New Digs

Hey everyone, I've moved my blog.  This platform (with our out-in-the-sticks slooooow internet) is not working well for me.  So, I'm now posting on Instagram.  You can find me there at OakCreekRanchNews.

The Last Day

Friday morning, I filled Jackson's bucket with sweet senior feed and carrots.  No meds.  It was everything he loved (and shouldn't eat) and none of the stuff he hated (but had to have).  He was out in the small arena, on the damp sand -- another no-no -- no longer confined to his covered round-pen prison. 

He finished his bucket, ate some hay, and then stretched out on the sand for a nap.  I sat on a small pile of wood, with my jacket zipped to my neck and my hands, gloved, and folded under my arms.  As the sun warmed the sand, he stretched his neck, rubbed his face in the soft ground, closed his eyes and groaned.  I unzipped my jacket partway.

A van rumbled up the driveway, with friends who were coming to help Brett cut up more of the oak, and Jackson sat, and then stood up.  The arena gate was wide open and I invited him to follow me out.  He slowly made his way along the side of the barn, towards the pasture where Tex and Flash were watching, grazing as he went.  At the fence, he and Tex rubbed the sides of their faces together a few times.  Flash approached, and both Tex and Jackson retreated. 

Next, Jackson made his way to the front of the house where the men were unloading their chainsaws and other equipment.  He greeted everyone, checking for cookies, and then wandered off following the stream along the side of the house.  He circled back to the barn (still grazing as he went) and touched noses with Lucy, who was in her stall turnout watching. 

Meanwhile, Tuffy had come to the fence in the donkey pasture.  Jackson reached his nose over the gate, and Tuffy stretched his nose up to meet him.  Finessa stood a few feet back, watching.

When the vet arrived, Jackson was up by the dressage court, grazing in the deep grass under the oaks and pines.  I slipped his halter on and we slowly made our way back to the barn.  Jackson likes the vet, and especially her assistant, so his relaxed mood never changed.  They loved on him for awhile, before giving him a sedative.  He went easily, peacefully, and quickly.  After he was on the ground, I knelt beside him with one hand on his withers and one on his neck.  I wept, sending all my love to him through my hands.  Brett knelt at his head.  Tuffy brayed.  And brayed.  And brayed.

Over the course of the weekend, we've been adjusting.  I tossed all his medication jars into the trash.  I scrubbed his vitamin bucket and put it away.  Brett drained his water trough. 

All of the comments on my last post have been incredibly comforting to me.  There is a whole community who knew him, and understood him, and miss him too.  I am thankful that I have been able to convey his spirit to all of you over the years, and that you have understood.  I was one of the lucky ones, to have the gift of a relationship with a horse like Jackson. 

It's Hard to Say Goodbye

...even when you know it is the right thing to do.

...especially when it is your heart horse.

Jackson's loved trail rides the best.  He would cross anything - water, mud, logs.

Jackson's white line not only didn't respond to treatment, it got worse.  He foundered.

He asked me --- no, he told me -- that he was done.  Done with pain; done with trying.

Lucy adored Jackson.  He was rather amused by all the attention she lavished on him.

Jackson had more try than any other horse I've ever known.  When he said he was done, I had to honor that.

Jackson tried to do dressage, he really did.  But he was built crooked and it was difficult for him.  I loved that he tried.

But, oh Lord, I will miss that horse.

At the vet -- about a year ago when we learned he had Cushings -- in addition to everything else.  I love our matching fly-away hair.

Sweet, goofy, beautiful Jackson.

We rode on the beach a few times.  I think he got a big whiff of seaweed here...

My partner.  My friend.

Godspeed, Jackson.  Safe passages and I'll see you some day on the other side of that rainbow bridge.

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.

A Dog's Christmas

Kersey had a great Christmas.

Photo by Camille

The house was full of people; and she loves people.  Love, love, LOVES people.

Even better, those people included Camille (above)...

and Kyle.

Aren't these photos awesome?  Ana (Kyle's girlfriend) has portrait setting on her new phone.  So, I had to order one -- look for better photos in the future in this space.

Chopping Wood

After the Christmas gifts were opened, we went off in somewhat separate directions.  I headed to the kitchen, Kyle curled up on the couch with his computer, my dad listened to the Christmas music -- and Camille went outside with Brett to chop wood.

They hauled the log splitter into the pasture with their gloves and protective eye-wear (sunglasses). Brett gave Camille some basic instructions and they went to work.

After a while, Brett put Camille in charge.  She was in her element.

They split a lot of wood.

Brett is still recovering.

Christmas Feasting

Christmas at Oak Creek Ranch is all about the food.  This year was no exception.  In addition to the usual cookie baking marathon, I baked bread.  I pulled my sourdough starter out of the refrigerator, where it had been hibernating, and fed it twice a day for a week until it was thick with bubbles.  Brett grumbled as he vacuumed flour from the floor after each feeding.  I used my basic recipe but I played with the amount of water until I had a nice wet, but still manageable, dough.  I stretched and slapped it, rested it, then stretched and folded it before creating nice taut balls that finished with a slow proofing in the refrigerator overnight.  I was rewarded with two beautiful loaves, crusty, high and moist.  Brett stopped grumbling when he saw the loaves.

On Christmas eve, I made a roast crown of pork with an apple cider and fig sauce.

