In Repose Blog

May 24, 2008

Things are calming down around here. We seem to be winning the battle against the bacteria despite the heat and the flies. Swelling is down. Thanks for all the good wishes. With any luck we will have no permanent damage.

"Cielo". Italian for Sky, or Heaven

When he was a baby, Lauren and I thought he looked like the grey and white clouds that were in the sky the day we brought him and his brothers home.

We named him Cielo.

Cielo was the biggest of the boys. He was also the most shy. He was the "scardy-rat". He was not very brave, and when the rat wrestling and tumbling games got too intense, he would be the first to cry, and the first to hide. He has a round little head and that and his ears sort of make him look like a teddy-bear rat. All the boys are geriatric now at 2.5 years of age.

Any month they live after two years is a gift. Cielo had been losing function in his back legs for a while. This is very common in older rats.

About  three weeks ago I found him on the bottom floor of the grotto, laying still and terribly unnaturally twisted. I thought he had died. I opened the door and picked up a warm and breathing rat, but he was limp and his eyes were mostly closed. I called Lauren right away and told her to come home. I wanted her to say goodbye to him while he was still alive. I put him in a basket and asked him to stick around a little while. Lauren got home and we took turns holding him.

That was Thursday.

Friday, he was still alive. I got him to eat three or four tiny bites of fruit that day, but it was like he was in a little rat coma, he really didn't open his eyes or move very much at all. I figured he had only hours to live. I carried the basket around with me and kept him company.

Then, slowly...a bit at a time, he woke up. He was still alive Saturday and Sunday too. Monday we took him to the vet. She weighed him and examined him and we all decided he was not in any pain (remember he was the crybaby of the bunch, and had not squeaked one time) so we decided to let HIM decide when he wanted to die rather than put him down.

Lauren and I have taken turns carrying him around in a little basket and tempting him with goodies not normally in the rat's food offerings. We helped to keep him clean and we gave him healing reiki energy.

Ceilo has rewarded us by: gaining weight, becoming more stable and alert and simply more "alive". He will never truly scamper around any more because his rear legs are just not going to allow that, but he certainly can move about his grotto and even feed himself again.

Going through what he has seems to have given him a dose of bravery as well. He startles less and eats pretty much no matter what else is going on around him. Most of time our rats are too shy to eat outside of their cage unless the treat is VERY tempting.

Photography courtesy Candace Craw-Goldman 2008

Here he eats his first apricot.

A follow up visit to the vet had us all shaking our heads in wonder. None of us really imagined he could be doing so well.

I would or could not blame anyone who would have put Cielo to sleep that Monday. I am certain the vet would have done the deed immediately if we had asked.

I can certainly say I am, and Cielo is, sure glad we didn't.

Bad Design = Dangerous Design

Lenette asks, "What happened to that horse's leg?"

<imagine great big sigh coming from out of my mouth right now.>

I have always always hated rounded pipe fence corners. I do have a few panels around, but you can see my fence of choice beyond this intersection of panels: plain wooden boards. The paddock you see in the background of this photo has "no-climb" horse fence combined with wooden boards for when there was a baby in there. (Coyotes, donchaknow?)

The rounded corner of common horse panels creates a trap for a horse's hoof. I have other horse friends who have said when I have worried over this detail: "Yes, its possible, for a hoof to get trapped there, but not very likely."

I think if its possible for a horse to hurt itself, it will. Its like having a 2 year old and, say, a house with a brick (sharp-edged) fireplace hearth. That sharp edge is just calling for that toddler's forehead to come and meet it in a big way. Any mother knows this.

Its the same with horses.

So the mare kicked at this fence and wedged her leg in that bent opening somehow. Yes, she did that damage with her leg. Even now I am discussing with a horse friend whether or not a square corner would have actually been worse. Did the curve invite the leg to be trapped, but allow it out in the end? Would a straight corner actually just have ripped off her hoof? Who knows?

This shelter was made for cows, not horses and has fairly severe limitations for equines. I have always known this, but have not had 60k in my back pocket to build a little horse barn...either plain or with padded stalls with pillows on the floor.

Now, where is that ice pack for my head?

