Lots To Be Grateful For...Always

                                               by Laura Crum

            Some tough things have happened lately. Both to me and to others I know. I’m not going to pretend. As my friend Funder put it recently (I’m paraphrasing here—hope that’s OK, Funder), I never wanted to be a “sunshine and roses” blogger. Though I do post quite a few photos of sunshine and roses, actually. But sad things do happen, people do behave unkindly when they could just as easily be kind, people respond to honesty with fear…etc. This is part of life, and I don’t choose to live in denial, either in my own mind or in my writing. I try to be honest. With myself and with others. So this includes writing about the negative stuff here on the blog. And have you ever noticed, those negative or controversial posts draw a LOT more response than my happy posts about all that is good in my life?

            But…the truth is that I spend most of my time contemplating the good things. It’s a considered choice. I do have a really good life—by my own standards, anyway. I drive an old, beat up pickup that most folks would be ashamed of, I live in a 750 sq foot off-the-grid house that doesn’t include a TV or a dishwasher or many other things that people seem to regard as essential, and I have an ancient flip phone that won’t hold a charge that I use only for emergencies. (It doesn’t even text or take photos—imagine that.) I don’t go on elegant vacations to fancy resorts, or out to see famous musicians perform, or wear expensive clothes on trips to the city, or compete on my horses any more. I tend to avoid parties and big social events of any kind, and after years of avoiding such things, I don’t get invited to them much. It’s true that I have had some sad things happen recently and I am still processing them.

It doesn’t sound like a very glamorous life, does it? Certainly no life for an extrovert. But I still wouldn’t swap places with anyone I know.

            Because I have the things I really want, the things I’ve wanted all my life…every single one of them has come true. And this gives me pleasure every day.

            I have a husband and son that I love with my whole heart, and four beloved horses who have carried me for many, many miles that live with me. I have some good friends who have been my friends for years and who are like family to me. I can see no other houses from my front porch (very important to me); I live on a small “mini-ranch” that I designed and built (along with my husband) from the ground up. We own it free and clear. I love my barn and corrals and riding ring, my garden, my home, the little guest house, the wild land that surrounds us…everything about our property delights me.

            I watch the wild animals that wander through every day, I admire the spring daffodils, and in their time, the big rambling roses (that I planted myself twenty years ago), and gaze at the goldfish in the pond. I turn the horses loose to graze and putter around the property, and take great pleasure in the sun glinting on their coats. We eat food that we have raised ourselves-- every single day. Salad from my husband’s little greenhouse, vegetables from the veggie garden, eggs from our chickens, grass-fed beef from our own pasture. All these things are such a gift—and also the result of carefully considered choices.

            Almost every evening I sit on the front porch (or the back porch) with a cocktail in my hand and watch the light die out of the evening sky while my husband plays his wild and wailing highland pipes and the old Scottish music drifts over the ridge. (All you fans of “Outlander,” eat your hearts out—I have the real thing.) Every morning I watch the sun rise, with a cup of hot tea in my hand and a little dog curled up beside me (also two cats and a boy, usually). It’s a good life. And it’s the life I want.

            Yes, I am lucky--though very many people wouldn’t want my life. For those who say that they do, well, other than luck, it’s been about choices. Choosing to buy a piece of raw land and live here in an old travel trailer for seven years…because that was the ONLY way I could afford a horse property in this part of the world, and I knew (all my life) that I wanted a horse property. So while my 30ish friends bought houses, I bought a piece of empty land—and developed it as I could afford it (didn’t have a house for seven years, but had a barn the second year I lived here—priorities, you know).

            It’s still about choices today. I choose to stay home and live my quiet, private life, with time to watch sunsets and sunrises and have dinner every night with my family and such as that. And what this really amounts to is saying no. No to all the “fun” social things and opportunities and distractions that would have me out and about and doing, rather than home looking at the sky and the wild critters and the blooming plum tree. Saying no isn’t fashionable. We are urged to say “yes” to life. But guess what?  It’s saying no that brings time and space to my days. And I am so grateful for that time and space.

            So here are some recent glimpses of my life…perhaps you can see why I am filled with gratitude, even when I am sad.

