The Sad and Lonely Horse

So I occasionally browse a website comprised of people from our neighborhood who post inquiries, complaints and comments on a kind of message board, and someone posted this a few days ago.

The guy who coined the phrase "the road to hell is paved with good intentions," was not too far off. It turns out the person who wrote this post just moved here from the city, and knows nothing about horses. He admitted as much in the comments section a little further down the page, once people started questioning whether or not he should be urging people to stop and handle/feed someone else's animal, who clearly was not hungry or neglected in any way whatsoever.

For the record, I'm a big fan of kindness, especially towards animals. But ascribing human emotions to animals is not generally a good thing, unless you are an expert in that particular animal or species, enough to know how they emote their moods.

I drive past this horse myself several times a week and can tell you that this big gelding is not sad, but rather....zen. He's chilling in his favorite corner, lazing in the sun, and meditating on nothing in particular. Or who knows, perhaps he's planning final details regarding the destruction of western civilization/mankind in a very slow and methodical way.  We won't know until it's too late.

He's well fed, in great condition, and just doing what horses do in the heat of summer, which is stand in one place for several hours, pondering, studying...zoning out. All horses do this. But I'm guessing he's not sad.

What really gets me is the guy floating the idea that everyone start feeding the "sad and lonely horse" carrots. Can you imagine the amount of carrots this horse would be ingesting if 75 people stopped to feed him every day? It kind of boggles the mind and could actually be damaging to the horse, since carrots are pretty high in sugar and are supposed to be a treat, not a staple. 

Some people move here to our area for the option to keep livestock, and others move here for the wine. And as long as the livestock people don't start trying to tell the wine people what makes a good Cabernet and the wine people don't start trying to cheer up the livestock people's animals who are pastured near common roads, life can be good here. It's all about mutual respect.

What we all need to focus on is the passive aggressive and insecure goats on the next street over, anyway. Now they need some serious help, I'm telling you. Perhaps we can find them a good therapist.

The Bane of My Freaking Existence

It's this stuff. This is the plastic netting which is used to hold sod together when it's professionally grown and shipped to landscapers, in order to quickly and efficiently put in a lawn. I always wondered how they could grow grass and then cut it into neat little rectangles to be shipped and laid down in yards, and this is how it's held together, at the root level. With plastic.

This is all well and good until you decide to remove your lawn, in which case you will have to deal with it, as you're killing the grass which keeps it underground and out of sight. In the areas where we killed the lawn, I've had no less than two chickens get their feet caught in this mesh while trying to scratch around, and found one dead snake wrapped in the deadly plastic snare.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to dig down several inches every place the chickens have access to which once had lawn covering it, and pull out the plastic netting to ensure their safety. Yesterday, Cleo (our Aracauna hen) got a toenail caught in some and was probably there for an hour before I noticed her. I also found Valentina with some wrapped around a leg a couple of months ago. Luckily both hens had the brains to just sit down and not struggle, but this could easily have resulted in a broken toe or dislocated leg, both of which might have proven difficult to treat.

In the rest of the yard, we killed the grass and threw down four inches of bark on top of the dead grass and plastic netting, which means that while the grass will decompose, the plastic is still there, hanging out and not decomposing for 500 years. Should it ever become un-buried in the decades to come, it could easily trap wild birds, toads, snakes and even larger mammals such as foxes or coyotes. Once wrapped around a foot or toe, it quickly cuts off circulation, so even for a good sized animal it could quickly become a problematic and possibly even fatal issue.

I predict (and fervently hope) that as more and more folks start taking our their lawns in these parts, the outcry over this eco-hostile netting will cause someone to come up with a biodegradable version, which won't last beyond the lifetimes of our great-great grandchildren, as this plastic will.  In the meantime, we will always be sure there are several good inches of bark covering ours, and pray any future homeowners will do the same.

This is one of those cases where you say, "there has GOT to be a better way."

Rant over. Carry on. 

Dying Nicely

Our summer project of killing half our lawn is already off to a good start. As you can see, much of it is brown and the good news is, everything that is brown is what we WANT to get rid of. In other words, the lawn we are keeping is staying green and the lawn we're removing is dying nicely. Some more will die as the summer wears on, but we're off to a really good start.

In a way it bothers me to kill a healthy lawn; that is the farmer in me whose job it is to keep things green and growing whenever possible. But sometimes having to kill something is inevitable.  I do not smile when I see my dead lawn, instead I tend to look down at those moments and remember why it is that I have to kill it: It's so we can plant some appropriate plants in the space, or add additional patio area.  It's also so I'm not throwing good drinking water on a crop that provides nothing for us but something to look at and walk on. And most importantly, it's because if everyone is cutting back -- and even if they are not -- using less water during a drought is the right thing to do.

A time to die.

Any good farmer or homesteader should have trouble with killing living things; the day it doesn't bother you is the day you need to pack it in, buy a condo in the city, and seek the services of a professional therapist, because taking pleasure or just not caring about the times when you have to be a participant in the taking of any life is just, well, creepy.  

