Ridin', Reinin' and Writin'

A week ago today, I picked up a female puppy at Crisandi Samoyeds in Keremeos. I had thought long and hard about buying a Samoyed - I could rescue one from SPCA and be many dollars ahead - but I could not imagine having another breed, having had Samoyeds for most of my life. Before this puppy was born, I had a deposit on her.

By the time I returned to Armstrong, where my horse trailer/living quarters was parked at a friend's, she had bonded to me. She adapted to travelling (although she didn't like the crate much and I doubt she will travel that way in the future!), sleeping in the living quarters of the trailer, and even "potty training". I had chosen a few name possiblities but did not settle on one until the next day -Mischa (pronounced "mee'-sha")., a name befitting her heritage (Samoyeds originated in the Ural Mountains of Russia).

 We spent one day in Armstrong before returning to the Chilcotin. I'm sure Mischa knew only one constant up to this point - me - and must have wondered if we were going to travel forever. That night I fixed a bed for her beside mine (no more crates!) and there she slept, only getting me up at 5:00 to go out. Having just returned from a trip, I didn't feel like staying up so I put her back in her "bed" with her toy, where she played a while then went back to sleep.

Mischa has lots to learn of course - necessary things like coming when she is called, staying where she is asked to stay and how to cope with country life. Slowly I am introducing her to the horses but it will be some time before I am comfortable with her around them - at least until she has grown up a little. I have taken her with me to feed a few times, keeping a watchful eye of course lest she get through the fence. (At least my horses are used to a dog, most of them having grown up with Kirby.) Mischa also must learn to stay in the yard, to lead on a leash (already started that) and how to be alone in the house. Small steps for now, though. I leave her for only very short periods of time. When she is outside on my big lawn, she romps and investigates - flowers, pieces of bark off the trees, bugs, butterflies.

Like all Samoyeds, Mischa loves people. Like all Samoyeds as well she looks like she is "smiling" when she opens her mouth. In this photo, she is "laughing"!

A responsibility? Yes, indeed, but there is no doubt that Mischa will bring an incredible amount of joy to my life. And does Mischa miss her litter mates? Not at all. After all, she has me . . . and all the attention!

She entered the world on June 8, 2011, a little, rather scrawny, bony sorrel filly with distinctive markings - a bold white strip down her face missing a chunk  (like someone had bit a piece out of it!) that turned up on the left side of her back in the form of an unusual, irregular-shaped spatter of white -  like someone flicked a paint brush at her. I had not been looking forward to this foal and now I had a crop-out! I was not thrilled.

 

  It had been a traumatic and sorrowful foaling season. Easter required emergency measures to save her baby and Prima lost the foal I had pinned dreams on. In fact, I had lost a piece of myself when I buried Baby Wimpy. I dreaded the last mare foaling. Whether I liked it or not, though, Silk was going to foal. I monitored her progress more out of duty than joy,  and now here the baby was - with her own set of problems - I had to drag her out of the stall when her mother colicked, then rescue her again a couple of hours later when mom had a panic attack! Although she was unfazed, I had had enough.

"When will it end?" I thought. "I'm tired and I don't want any more foals - ever!"

I gave her the name I had picked for Prima's foal had it been a filly (It wasn't.) - Feather. I had already decided not to plan ahead to next year even if I suceeded in getting Prima back in foal to Wimpys Little Step and giving the name away was part of that. Much had been attached to that name...(Read Feathers and Faith.) I let it go...

Feather is a month old now. Until recently I didn't pay much attention to her. I cared for them of course, even took a few photos, but I didn't halter her, pet her or hang out with her. I had nothing left to give and she and the two colts were just reminders of a painful memory that wouldn't go away.