Our house with plum blossoms.

My husband building a trellis for his greenhouse plants.

First tulips of spring on Valentine’s Day 2014—with Tigger.

A cozy place to nap—Shadow and Star.

Henry is about to knock on the back door.

Daffodils on the back porch.

My boy and his little dog.

Sunrise from my front porch.

Early blossom on Westerland rose…. maybe I am a sunshine and roses blogger.

The view from my little yellow horse.

It’s a good life.

Colic Surgery

                                                           by Laura Crum

            I have had a few friends lately (both on the internet and in real life) who have either lost a horse to colic or had a serious colic, and the subject of colic surgery has come up. Since I have actually gone through colic surgery with a loved horse I thought I’d write a post on what I learned, in the hope that it might help someone else make a decision.

            First off, I have always been someone who said I wouldn’t do colic surgery. Too much risk, too hard on the horse, too expensive, the rehab is long and hard, many horses are never 100 percent…etc. I knew people who had done colic surgery, with varying results, and I felt pretty sure this was not a path I wanted to take.

            But…five years ago, when my son’s horse, Henry, colicked, I did, in the end, choose colic surgery. I had some pretty specific reasons for this. 1) My son had lost his beloved pony to cancer a year previously, and I was desperate not to lose Henry at this point, 2) Henry was sound and strong and in perfect health otherwise, 3) ultrasound showed a mass in his intestine that the surgeon thought was a pile of sand or small stones that needed to be removed and they felt this was a relatively straight forward surgery, and 4) Henry was in excellent shape for surgery…all his vital signs were very good. The vets at the equine center convinced me that surgery was Henry’s best chance.

            I was told the surgery would probably cost $7500, and though I had to put it on my credit card (I do not have that kind of extra money lying around), it was not an impossible amount for us as a family, and my husband was in agreement that we should try it. I would not have done the surgery if it would have been a serious financial problem for our family. (By the way, when all was said and done, with rechecks, post op problems…etc, it was more like $10,000, and people have told me that it is $12,000 today at that same equine center.)

            I was also told that Henry had a very good chance of going back to full work, which for him was walk, trot, lope trail horse. I forget the actual statistics now, but they were pretty good. The down side was that Henry had just turned twenty, and one in five rehabs had some sort of problems. Anyway, I made the choice to try the surgery.

            Those who have read this blog know that it did work out and Henry has been 100% fine for five years post surgery. Given the exact same set of circumstances, I would make the same choice. I do know the surgery was needed—I have the cantalope-sized stone they took out of Henry’s intestine on my living room shelf. However, if another one of my horses colicked tomorrow and I was faced with surgery, I think I probably would not choose this option (though again, it might depend on circumstances).

            Why? Well, having been through it, I really understand what it entails, which I certainly did not before. So let me see if I can describe the process well enough that others can understand my thinking.

            First of all, I would only consider colic surgery if the horse was, as Henry was at the time, vital and pretty much irreplaceable and completely sound and in full use. The horse would have to have an excellent prognosis going in, as Henry did. A horse that was already in distress with poor vital signs is just not a good bet. And finally (though I didn’t think much about this at the time) the horse would need to be the sort to be a good patient.

            Because the rehab was just as difficult as I had feared. First off, the horse has to be confined in a 15 by 15 stall for the first month and, guess what? They would prefer he didn’t roll. (You can easily see why.) I have no box stalls, so I built a 15 by 15 stall out of panels, under a pasture shed roof. Oh, and this just happened to be in February—it rained pretty much non-stop during the first part of Henry’s rehab. The stall had to be kept immaculate, because it was vital to keep the incision clean. So I bedded this stall VERY lightly, so Henry wouldn’t want to roll, and I cleaned it three times a day.

            The horse must be hand walked three times a day as well, and hand grazed on green grass three times a day. The horse must be fed four small meals of hay a day. Then there’s antibiotics and pain meds as needed. Taking care of Henry was almost a full time job. Fortunately, I had the time to do this.

