Snack Bags 2

 

Snack Bags

 When our son was in kindergarten, he was scared on the first day, like most kids.  He was all ready with his backpack, lunch box, and paper bag with his snack.  I drew a picture of an animal on that first day and kept it up all year.  The following year, I added an occasional silly picture of a monster (his favorite).  The silly or serious drawing continued all the way through.  He's in 8th grade now.  Sometimes he gets several jokes, or a cartoon.  This year, it's been just cartoons.  I'm not an artist, but I like to tell our son I love him is creative ways.  School started last Wednesday.  Here are the cartoons so far this year:

The Great Blue Heron

 There was an odd, throaty bird call when I finished the chores on Friday.  I looked up and saw a great blue heron gliding into our pasture.  I thought it was a little odd, because our creek is not deep enough to wade in and there probably isn't enough food for a hungry water bird, but he was probably just passing through.  

Saturday morning, our son and I went to the fishing property to work on a new trail.  This property is down the road from our farm and has access to deeper water, including Black Creek.  My husband called and told me that the cows were chasing a big grey bird in the pasture.  I immediately remembered the heron from the day before.  After confirming that it was the same bird, my husband said he didn't think it could fly.  He locked up the cows, so the bird could be left in peace.  I told him I would call FWC to report injured wildlife. I was referred to a rehabber, who asked us to bring the bird to him, but didn't sound very encouraging.  He said it would be best if the bird was taken somewhere he could feed himself and that would give him the best chance to heal, unless there was something obviously wrong with him.  I was given instructions on how to catch him with a sheet and to control his head so he couldn't "poke your eye out".  Pondering this, I realized that if I just pushed harder and finished the trail to the water, I could potentially walk the bird back there and release him in a spot where he could find food.  It was his best hope.  

We worked as hard and fast as we could and finished the trail right down to the water's edge.  We drove back to the farm and spotted the bird still in the pasture.  I enlisted the neighbor and her young relative in the hunt.  The four of us slowly approached and the poor bird flapped his wings , but was unable to leave the ground.  He fluttered away and laid down, exhausted.  The second time, we successfully moved him toward the fence and had him cornered.  We quietly covered him with a sheet and I bundled him up in my arms.  My husband drove as our son and I stayed in the back of the truck with the bird still wrapped in the sheet.  We walked down the new trail and released him.  Another great blue heron was feeding not far away.  He approached our tired one and squawked a little at our bird before moving away.  We checked the area on Sunday and the heron had moved from his release spot.  Hopefully, he found his way to food and appropriate habitat.  

The Nippers Of Death

 This is Marty.  As the eldest of the burros, I should tell this story.  It's a Halloween story sure to scare small burro foals and make grandma burros mad.  

I should start at the beginning.  We were taken from our home, which, apparently, humans say isn't ours to begin with.  Some of them even called us "feral".  Personally, I prefere 'wild' because it has a sense of mystique you just don't get from 'feral'.  Those humans also said that we don't belong in the desert.  Well, it was humans that brought us there in the first place.  They wanted us to help them carry their stuff while they dug for pretty rocks that they were excited about.  That story came down from my ancestors.  They brayed with laughter at the absurdity of it all.  You can't eat a rock!  And all those crazy miners seemed to buy with their rocks was 'liquid trouble', as the wise, old burros called it.  If humans took us to that desert in the first place, why blame us for still being there over a hundred years later?  Anyway, that's where we were and, as my grandpappy used to say, you belong where your manure drops.  Well, humans feel differently.  They said it was unfair to the other animals, so we were hauled away.  

Instead of going into the various details of how I came to be here, at this little farm, suffice to say that it was a tedious and winding road.  However, here I am, and these three humans that adopted us have proved themselves to be generous treat dispensers.  Plus, the work is easy.  All in all, I thought it was safe to settle into a pleasant life of domesticity.  

I was wrong.

IT came in a truck and trailer that rattled and banged along the road.  IT was loud, large, and shaggy.  Although mostly human in appearance, IT had none of the quiet, gentle tones that our humans have.  ITs large paw-like hands smelled of chemicals and hooves.  Worst of all, when I was tied up, I couldn't flee and IT gripped my poor hooves and held on.  IT also had metal tools that were sharp and noisy. I don't know why, but IT wanted my feet!  Our humans have had an odd fascination with our feet since we've been here.  Always examining them and picking them out every time they take us out for work.  I thought it was just a quirk, and they were gentle enough, so no big deal.  The IT, however, wanted to cut our hooves and our humans allowed it!  The lady human just gave me treats and used soothing words while this beast thing was nibbling off my feet with ITs tools!  I tried to tell her, with my eyes, how much peril I was in, but she failed to understand.  When IT let me go, I kept myself composed until she led me back to the paddock and then, to show that I disapproved of it all, I pouted the world's biggest burro pout.  Burros and donkeys are champions of pouting.  In fact, a burro I knew in Arizona kept up a pout for five solid years!  