Apparently Feather had other ideas. She always came to greet me, ignoring my indifference. If I sat in a lawn chair while Silk grazed, Feather would come up behind me and nuzzle my hair. She wouldn't leave me alone, wouldn't take "no" for an answer. And she won. Slowly, I emerged from my self-imposed, self-indulgent "funk". I noticed how pretty she was, how personality oozed from every pore, how she tried so hard for me to make me notice her. Feather was accomplishing what nothing else could. She was bringing me back to life. Like the gentle touch of a feather, she drew me to her. She is teaching me to love her. And the white spot on her back? It's growing too... and I'm learning to love it because it is part of her, a part of a very sassy filly who is filling a hole in my heart.

And so I must consider the possibility that my choice of the name, "Feather", had a far greater purpose than for a Wimpys Little Step filly. That name was meant to belong to a pretty, little sorrel filly with a big heart and the motivation to stir mine. Am I healed enough to face another loss? I don't know. But the other half of the title of that post last winter was "Faith". Remember - feathers are believed to protect and to carry spiritual messages. And I have my Feather.

Yesterday was Father's Day and, although my father has been gone for many years now, the day brought many memories back. I reminisced (to myself) about my childhood on the Diamond Dot Ranch with my parents and my brother. Those were happy times.

Brother Harold, Dad, Mom and I (1954)

These days I am trying to be happy. My last two blogs on Reinin', Ridin' and Writin' were not cheerful and this one is going be - even if I have to make a big effort... So, since there is nothing on the planet more joyful than young things, especially foals, I chose that as my focus. I would spend time with the mares and foals to re-kindle my spirit.

First I walked into the pasture with my camera to find Destiny, Whiskey, Easter and Timber. "The boys" are together now and lovin' it. They are very close in age and will grow up together. These are a few of the photos I took when I hung out with them.



Those of you who read this blog every week will notice that I have not posted for the last month. Those of you who know me, will understand why if you read the last blog. I have been walking through it.

It is exactly a month today since I lost my Wimpys Little Step foal and since that time I have flat-lined. I feed my horses, I ride, eat, sleep - but with no joy. Although I have always seen things in technicolor, now my world is somewhat colorless. Losing first my dog, then the foal that I had pinned dreams to, darkened my  world. 

Writing out my pain in "Beam Me Up, Scotty!" may have been therapeutic but I had a long way to go and still do. There is no shortcut to the other side, no way around, no way to avoid it - I have to walk directly through the pain. 

Life does go on. I had long ago planned a Vern Sapergia clinic May 27-29. As that time approached, I knew I had to muster energy to do all the things that needed to be done to make that happen. I cleaned the entire house since I had guests, planned meals, even baked the butter tarts that Vern likes so much, but because I had dragged my feet for so long, the grass did not get mowed and the windows did not get done. I rode my young stallion, Walking With Wolves, in the clinic and he was fantastic. Vern rode Running With Wolves and he was fantastic. Still I did not feel the surge of joy I usually feel when my horses do well. I was still walking through it.

Vern Sapergia on Runnning With Wolves

Walking With Wolves and I in Vern Sapergia clinic


The worst part of it was that I now did not look forward to the birth of my last foal. Silk was due May 20... and I was terrified. Not only did the joy go out of it for me, it was replaced by terror. I am not a fearful person and I can't remember the last time I was scared of anything but the thought of another limp, lifeless foal in front of me terrified me. But I knew I would have to face my fears.

Silk did not make it easy on me. She was late - very late! On gestation day 362 at 12:20 AM, she finally delivered a sorrel filly. My relief was short-lived. She jumped up, laid down again and started to roll. Colic??

"Perfect!" I thought. "Now I'm going to lose a mare!"

I dragged the newborn out of the stall so she would not get rolled on and went for Banamine and gave her the shot. After a few minutes, when she seemed to calm a little, I brought the filly back in but I could not go back to bed for some time - until I was sure she would not start thrashing around again. Finally, when she and the baby were laying down, I retired to the tack room... only to be abruptly wakened by a commotion in the foaling stall. Silk was having a full-blown anxiety attack. With a lot of talking from me and the foal sucking she calmed down again. I decided she was upset with the stallion in the barn (or any other horse!) so, at 4:00 AM I moved horses so she could have the barn to herself. Later I wondered if a bear had walked by the barn (if so, I was walking around with the bear!) OR was it the stallion OR had Silk picked up on my fears?