I find when I have to kill something, whether it's a plant or a creature, I go down  little checklist in my mind.  Question One: Is the killing necessary so that something else may live or so that something does not suffer? Question Two: Is there a better way to accomplish this rather than taking said life?  If the answer to #1 is yes, or the answer to #2 is no, then I know what I have to do.  But truthfully, there isn't a spider, ant trail, chicken or patch of grass I don't run through the aforementioned checklist with before commencing with killing it. 

Thankfully today it is only part of a lawn that has to die here, and I can honestly look forward to the things that are going to take its place.  But no matter what, I am cognizant of the fact that as the homesteader here on this particular patch of land, part of my job is deciding what lives and what dies. It's a responsibility I hope I never take lightly.

To Vet or not to Vet

Recovering.

Our dog Sputnik recently took a spill off Big Ag's lap onto the hardwood floor and developed a limp earlier this week.  Since I spent some time working in a vet's office as an assistant in the past, I knew how to examine the leg and his joints to make sure nothing was broken or his hip dislocated.  But the question always comes up when you own either livestock or pets:  When do you call in the services of the vet?

One thing I can tell you about vets today that was probably not widely true 100 years ago is that "growing your practice" is a huge goal among many new veterinarians.  There are constant advertisements and junk mail which arrive at your friendly neighborhood vet's office encouraging them in this.  Breakout sessions like "how to increase your profit margins," "how to effectively have your existing clients increase your bottom line," and "how more testing = more profits and better care" is not uncommon to see. It's all quite out in the open.  Some vets buy into it, some do not, and for us pet owners the trick can be telling the difference before our checkbook becomes drained.

But it's a little more complex than that too, because the ones who do buy into it -- who have taken the workshops and seminars -- actually have a good justification for doing so.  After all, spending more on each animal that comes through the door is not only good for business, it's good for the animal.  Tale this example scenario:  

You bring your dog into the vet with what seems to be a bladder infection.  An old school vet will send your dog home with an antibiotic or sulfa drug and tell you if it's not better within a few days to come back in. Hopefully that will fix things -- most of the time it will -- but not all the time.

 A new school vet will insist on running a blood panel to check for infection and kidney function, while also strongly encouraging you to allow them to do a bladder ultrasound,  in order to rule out cysts or tumors.  

The visit to the old school vet will cost you about $60 bucks (office visit plus meds).  The visit to the new school vet will set you back about $400 that or more, if you agree to their diagnostic protocol. But there's no question that all those tests improve the chances of diagnosing your dog's issue correctly.  The question is, do you want to spend that much, or take your chances on the pills and see what happens?

We're now in the position where we can provide first-world health care to our pets, if we so choose.  If your dog has a tumor, you can now see that he gets chemotherapy. But is that kind of care in the pet's best interest?  That's a highly personal question for the owner, and delves into a moral area that's as grey as a foggy day at the beach. I'm not sure I could put my pet through chemotherapy, because I'm not even sure I'd want to do it myself, if I had a serious case of cancer.

Of course if you're raising livestock, you also have to draw the line on what does and does not warrant a large-animal vet call.  We would not call the vet out for a chicken, for example, but would for a sheep or goat.  We would not do expensive MRIs or ultrasounds on any outside animal, and only on our inside pets if it would lead to a simple and damn-near guaranteed successful treatment protocol. 

We euthanize when necessary, whether it is a dog, chicken, or horse that is suffering and not expected to survive. But if the animal could survive, then we will do what we can, within certain financial limits.  We've spent good money treating colicky horses because it's an easily treated condition with complete recovery and many more years of life possible afterward.  But when faced with end-stage incurable Equine Cushings disease (this after many months of providing hugely expensive imported prescription meds to try and treat the lesser symptoms of it) we chose to have the vet come and euthanize our horse, rather than allow her to suffer.

So you do what you can and try and trust your instincts.  Regarding the most recently injured animal here, my own instincts were thankfully correct; after giving Sputnik half a baby aspirin and making him rest for a few days, his strained leg appears to be healing rapidly. But in this day and age, it's very difficult to know how much its appropriate to spend on a sick animal, whether it's the sheep out in your field or the cat on your lap.  

But I think the motto of not wanting our animal charges to suffer unnecessarily is always a good yardstick.

Country Clean

Monday nights can sometimes be a little bit rough around here, because Monday morning is the time I clean each week.  I  sweep the floor, then go over it with a microfiber cloth stuck on a Swiffer.  Then I mop. I vacuum the rest of the house and clean the bathrooms most of the time, too. So by the end of the day, the house looks pretty darn good.

Then at approximately 6 pm, the men come home. And it's on, baby.

Fist, they try and walk in with their shoes on. Ain't gonna happen.

The they decide to have something like watermelon with dinner, so now the kitchen counter, the floor beside the counter, and the coffee table in the living room has sticky pink watermelon juice on it (just a few hours after I CLEANED ALL OF IT). There was a reason our parents made us eat watermelon outside when we were kids, and I get that now.

So basically, by about 8 p.m. I end up somewhere between pitching a fit and having a meltdown. And once I've dried my tears and put down the shotgun or cast iron skillet I've been waving around in a threatening manner (joking, but it's close sometimes), I always hear the same comment:  "But we live in the country!  What do you expect?"

