Audrey

We were newlyweds when we met you. Our vet told us about you when we said we needed a barn cat for our new home. He said you and your siblings were dumped over their fence. They tamed you down and gave you your shots. The vet’s little daughter played with you and your siblings daily. You had bright orange fur, striking white markings, and big, fearful eyes when we picked you up. You were only ten weeks old. You were very shy, but surprisingly cooperative as I held you in my lap for the drive home. You were too little to put in the barn, so we brought you into the house. You never actually made into the barn. You were so shy that you hid under the couch. We moved the couch and pulled you out to cuddle you because we were worried. You decided laps were nice. Our older kitty became your pouncing target (she was a saint). 

A month later, another foundling female kitten joined us and you were best of friends for several years until she decided the barn was preferable to the house. But you stayed inside with us. 

When our son was born, you became his companion. You tolerated his inquisitive hands and tight, baby grip on your tail (we freed you when this happened). You never bit or clawed him, or us. You stayed just out of reach when he was awake and snuggled by him when he napped. He was so enchanted by you that you were his motivation to crawl. He cruised around holding onto furniture in pursuit of you. His determination to walk was inspired by wanting to follow you. You stayed close by him all day long and then snuggled by our feet every night. You tolerated the comings and goings of other cats, dogs, baby chicks, and pet rats. But you hid when we had guests. I don’t think they believed we had another cat. After they left, we would seek out your big eyes reflecting in the dark under the furniture and tell you they were gone. You would emerge soon afterwards to reclaim your domain. You often perched yourself on my shoulders or draped yourself over my neck. I’d walk around like that while I put things away and then carry you to your apparently empty food bowl to refill it. 

As you aged, crawling up on my shoulders made you too sore, so you claimed any available lap. In your teens, you finally allowed yourself to be seen by quieter visitors. During COVID, you seemed to have more laps available to choose from, which pleased you. Your favorite spot was your bed in the sun as your arthritis began to bother you. 

A year and a half ago, we moved cross country with you, and you did well. You slept on our hotel bed each night until we arrived in the new house. You slept on our sleeping bags with us until the furniture arrived. We set up your bed in a sunny spot that first morning. It’s still your favorite spot. This past year, we’ve been managing your kidney failure as best we can without stressing you out. You’re 17 years old now and getting around is hard. You hobble around slowly these days, my dear friend. You yowl more often as if lost, so we call to you or come find you. After losing quite a bit of weight, you’re gaining it back now. But this weight is water weight as your poor kidneys have lost almost all functioning. 

We love you, Audrey. We love you too much to watch you suffer as the fluid makes your breathing more difficult. We love you too much to keep you when you struggle. We want you to feel safe and loved to the end. The vet will come here on Tuesday, because we know you hate to go there. I will hold you. It’ll be okay to go then. You’ve done well, little kitty. Roll and purr in the sun where there is no pain. Someday, we’ll see you again.

Matilda after two months

 It's taken a lot of senior feed and love, but this sweet mare has gained back her muscle and her energy. She frolics and plays in the pasture now. Her transformation is almost complete. Matilda has very nice ground manners and we fitted a saddle and bridle for her. We will do a little riding this fall, but trail riding will wait until spring. We want her hooves to be more healed up before we ride on the trails. 

Matilda is the most thankful horse I've ever seen Whenever we do something for her, however little, such as fly spray, a little scratch, or a treat, she gives us an extra look back. It's as if she's thanking us. The other day, she was a little cold, since she lost much of her hair and her winter coat is only just starting to come in. It had rained overnight and the morning was in the 50s. She was shivering a little, so we rubbed her down with burlap sacks to dry her. We had a blanket that we thought would fit her, so we carefully folded it up and placed it on her back, like it was a saddle blanket, just in case she had never worn one before. She was quite calm as we unfolded it and fastened the straps. As we left her paddock, she glanced up from her hay and turned her head to look at us. It was another thank you. 

Rehabbing Matilda

 We finished her treatment for anaplasmosis last weekend.  She will stay in the shade during the day for another few days because the antibiotic used causes light sensitivity.  She lost much of her hair from long term starvation, but what remains feels much healthier and less greasy.  With consistent fly control, her bumps and rashes have healed up.  She gained about 150 pounds total and looks much better.  She's not pregnant (the farm she came from had a stallion, so we checked).

