reason; I was happy he had chosen to come to me.  It was getting dark so I slipped the halter, which was hanging from my shoulder, on and led him quietly to the barn.

Barn Cat

We've had Passage, our barn cat, since our early days at Aspen Meadows.

She made the move up here with us and quickly settled into the new barn.

I don't have many photos of her because she is always in motion.

When we first got her, she was quite aloof.  Her mother had been a feral cat (dad most likely too), and she wasn't much interested in human company.  But, after we moved up here she became very affectionate.

She follows me into the garden when I'm working there and complains until I take a break from pruning and hold her.  She will let just about anyone hold her now.

She even sits in Brett's lap.  He swears he hates cats, and she hated people -- go figure.  They adore each other now.

Jackson

After Jackson's escape from his round pen, I thought a lot about his situation from both a medical and a mental health standpoint.  He is, of course, a medical mess.  His winter coat is particularly heavy this year, directly related to his Cushing's.  He turns slowly and painfully, and walks only in straight lines.  He is uncomfortable, if not in pain.  Some days, definitely in pain.  On good days, just uncomfortable.  His white line is not improving.  I worry about him making it through the winter.  I've known for a number of years that his days are numbered; this year I feel that number shrinking before my eyes at a rapid speed.

He can't be cured of anything, except, maybe, the white line.  If he stays in his round pen on dry ground for six to nine months, we might beat the white line.  He will still be gimpy -- he will still have navicular and laminitis.  He will never be sound or completely comfortable.

Being confined to the round pen feels cruel.  He hates it.  So, I decided to give him time outside, in the open air, on the almost-dry sand in the small arena, every few days.  It has made a huge difference in his attitude.  It may mean that we don't beat the white line.  It  may mean his remaining days shrink even more -- but misery is not a life. In the arena, he sweats a bit in his heavy coat even though the weather is not warm.  He nibbles on the grass trying to grow through the sand and around the perimeter.  He rolls.  And he meets me at the gate at the end of the afternoon, his eyes bright and his ears pricked forward, ready to go in for dinner.

He thoroughly enjoyed his photo shoot with Camille.  The portrait shots were taken by Kyle's girlfriend, Ana, when she was up visiting a few days after Christmas.  She has a very cool portrait setting on her iPhone.