            Henry had to go back to the equine center once a week for rechecks during the first month (and the equine center was an hour away). During these rechecks they changed his bandage (which was a huge thing that wrapped around his barrel and supported the incision). But after the first month, they had me buy a “hernia belt” (very expensive) and from then on I changed Henry’s wound dressing every two or three days myself. I learned to do it competently, but it would have been a dangerous business with a flighty horse inclined to spooking or kicking.

            Henry ended up with a couple of (very common) post surgical problems. First he got an infection (he was on antibiotics for a couple of months) and then he developed a hernia. Neither of these problems was a big deal in the grand scheme of things (though, of course I didn’t know that at the time), but they caused me a lot of worry and some expense and certainly many extra rechecks with the equine center.

            After six weeks of confinement in a stall, even the docile Henry was very full of himself and a pain to handle—I cannot imagine what this would be like with any sort of hot horse. I was worn down with worry and the constant care giving. I had been told that we could go back to riding Henry in three months, but it wasn’t until the end of four full months of rehab that we got cleared to actually ride the horse. And it wasn’t until we were six months out from surgery that we were taking him on trail rides and picking up the lope. It was a long haul.

            Six months is not a long time if you simply turn a horse out in pasture and let him heal. But this was four months of constant, every day, three and four times a day, hand walking…etc. It was a lot of work. I worried constantly that Henry would get adhesions, or a serious hernia that would require more surgery, or mean the end of him. In retrospect, since I know the horse is fine, this worry was pointless. And, of course, since I did my very best to take good care of Henry, and this was all that I COULD do, the worry was pointless in any case. But I couldn’t help worrying. It was very stressful.

Eventually rehab progressed to the point where my son could ride Henry—bareback at the walk. And this was the one and only point in all the time we’ve owned him when (the now feeling way too full of it) Henry ever dumped my kid. (My son wasn’t hurt, but it wasn’t our best moment, that’s for sure.) And then came two months of slow, careful under saddle exercise, while the horse lived in a small (20 by 20) pen. Lots of stall cleaning and pen cleaning involved, too. Again, a lot of work.

            Yes, it was worth it to me. Under the circumstances in which I made that choice, I would do it again. But I probably would not choose it today for any horse on my property. None of them have the disposition to be the excellent patient that Henry has/had, and Henry himself is 25 years old. All of my horses are in their late teens or older. Bearing in mind that we all must die sometime, I don’t think I would put myself or any of my horses through that ordeal just to extend their lives. The one exception might be Sunny—but I am not sure how he would deal with the rehab. He hates taking meds and will kick if he feels the need. I think it might be an unworkable combination.

            So yes, even though I had a successful result with colic surgery and I am very grateful that I spent the money and the time and the blood, sweat and tears to keep Henry with us, this hasn’t made me feel that I would want to do colic surgery in the future. I can’t, of course, make any recommendation on what others might want to do, because every situation is different, but I hope my story may help someone else to at least have a little more understanding than I had going into the process.

            And please, if anyone else has insights to offer, feel free to give them in the comments. 

           

Old Horses and Mixed Blessings

                                                by Laura Crum

            This is Burt, the first horse I was able to keep until his death. I bought Burt when he was five years old. I was 21 and still in college. Burt lived to be 35—and though I had to farm him out occasionally, as I moved and went through life changes, he remained my horse at the end. He spent his last years turned out in a pasture fifteen minutes from my house, where I visited him as often as I could. He died one sunny winter morning five years ago. I was on my way out to feed him and the pasture owner called me and said that Burt had been trotting around and suddenly fell down. And now he couldn’t get up because he was caught in the fence.

            I got there within ten minutes and I got Burt out of the fence and rolled him over, but though we tried and tried to get him up, it became clear that it wasn’t going to happen. Burt was twitching and showing neurologic symptoms, and he wasn’t trying to stand up. He’d had a couple of seizures previous to this, but he’d recovered OK. However, I knew, as I looked at him on the ground that day, that his twitching/seizing was getting worse, and that this was the end.

            I called the vet, who was there within a half hour, and she concurred. We put Burt down as he lay in the sunshine, and his death was quick and peaceful. I was grateful, though I missed the old horse, and still do.