Massive Swelling

Waiting on the vet, who is booked solid until late this afternoon. The mare is on pain meds, and I am applying ice packs to her leg as best as I can. . I need another ice pack though, for my head.

May 22, 2008

 

Well here is a nifty new blogging feature from Typepad. I can post an entry, with photo and everything right from my horse's paddock using my Blackberry. Now even emergencies are no excuse to keep current.

This photo was actually taken yesterday not long after the injury. (Note to self: Take only horizontal Blackberry blog images)

This morning the leg  looks much worse, and is a swollen ugly mess. I await the big white truck with the young curly haired vet and his travelling xray machine and bag of drugs.

Once again, the real hero here at the house is the man who without fail, pays every vet bill that arrives without complaint, and will pay this one too.

I love you honey.

Triage, a Definition.

tri·age /triˈɑʒ/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[tree-ahzh]  

1.	the process of sorting victims, as of a battle or disaster, to determine medical priority in order to increase the number of survivors.

2.	the determination of priorities for action in an emergency.

–adjective 

3.	of, pertaining to, or performing the task of triage: a triage officer.

–verb (used with object) 

4.	to act on or in by triage: to triage a crisis.

If life wasn't busy enough...with impending visits from relatives, parties to throw and attend, work to do, end of year events to go to...I have come to consider myself a triage nurse of late.

Here, lets list the current patients.

1. Myself  (details later...maybe.)
2. Cielo the rat. Had some sort of stroke. I thought he was going to die within hours. Not only did he not die, he has improved, but needs some pretty constant care. We carry him around in a basket. Vet visits in the past 10 days: Two. Prescriptions: Also 2. Imagine administering drops to a little rat....not easy.
3. Angelo his brother. Always a needly dental patient Angelo has now decided to add bleeding eye to his repetoire. Believe it or not he needs his teeth ground down, about twice a month. Every time I walk in for this service I think to myself this little rat has better dental care than most of the planet's human population. The irony is totally not lost upon me.
3. Nicky the cat. Bacterial and fungal ear infection, vet visit Tuesday and ear drops daily.
4. Ellie the cat. Allergies so intense she licks her belly to infection. 101 degree May days do not help the matter at all. She needed a shot this week, antibiotic pill daily.
5. Literally five minutes after making the appointment to have Nicky's ear looked at, I notice Raven the dog has a bloody growth on her eye. I call the vet back, they say, sure, bring her in with Nicky.  Raven needs eye surgery ...TOMORROW, says the vet, before any more corneal abrasion.
6. And just when I considered myself filled to the brim with crisis, this afternoon I discover my mare Belle, has really messed up her leg with severe lacerations and swelling. I don't think anything is broken, I am calling the vet first thing in the morning. I have come to think that a horse could hurt itself in a padded stall with pillows on the floor. Sheesh.

I am just plain tired.

What's in a Name?

The filly favorite in the Derby didn't have the luckiest name.

In nautical parlance, "Eight Bells" is the end of a four-hour watch. It's also a nautical euphemism for the death of a sailor: his watch is over, eternally

"Abundant Wildlife" Part 2

I didn't figure it would be pleasant taking the dead thing out of Cowboy's mouth, but I didn't expect to have half a cat skull in my hand, either.  It was the nose, muzzle, whiskers, complete jaw and teeth of a fairly young black long haired cat.

The whiskers were long and white and still pristinely beautiful. Poor thing.

Immediately, of course I started to wonder if in my hand was a piece of the remains of my beautiful long haired black cat Ashlee, who disappeared Halloween 2006.

Ashlee's photo by Candace Craw-Goldman Copyright 2006

You might think that too long of a time for there to be any remains left to be found. Especially if she was eaten by the coyotes. Which I am positive that she was. But I have walked and ridden in these same hills for more than 6 years now. Some parts of creatures hang around for a long while. Bones, of course, but hides can too. This was half a skull with the hide dried on. All flesh was long since gone.

Ashlee came to our family a full grown stray who had two very strong traits. One, she would NOT wear a collar. If by some means we were able to hold her down and put one on her, she would spin like the Tasmanian devil, dive under the sofa and only re-appear when collarless. I have never seen anything like it in a cat. I tried every possible way to collar that cat. Nothing worked.