So what do you think?  Is living in the country a decent excuse for having a dirtier than average home?  

I'm pretty mellow on the weekend, when most of our "country" things are happening -- when fences are being strung, trees pruned, and compost turned.  That's when dust, mud, hay, and other things too gross to mention get tracked in -- no surprise there.  

The weekend is also when Big Ag and Groceries will make snacks throughout the day, which means my granite counters feel exactly like the food prep area of the greasy spoon diner in town by about mid-afternoon on Sunday.  

The weekends are also when even the dog seems to bring in the majority of the pieces of bark, fruit mummies, and bits of straw attached to himself, and then plunk himself down on the sofa without a second thought.  Kind of sad that he's in on the whole thing too. But that's OK. I get it. It's the weekend and everyone's outdoors a lot. And some of the outside gets in when that's going on.

That's why Monday is Cleaning Day.

I've had girlfriends around here tell me their farmer husbands use the "but we live in the country" gambit whenever they request their mates kindly remove their shoes before tracking horse manure on the carpets, or throwing a straw-covered jacket down on a clean comforter on the bed. 

But I don't know, is it country living?  Is the standard of cleanliness and hygiene different if you live on acreage?  Or is it just an excuse for some folks to act like slobs or have a dirty home?

For me personally, I'm all for dirtiness outside, but I want the inside of my house to be clean(ish).  I don't want to stumble on mystery clods of brown material (hmmm, is that dirt or poop?  And how can I determine which one without reaching down to touch or smell it...).  I don't see why a kitchen counter that's been messed up with strawberry jam that's just been canned or dirty onion tops  shouldn't be cleaned well afterwards.

Is it just me?  Are my standards too high, or are my men trying to get away with being slobs with no accountability? 

I ask myself these questions almost every Tuesday. Because on Mondays I clean, and on Monday nights, my beloved family attempts to undo everything I've been working on all day long.

Because we live in the country, dontcha know.

Gated Community

A gated community.

Last night I attended a wine tasting party at a friend's home, nestled in the hills of the Coast Range.  As Big Ag and I drove through the scenic hillsides, passing several famous wineries as we went, we commented at how spectacular the scenery was.

Eventually we found the iron gates that led to our friend's housing development and went in.

The party was great, and one of the things we discussed was livestock and pets in general.  That's when my friend's mother told me they had just gotten a $150 bill from the area homeowner's association because their dog had gotten out of their property and was found wandering the neighborhood. Apparently there's a rule for that -- if your animals get loose, you get fined.

We in the western U.S. surely love our homeowner's associations -- at least we seem to, since gated communities crop up with increasing regularity all over states like California, Nevada, and Arizona.

At heart, I totally understand the philosophy behind them.  It's a way to keep your neighborhood looking like you want it to.  Through certain rules, regulations and vigilant oversight, it discourages things like meth houses, dog or cock-fighting operations, or personal salvage yards from cropping up next door to you. No one would argue that's a good thing. 

But at what price? (well, a monthly fee plus $150 when your dog gets out, in my friend's case. But I'm talking a larger issue here.) 

Is it worth keeping those bad things out, given that the same homeowner's association may also want to stop you from putting up a clothesline, keeping a couple of goats (even if you live on acreage) or painting your house a certain color?

Our nation has faced a similar predicament since 9/11.  We have enthusiastically given up our rights in order to protect ourselves from a certain kind of evil. A terrible evil, no question. Some of the adjustments are more annoying than anything else.  We can no longer, when flying, bring shampoo in our carry-on luggage, listen to our iPod from take-off to landing, or even expect to be able to keep our shoes on as we pass through airport security. Bummer.

A different type of gated community.

But on a more serious note, whether at home or abroad, we also can no longer expect that our phone calls, text messages and emails are private, and read by no one but their intended recipients. That is the price of being "protected" from the evils that lay just beyond the New Rules.

In short, we may have become a nation which has ended up belonging to one gargantuan homeowner's association.  We have willingly given up our rights to certain things on the promise that, by doing so, we can keep the bad stuff out.  Except in this case, the meth house next door has become Al-Qaeda.

But it seems to me that at a certain point, you have to ask if those rules are keeping the bad things out, or keeping you hemmed in -- with rules that don't make sense, or are too stringent, or too invasive. Homesteading types run afoul of HA's rules often, and often find themselves fighting battles of common sense.  Because keeping a couple of hens and putting up a clothesline never ruined a neighborhood, and never will.

On a larger note we, as individuals, always need to ask whether we've given up too much freedom in order to feel "protected."  It's a delicate balance.

Are you willing to sacrifice small conveniences to assure your safety?  How about your privacy?  The one thing that is important to remember, on both a large and small scale, is who the "homeowner's association" ultimately works for.  In both the homeowner's association of my friend's neighborhood and the much larger "homeowner's association" of the U.S. Government, both are supposed to work for "the people."

In short, we always have to ask if the price of living behind those lovely wrought iron gates is worth it, and if not, asking the tough questions about what needs to be changed so that living behind the gate and its rules makes you feel empowered, rather than imprisoned.