Christmas day was the most ambitious -- prime rib, scalloped potatoes, green beans amandine, and bread.  My dad provided some especially tasty wine and we had a jovial meal.  Camille captured Brett doing his Rudolph the Reindeer imitation.

I love to cook for my family; it is a tangible gift of love that I give them.  Nothing makes me happier than watching them at the table, admiring the ruby red meat and scooping mounds of potatoes onto their plates.

Cabin Fever

Jackson's white line has not improved, despite special shoes and soaking in Clean Trax.  Our farrier wants to try resection -- basically removing part of his hoof in the hopes that it will grow back healthy.  Given the myriad medical conditions that Jackson has, I don't think he would survive the healing process from such a drastic procedure.  He's like a fragile diabetic, with all the complications (and foot problems) that go along with it.  I repeated the Clean Trax treatment last weekend, and we are going to try reverse shoes at the recommendation of our vet.  She specified that Jackson must be in a bone dry environment for the next 6-9 months if he is going to have any success in recovery.

So, Jackson remains confined to the round pen.  While the other horses relax in their pastures, he is surrounded by walls and a roof, with just a window and a door from which he can view the outside world.

He is pretty depressed about the whole thing.  Lately, he has stopped meeting us at the door for his morning bucket, standing instead with his back to us and his face to the wall.

Yesterday, Brett wheeled the muck cart into Jackson's cell roundpen and began picking up manure.  He swung the metal gate closed, but didn't latch it.  Jackson is a friendly sort of guy who usually follows us around and sniffing at the poop in the muck cart.  Yesterday, he walked over to the gate, pulled it open, and walked out before Brett had time to put down his muck rake.

Jackson headed to the hay bales stacked in a corner of the barn.  Brett grabbed Jackson's halter from the chair outside his pen, and followed.  Jackson, the easiest horse on the ranch to halter, the horse who prefers human company to almost anything else, pulled his head away and headed out the door.

Brett followed in hot pursuit as Jackson rounded the corner by the small arena.  Jackson picked up the pace, bucked and kicked out.  After a few more futile minutes where Jackson snatched bites of grass without letting Brett close, Brett went to plan B.

With a red bucket full of senior feed and cookies in his hands, Brett approached again.  This time, Jackson allowed himself to be caught and returned.  He was wearing trail boots at the time, as our farrier won't be out until this afternoon to tack on the reverse shoes.  So, he feet didn't get wet.  And, honestly, I couldn't blame Jackson for taking the opportunity offered by the open gate.  All the running and bucking was probably bad for his feet but it made him happy.  And, sometimes, that is more important.

Thieves and Hunters

My garden attracts all manner of birds and squirrels.  None of them expressly invited and some of them, namely the squirrels, not welcome.

Squirrels are the thieves in my garden.  They steal the fruit from my trees and the tomatoes from my planter boxes.  Nothing is sacred; not artichokes, not pomegranates and certainly not tomatoes.  All my tomatoes.  All.  I may never recover or plant tomatoes again.  It was a painful, frustrating summer.

Squirrels also target the bird feeders.  I have a large feeder with sunflower seeds hanging on a pole, with a squirrel guard (an upside-down cone that swivels in an unstable way when touched( on the pole.  Last summer, one managed to climb up a sunflower stem and then scramble onto the feeder when the flower bent under its weight.  I cut down the flower.

The other day, one climbed to the top of the fence and leaped across to the feeder.  When it had stuffed its cheeks full of seeds, it launched onto the ground and scurried away.

I also watched a hunter make its way through all my flower beds.  At first I thought it was a dove; a big dove with a dark splotchy back.  It hopped through the tangle of leaves and branches under the shrub rose hedge.  Then it flew to the top of the fence -- where I was able to get a good look at it through my binoculars -- before landing in the flower bed below.  It wound its way through the native grass, sage and lilacs, searching for lunch small birds and rodents. 

I looked through my bird books; it looked like a hawk but it was far too small and the coloring was not consistent with the red tail hawks that are common in our area.  I found it -- a hawk indeed.  A Sharp-shinned Hawk.

Photo Credit: Audibon website

These hawks are not nearly as common as red tail hawks, which also stalk the garden.  The red-tails are larger and sit on the fence posts before swooping down into the garden and then right back up.  These little guys sneak around the garden, winding through the lavendar, and poking their heads into the lilac bushes.  It reminded me of hide-and-seek -- except that all the little birds had hidden themselves far, far away from my garden.  It was a few days before they came back.

Wednesdays with Tex: Splish, Splash

Another thing that happened last week while I was at work...

Brett replaced another section of fence in the boy's pasture; the front pasture; or pasture number 3.  It has many names (also known as the swamp in the spring).

While he was working on the fence, he put Flash and Tex in with the donkeys, in their pasture.

Funny, how a new location can be exciting.  Tuffy loves to run.  Finessa not so much.

So most of the time Tuffy runs by himself, or not at all.  Tex loves to run, too.  So, they raced around the pasture, leaving deep divots in the mud.

Then Tex discovered the pond.  He waded into the middle and pawed at the water, splashing himself with the icy water.  Then he added running through the water to his race course in the pasture.  There wasn't much water left in the pond by the end of the day.

...and both he and Flash were covered in mud.

Recycling Pumpkins

Remember this pumpkin from the front porch?

It's now chicken food.