            Burt taught me a lot. He was a real character, and always made me smile—Burt was a horse with a zest for life right up until his end. It makes me happy to know he was trotting around (and sound) on the day he died. What makes me sad is I wasn’t there to watch his joy. Oh, I saw him often, but I didn’t live with him. I didn’t hang out with him a lot in those last years. I fed him and rubbed on him a little and made sure he was in good flesh and his needs were met, but I had a kid and horses at home and I was always on the run, always busy.

            Burt was, I think, happy in his pasture. There were other horses to socialize with and the pasture owner and neighbors gave him attention. I think he had a good life. He wasn’t the one who missed out. I was. And after he died, I was aware of that.

            Death is very final. I remember Burt with much affection and his photo is on the wall above my desk. I have many happy memories of riding him on the ranch in northern California where I worked for several years. I am glad that I cared for him until his end. I’m glad he had a long, happy life. But I wish I could just be with him again, and feel his particular upbeat energy. I wish I could watch him trot around, with the sun shining on his bright bay coat. And that isn’t going to happen.

            It’s hard to juggle several retired horses along with your current riding horses, if your space and budget is limited. My little horse property is set up to house five horses, no more. Over the years, I have often chosen to turn my retired horses out—in our 60 acre pasture in the foothills (three hours from here—looked after by an old friend who is an experienced horseman), or at that pasture fifteen minutes from my house, which belongs to a friend. It saved me both time and money to do this, and the horses had the benefit of living in a natural way, which I thought (and still think) is good for them. But the downside was that I couldn’t keep an eye on them and spend time with them.

            Losing Burt made me think hard about Gunner, who was living in the same pasture where I had kept Burt. When Gunner got to be 30 it became harder and harder to keep weight on him, and I thought he wanted more attention than what he got in the pasture. But more than that, I just wanted to be with him and spend time with him before it was too late. So I brought him home...as one of my two boarders had left me, thus making a space for Gunner.

            The good news is that after living at home for a couple of years Gunner DOES look happier. His weight is just right, and he has plenty of pep. It gives me lots of joy to take him for walks and hand graze him. Every time I watch him run around his big corral, bucking and spinning, I get a silly, infatuated grin on my face. Every time I rub on him and see how good he looks, it takes me right back to all our many times together-- gathering cattle, cutting, team roping. I remember the blaze-faced three year old gelding with thirty days on him that I started riding thirty YEARS ago. I remember hauling this horse all over the western United States (Arizona, Nevada, Oregon, Washington) to various events. I remember camping with him. We did so many things together.

            So, yes, I am very glad I brought Gunner home. And it gives me joy every single day to see him looking happy and healthy. The bad news? The bad news is it takes a lot of time to care for an old horse properly. I now have two retired horses (Gunner and Plumber) and my riding horse (Sunny) to care for. My son exercises his own horse, Henry, but my kid is still young enough to require some supervision and help. So, in essence, I’m now in charge of making sure that four horses all get the attention they need. And this is on top of a busy life as a homeschooling mom with a large garden. For those who don’t know, both homeschooling and gardens take a lot of time, too.

            And then Gunner got cast just before Xmas, and I thought it might be the end of him. Luckily my old horse has made a full recovery, but it was a wake-up call for me. I began prioritizing Gunner’s walks and hand grazing over everything else. And though this DOES give me joy, there’s a limit to how much I can do in a day. So sometimes Gunner gets a walk and the other horses get turned out to graze…and there is no time for a trail ride. It’s my riding time that has taken the hit.

            I don’t think Sunny really cares—he is happy to be turned out rather than ridden. My son often rides his horse while I do the other chores. And I usually manage to ride at least once or twice a week. But I can see that, essentially, I’m exchanging riding time for time with Gunner. In a way, it’s a tough choice.

            Still, it’s the choice I’m making now. Maybe because I’m older and I’ve been riding all my life…maybe its easier to put time with my old friend first? I don’t know. I just know that despite my occasional moments of frustration, this is what I am drawn to do.

            Anyway, I thought I’d ask if any of you have had to make similar choices. Any insights? Because my horse time these days often looks like this.

            Instead of like this.