The farrier was out last week.  We suspected a history of mild laminitis.  That was confirmed as the farrier removed her front shoes.  She was very difficult to handle because her feet were so painful.  Her hooves show the ripples and rings of foundering in the past.  Her right front is also slightly club-footed.  She's barefoot now and we're keeping her on softer ground as much as possible.  The rehab for founder takes a long time.  We'll try to keep her barefoot as long as she can tolerate it because that's best for rebuilding her hooves.  We're hauling her to the vet for hoof X-rays in a few weeks.  This is what her feet look like after the shoes were removed and her feet trimmed by our farrier.  Matilda did not tolerate putting her feet on the stand, so her couldn't smooth out the front of her hooves.

Left front

Right front

Progress with Matilda!

Matilda is going for slightly longer walks before her twice daily grazing.  We’re still at least a month from riding her, but some light ground work, such as learning voice commands during her walks, is going very well.  She’s smart and responsive to John. She whinnies whenever she hears or spots him.  This week, she began trotting and tossing her head in anticipation of her tasty food.  Her hay has progressed to better quality grass hay and alfalfa.  She’s still on senior and alfalfa pellets twice daily with her medicines added in.  She cleans up everything we give her. 

Her second weekly bath shows a few less ribs showing, some thickening of her neck, a little rounder between her croup and her tail head, and a brighter attitude.  Our new weight tape has her at 650 pounds, so she is gaining nice and slow.  The antibiotics are likely having a good effect on her overall attitude as the infection gets under control.  

Matilda’s vet check

 Fortunately, we had already scheduled our vet to come out on Monday, June 5th.  We called her office Monday morning and changed the appointment to new horse check up.  We mentioned her poor condition and asked a fecal check and bloodwork.  

Matilda was put into the round pen for quarantine.  The round bale was in better shape than the one she left behind, but she began mining the center immediately.  Perhaps these are survival instincts?  We introduced her to a small amount of senior feed and alfalfa pellets and gradually increased her twice per day ration.  She was eager to eat and had no diarrhea, so our pace was slow enough.  John began walking her twice per day for ten minutes to eat the rich grasses growing around the farm.  We introduced fly spray and fitted her with a fly mask.

The vet was appalled at her condition.  Matilda’s body score condition (BSC) was 2.  That’s scary skinny.  Not organs shutting down, but bad.  Her blood work showed low neutrophils and anemia.  She was also positive for anaplasmosis, which could kill her. Her fecal was negative, but she was started on a pro pack to make sure the parasite cycle was broken.  Her skin showed irritation, swelling, bug bite reactions, possibly ringworm, and rashes.  She’s was started on doxycycline for 30 days to kill off the bacteria from the ticks that caused anaplasmosis.  We gave her a bath in iodine and shampooed down to soothe and calm her skin (prescribed weekly).  She is also on hydroxyzine to quiet her many skin reactions.  We bought shoo fly boots for her as well as sunblock.  She came with front shoes and we were told she is sore without them.  She might have a history of mild laminitis, which means she might need to always have front shoes.  We will see as time goes on if good food is enough to help her feet.  

Her first bath.

Expectations versus Reality: A horse in need

 Our son lost his beloved gelding, Cutter, last summer from a twisted gut, as it’s called.  A sudden, violent colic that lasted for hours while the vet tried to determine the cause and control the pain.  The field necropsy showed a twisted loop of dead intestine from an unknown cause.  It was one of those horrible moments as a parent when you would do anything to take away your child’s pain.  All the stress of the move, all of us getting Covid, and then the loss of his best friend.  The buddy that carried him through trail rides we did together, especially during lockdowns and virtual learning, where we counted it as PE. Cutter was a horse he bought toys and treats for and taught to fart on command.  Cutter was a silly and gentle friend.  It was awful to lose him and it took time to mourn the loss.  

Finally, this spring we began searching for another suitable mount for our son.  His grandpa knows the raw pain of losing a pet and offered to pay for a new trail buddy for John.  Since he’s in high school, we discussed a horse that his dad could ride when he went off to college, if need be.  I pictured a sleek, shiny bay or chestnut gelding with quiet, patient eyes and a sense of humor.  Cutter was a bay Appaloosa.  The horse market, however, had changed a lot since we last bought a horse for John in 2019.  The prices were so much higher.  The search was narrowing in on some camp horses in their late teens/early twenties.  One, was indeed, a chestnut gelding.  We arranged for a pre-purchase exam with our vet for the following week, but kept looking.  I was worried about a horse that old.  Goodbye would come too soon after such a hard loss.

