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?”

Winter Adventures

We moved from what Florida called a farm to what here counts only as a hobby farm, which characterizes it well. Our animals are essentially freeloaders. We knew we had to build an enclosed barn for the three goats because they are the most vulnerable to drafts and cold, but the horse, pony, and donkey could also use shelter.  After much planning and research, weconverted a three sided shed into a barn with three stalls and a sliding door. We also updated the electric for bucket heaters. That worked out well. The animals are sheltered from wind and cold inside the barn on cold nights and during bad weather.

We moved up here for a good job and my husband is an essential type worker, so the Friday of the big blizzard (12/23), We packed into my big older truck to get him to work about seven miles away.  The temperature was close to -36 with the windchill.  Little did we know, lurking along our rural road, was Mr. Drift. At the point my husband’s office was calling to cancel the day’s appointments, we were right in the nest of Mr. Drift. I was carefully turning the truck around, in a 73 point turn, when Mr. Drift grabbed hold of the rear tires, let out a maniacal laugh, and my poor truck showed one of those really bad lights on the dash. I think it was a wrench. Drivetrain issue. Our neighbor, the same wonderful folks that invited us over for a Fourth of July party (which we assumed was so they could identify our bodies when we ended up freezing to death later) pulled the truck out of the clutches of Mr. Drift. Gave us a wry grin and said, “welcome to Minnesota“. I limped the poor truck to the mechanic the following week. As it turns out, my truck is a hypochondriac. It was really cold and it just didn’t feel like working that day. Probably was intimidated by the real farm trucks sneering at its clean underbody.

The very next day, Christmas Eve, our heater broke. Now, if you’re living in a mild climate, this is a mild annoyance.  Along the lines of, “Hey, we should put on a sweater and snuggle by the fire.”  If you live in Minnesota, however, this is a holy-snot-icicles-hanging-from-my-nose three alarm EMERGENCY!  We did some troubleshooting and tried to replace parts ourselves, including the compressor, to no avail. My husband bundled up and took the car (the truck was still in the box of shame) to head out for parts and a couple of space heaters. Thankfully, a lovely soul of an electrician from the parts store came out and determined it was the control board.  He temporarily bypassed it until the replacement came in. As he was leaving, he waved, chuckled to himself, and said, “welcome to Minnesota!”

So, we‘re still here. We’ve learned the ways of the snow blower, reminded ourselves how to handle driving in winter conditions, revived the ancient art of shoveling, and how to use all those weird pieces of clothing to assemble outfits based on the temperature.We have missed the snow these last fifteen years, having lived in colder climates before we moved down to Florida.

What we don’t miss, as we dress out to do morning chores and chisel frozen horse turds out of the stalls, are flying roaches the size of drones coming for your soul as soon as you open the door. Vicious little scorpions waggling their business ends at you whenever you’re working on fences. Fire ants silently sneaking up your limbs to find choice spots to bite simultaneously. People driving like they’re late for the rapture and you can’t come because you don’t go to their church/ascribe to their politics (all of which are on prominent display on their vehicles). So, they go roaring on by because of an imagined offense, cutting you off, honking, and screaming obscenities while you cower and say a quiet prayer that they won’t pull out an uzi or AK-47.

We can’t wait for next winter!  

The White Stuff

 As mentioned before, only one of of our outdoor animals had ever seen snow before.  My Mustang was rounded up in Nevada, so she had observed the white stuff in small amounts in her desert home.  But this is Minnesota.  Real snow falls here.  In fact, we had a record winter.  So far, we’re in the top ten for snowiest winters on record.  As a family, we’ve learned about snow plows and snow blowers.  Clearing the driveway and shoveling our way off the front porch and into the barns.

That first snowfall was quite a surprise for the outdoor animals.  They were all tucked away inside their new barn overnight.  We built a large pasture and set up the panels as a round pen for turnout.  We don’t have a shelter out there, so the horses can only be turned out when the windchill is above zero.  

One morning, the first snow covered everything overnight and was still falling lightly.  I took the pony out of the barn to turn her out.  Sweet, little Florida raised pony.  Snort!  Stop.  Look of absolute bewilderment.  The whites were showing at the edge of her eyes.  I waited until she took a step.  Another step, and then she was walking cautiously with her head up and nostrils flaring.  I turned her out in the pasture to sort it out for herself.  She pushed her nose into the snow and drew it back snorting.  A look towards me as if saying, “This white stuff is covering my food.”  Bitsey the horse was next.  She was more savvy from her days as a wild horse, but still pawed and snorted at it.  She showed the pony how to paw the snow off the grass.  They were soon trotting with their tails high through the pasture. Lastly, the mini donkey, Tony, was led outside.  He was the first to jump around playfully and discover the slipperiness of it. He caught himself with his legs slightly splayed and reassessed the situation.  More cautious steps forward and then he was turned out with the others.  As a young donkey, he was the daredevil, testing the new surface.  One bit of a slip slowed him down a little, then off again to play.  He pushed his muzzle into the snow and then shook his head.  That was cold!  The goats, however, were having none of it.  Already very judgmental regarding rain, they were not buying its clever frozen disguise.  They made a quick u-turn right back into their stall.  Our two barn cats sleep in the heated workshop overnight, mostly to keep them safe from coyotes.  Ralph the barn cat trotted out behind Minnesota native cat, Polly.  He froze and stared.  His whole world changed.  Polly leapt about playfully in the fresh snow, leaving the cutest polydactyl tracks behind.  Ralph startled when I closed the workshop behind him and then looked up at me and glared before stalking off with irritable steps into the frigid white stuff touching his precious paws.  He wouldn’t even look at me while I turned the horses out and did chores.  The only picture I got of him is from behind.  He was so mad.  

Help!

Transformations

The changes in daylight hours trigger outdoor animals to grow winter coats.  Our animals came from Florida last April, which meant they had already experienced long enough days to mostly shed out.  We blanketed the two horses, the pony, and the donkey until the weather warmed up.  In anticipation of winter temperatures, we worked on converting the three sided shed into an enclosed barn.  This was most critical for the three goats, who can handle cold, but not wind chills.  

This is what we started with.  

This is what we finished by mid October.  We did all the work ourselves, including electrical.  

First Real Autumn

 It’s been so many years since I enjoyed fall.  In Florida, it was the time when you might be able to wear a sweatshirt for about an hour in the morning before giving up and peeling it off.  It was also a good time to work outside without swimming in your own clothes from accumulated sweat.  The red maples would turn, if the days were cold enough, but it was subdued and mild.  It was only a mere suggestion of fall.  

Not so here in Minnesota.  The most intense heat withdraws in September.  October gradually cools and the show begins in the southern part of the state and gradually moves north.  November is when the snow arrives and the leaves disappear under a frosty blanket.  Our farm put on a proud show for the season.  True Autumn has been missed.