Later, our humans came back and gave us treats.  As if they could buy us off.  Ha!  As if I would forget all the weirdness of the IT because of a treat.  Ha!  Although it was one of the really good treats we only get every once in awhile.  It had alfalfa in it.  And corn.  Is that a little oats in there, too?  And molasses.  I love molasses.  You know, the word 'ass' is in molasses for good reason...

Wait, what were we talking about?

Packing and trotting

 The burros have been carrying the pack saddle every day through the obstacles course or around the farm.  The fitting has been difficult to get used because I've never actually packed before.  With the help of instructional videos, and what I've learned about driving harnesses, I think I have it fitted properly for both burros.  

Almost daily picking of their hooves will, hopefully, pay off today when the farrier comes to do their feet for the first time.  There are just not enough farriers around our area, so he usually can only fit us in when everyone is due.  

JJ needs to learn how to trot in hand.  My previous attempts were unsuccessful and, actually, made him nervous.  I tried speeding up while leading him and speaking encouragingly.  His head went up, his eyes got big, and he resisted.  This time, I picked a stretch next to the barn to move him along, so he couldn't swing out.  He had already been acclimated to the feel of the little whip and wasn't scared of it.  I moved the whip behind him (not touching) to motivate him.  He trotted a few steps and was rewarded.  He was more relaxed because I think he finally understood what I was asking.  Good boy, JJ!  

Meanwhile, Marty is gaining weight and looking better.  

  

Pack Saddle!

 It finally came together today.  Both burros went for a walk with the pack saddle on.  

I need to back up because I haven't been posting regularly (my apologies).  

Lessons learned in the last couple of weeks:

1) The burros aren't ready for the trails, yet.  

2) They must be handled every day, or, at least, only skip one day between sessions.

3) They will do anything for treats.

I did daily sessions all week, with the exception of yesterday (too many chores).  They picked up their feet and enduring extra leg grooming due to flies.  In fact, this time of year, the flies become absolutely ruthless on poor donkey legs.  For some reason, donkeys suffer worse than horses.  I used medicated paste smeared on their lower legs where the flies had caused bare patches and sprayed the fly spray, aggressively, daily.  This week is when the burros really learned that all my attention has rewards.  

I switched the order of training from JJ first to Marty first.  SInce JJ is more nervous, this gives him a chance to see exactly what he will experience.  He watches quietly from their paddock.  

On Monday, I created an obstacle course in the small pasture next to the barn.  I've been turning the horses out in it, so the grass is eaten down enough to move easily.  I set up cones and a barrel to weave around.  I set up the jump with one side on the standard and the other side on the ground (for now).  I set up poles in a three sided square to work on turning on the haunches and stepping over.  Each day, I groomed the burros, walked them through the obstacle course, and then put the pack saddle on their backs.  Om Tuesday, the cinches finally came in, so I cinched it up by degrees each day until today, when it was fully cinched up and the breeching was placed over their hindquarters.  They did very well.  I'm so proud of both of them.  

Busy Days and Regression

 Events conspired to keep me from doing daily training for three days.  I managed to pet both burros daily and give them treats.  I also walked JJ around his paddock on Friday, practicing a few little things, but I didn't do the daily hoof picking.  As it turns out, that was a mistake.

I finally got Jeremiah out yesterday morning.  He was a little jumpier than usual.  It's amazing how fast these guys regress without daily handling.  I was on the last hoof, when he jerked it away from me in a spastic motion.  He hit my jaw with his hoof pretty hard.  It wasn't an intentional hit.  It was more just a sudden frantic pull.  I felt around and nothing was broken.  Just a bruise that will show up later and a cut on the inside of my lip.  Not a big deal, but ice would be good.  First, however, I got the soft rope back out, and used it on JJ's reactive leg several times until he was lifting on request and quietly holding it up for me until I let him put it back down.  After he was all groomed up, I put his saddle blanket and pack saddle on for the first time.  I don't have the cuinches, yet (should be here Tuesday) but JJ stood with it on his back for awhile.  When we were done, I groomed both Marty and my Mustang, before heading inside for a washcloth and some ice.  It feels much better this morning.  With a mask on in public, no one will even see the bruise that will likely form.  

I have a goal of taking JJ to the MHF show at the beginning of December, but our daily, or near daily sessions will have to continue long after that until he is a settled citizen.  He should be considered "green" for at a least a year.  My immediate concern, however, is that our farrier is due this week to trim both burros.  I'll do extra sessions and add a few new movements to mimic trimming and rasping to get them ready.  He is spookier and harder to train than Marty, but I remember that the spookier animals are also the more sensitive ones.  That sensitivity can be a good thing, once an animals is comfortable in their new life.  

Marty is finally gaining weight.  His hair lies closer to his body and he's lost some of that pot bellied look.  No more coughing either.