Meanwhile, an ad I had seen for at least a month got another look.  A 12 year old white, possibly pinto, mare either had terrible conformation, or was far too skinny.  It was difficult to tell for sure from the pictures.

We pulled into the older farm and met with a young lady who led us to some loose wire enclosing a dirty corral with several mares milling about near an empty feeder while the very skinny pinto mare had her head inside a hole she had excavated in the center of a decrepit round bale.  All of her ribs were visible under a raggedy coat with winter hairs still clinging around her barrel.  Various bumps, scratches, bites and rashes covered her.  Her hips stuck out and her flank sunk in.  Her neck was skinny and the pink skin around her blue eyes looked slightly swollen.  I have always avoided excessive white markings and blue eyes because pink muzzles and pink skin around eyes require higher maintenance, such as sunblock and fly masks that block some of the UV light to lower the risk of melanoma.  We were here to look at her and one other mare advertised.  All of the other mares were in good weight.  I heard the young lady say that the other mare was more energetic and that the pinto was slow.  

“You have to spur her to get her to go faster than a walk”, she informed us.  

I masked my feeling of horror at the thought of riding such a bony mare.  I was here for a horse for our son.  I exchanged looks with John and said, “The slower one would be more suitable.”  

The young lady unclipped the loose wires that made a makeshift gate and haltered the little mare.  As she walked her past, I looked at John and said quietly, “I just want to take her home and feed her.”  

My college buddy and horse trainer, Rachel, helped me in real time by looking at pictures and a video of the mare.  She didn’t see anything structurally wrong with her.  In fact, she said she was well put together.  This could work, I thought to myself.  

The young lady saddled her up and showed us how she rides.  I asked her only to walk away from the horse corral to evaluate her home bound enthusiasm.  The ride was very brief.  I got on next for a few minutes to see how she was when I turned her away and made her walk away from her friends.  John tried her afterwards.  He got her to move away, and despite her eagerness to return to her friends, the oversized bridle that caused the bit to clunk her teeth, and her sad condition, her naughtiness was only manifested in some slight balking.  Five minutes was enough to assure me that she wasn’t crazy.  I looked at John, who already knew my mind.  This mare needed us.  She needed a vet check and lots of good food.  As John explained to his dad later, it progressed quickly from “what do you think?” to “John, go walk your horse and get her some grass.”   

We arranged delivery of the mare that evening.  The young lady was relieved.  She explained that she bought the mare over a month ago, already in terrible condition, from a man in Wisconsin.  She was not getting her share with the more dominant mares in the corral and there were some high vet bills for the stallion she had also purchased recently.  She meant well, but it was too much to rehabilitate a mare in such poor condition with all the other horses they had.  The other animals were in good flesh, so I believed the young lady.  

The mare’s name is Matilda.  This is how she appeared when we first met her on 6/3.  She came home that night.  She weighed approximately 600 pounds and stands 14.2 hands tall.   

Eight Legged Terror

My husband hates spiders. Not just your average, ‘ugh, a spider’ but full blown “KILL IT DEAD, THEN KILL IT, AGAIN, JUST BECAUSE” type of dedicated hatred. His eyes gleamed when I jokingly suggested mounting the trophies of his dead foes on a plaque for all to admire.

So, anyway, one morning, he got into his truck and started it up. Now, this was back when we lived in Florida, which is the Land of Fearful Creeping Things. A small spider woke from his nap, probably hadn’t even had his coffee, yet, and slid down a line of silk to see what that disturbance was below. He was hiding, incidentally, behind the truck’s visor on the driver’s side, so, when he made his appearance to my fully alert, well-caffeinated, beloved, they were eyeball to many eyeballs. My husband was in the midst of backing the truck past my farm truck when he and Spider met. There was a millisecond when Spider swung mere centimeters back and forth in front of hubby’s eyes. Then, my husband exploded out of the truck to escape. The truck, still being in reverse, moved past my truck and the driver’s door bent backwards and scraped down the side of my farm truck before hubby realized and jumped back in to stop it. He was absolutely mortified that his fear had gotten the best of him. We got the door bent back so he could get to work and off he went, demoralized.

I called the insurance company and explained what happened. There was silence on the line. Then, the adjuster asked me, “Well, did he kill the spider?”