The second trait she had was absolute insistence of being let outside. If we did not let her out, she would shoot out the door like greased lightening when you least expected it. I have owned cats my whole life and never before or since have I seen a cat that could escape like Ashlee. There was no keeping her inside. Its no wonder she was a stray!

Ashlee loved being outside. She would rub and purr and meow with pure pleasure against our legs...when she was in the yard. She lived for those hours in the sun. Usually, she did not go very far.

It worried me terribly that she would go outside but I always made sure she was indoors at night. I was fearful of the coyotes and the cars that drive so fast down our little road. But that October in 2006 I could not find her before we had to leave that evening. I knew in my heart that next morning what must have had happened. I searched for hours. I searched for days. I searched as much of the valley as I could, on foot and on horseback.

I don't blame the coyotes. I really don't. Many people want to just eliminate them, just shoot them.

Well, I don't really like how brave some of them have gotten, but, gee...we moved into THEIR world to live in the country. I actually am pleased they are here to thin out some of our over population of deer, and hopefully the opossums too, because those critters carry a fatal horse disease I am very afraid of.

The coyotes are only trying to survive. And each new house built in this valley or on top of the hill removes habitat that previously supported their natural lives here. A cat looks as much like dinner to a coyote as a cottontail rabbit I would guess. They have to eat something to survive.

I found a piece of beautiful yellow silk and a box to wrap the skull and I asked my husband to bury it for me. He thinks the fur was too brown, and the skull too small to be Ashlee. But Ashlee's fur was tinged brown, and visible in the right light. Also skulls always are smaller without the flesh remaining. It could be a different cat, but I don't think so.

In any case, what was left of this kitty was given a proper burial in the yard among the rest of our beloved pets who have crossed the rainbow bridge.

"Abundant Wildlife"

A neighbor just down our little road has just put his home up for sale. On the real estate flier one of the selling points reads: "Abundant wildlife. Wild goats, mallards, blue heron, and deer abound."

How bucolic!

He forgot to mention  the coyotes, skunks, opossum, rattlesnakes, and scorpions.  Oh and not to mention the giant centipedes and tarantulas.

The coyotes have been busy. My farmer neighbors recently had four hens taken from near their home. In the daytime. The cleared places high on our hill are filled with new bones.

While walking the dogs a few days ago Cowboy picked up something from that hill. He dropped it and picked it up again, during his run and after laying it down and running off, he picked it up for the third time. It was not a large white dry bone, but something else that I could not quite identify while it was in his mouth.

I told him to drop it and I picked it up with two fingers.

It was the face of a cat.

(To be continued...)

Francie is Dying.

Outside, right now in the chicken "hospital coop"

Francie has been sick for a few days and I have been washing her, medicating her and trying my best to take care of her. Yesterday she was walking around and pecking normally. This morning, well, she hasn't really moved at all. She tried, and she fell down and there she stays.

I keep checking on her, certainly, she will be dead very soon.

Its sad.

One interesting thing has been watching the other animals. They have been gathering around her. First the horses came. The big paint gelding came first. The grey mare came and blinked too, but did not come as close. The dun filly came with the donkey and watched her for a long while. The filly left and the donkey stayed even longer.

When they left the dogs came and wandered around the coop for a while.

When the dogs went to the porch the cats came next and laid calmly facing her.

The chickens came after that and the cats followed me inside when I went to get the camera.

The small brown lump on the left is Francie. The black and white pollish chicken in the middle is Sophia and she is still, as I type this, pacing back and forth in front of the hospital coop watching Francie. The other brown chicken is Blanche, Francie's sister. (Unfortunately as I took this photo I saw signs that Blanche too, may also be ill.)

All morning I have considered the idea of wringing Francie's neck...putting her out of her misery. Would that be the kindest thing to do for her? Is she, in fact, miserable? Who knows? I know she is weak. I know she appears peaceful.

What I also know is I got to watch a well ordered, well timed procession of 12 different animals come to Francie and take note of her presence and of her dying. Animals know death. They can smell it coming. Did they come to say good-bye?

I think they did.

I pet Francie's soft feathers and thanked her for all the sage green eggs she gave our family. I said good-bye too.