Silk and Feather

At five days old, little Feather is thriving and I am learning to love her and trying to believe she will not be taken. Scotty didn't "beam me up" of course, and he won't. Life is not like that. With my first show of the year only 10 days away, I am trying very hard to believe in all things good again but it's a process. I'm still walking through it.

This is a difficult post to write. I almost didn't, but since Ridin'. Reinin' and Writin' is supposed to be a bit of a snapshot of my life, I knew I must. Here goes...

There are bumps in the road of life for everyone, I know, and we all hope the bumps are only little ones. I have had some rather large bumps (more like craters...) along the way but, as my brother once told me, "You always pick yourself up and start over." In the past few years, after my husband walked out in 2004, I did that again - I started over. As always, the thread that had connected all phases of my life for all of my life remained - my animal friends. My female Samoyed, Kirby and my horses were my anchors. In the ensuing years, I willingly 'gave' all of me to them and they have returned to me more - a reason to be, deep understanding, loyalty and joy. With their help, I healed.

I knew I would be tested, however. It was just a matter of when and how. As last fall turned to winter and winter to spring, Kirby failed. Although I knew the logical decision was to take her in to the vet, I procrastinated. Although she could barely walk and was almost blind, she was not in pain. I carried her in and out; at times, I hand-fed her. She could still hear and that alone made her life livable for she heard my footsteps, my voice, the tractor, the horses - all the things she had heard all of her 13 years. Eventually, she lost her battle. She died the evening of May 12th.

I had been prepared for Kirby's passing and was grateful she had died at home. Even so, as I threw that first shovel of dirt on her lifeless body, I bawled like a baby. My loyal, loving companion was gone.

That night I slept in the tack room of my barn beside my mare, Peppy Del Cielo (Prima). She carried a foal by Wimpys Little Step and I had allowed myself to dream a big dream for this foal. If the foal arrived that night it would take the sting out of losing Kirby. 

At 4:00 AM on May 13th (that's Friday, the 13th!), I knew the mare was going to foal. A few minutes after 5:00, the foal was born - a mahogany bay colt with a snip on his nose and three socks - but he flopped in the straw limp and lifeless. Frantically, I checked his mouth and nose for mucous an, finding none, tried to hold him upside down to drain his airway. I could not get him high enough so I draped him over the water bowl. When nothing drained, I laid him in the straw and started CPR but no amount of air from my lungs was going to bring Baby Wimpy back to life. He did not draw one breathe. He, like Kirby, was gone.

Over twelve hours, I had lost my dog and a foal in which I had packaged my hopes and dreams. At first I did not know how I would be able to cope but of course, there were things to do - feeding the rest of the horses, weaning Prima (still licking the baby in hopes of reviving him) away from her baby, choosing a location to bury the foal, digging another grave...

So, by the fence in my house yard, under two small poplars that would someday shade Baby Wimpy's grave, I dug a resting place for the small innocent body one shovel-full at a time, tears mingling with sweat. I transported his lifeless body in the bucket of my tractor, laid him in the grave and kissed his cold, sweet nose, the same one I had tried to breathe life in to. And when the first bucket of dirt, tumbled over him, I collapsed over the steering wheel of the tractor, great gasping sobs racking my body. So final. Sooo.... over. First Kirby, then a wee foal that had not yet had a chance to live. I hope they are romping together in a green field...

With one more mare left to foal, I feel like I have nothing left to give. Beam me up, Scotty! I want to come back when it's better.

I've always been a little fascinated with the way very small things link my mind to events. Seemingly insignificant words, items or actions connect my thoughts to a time in my life or an annual event... like ice cream with my homemade caramel sauce and the Kentucky Derby. Forget the wide-brimmed hats, mint juleps and My Kentucky Home. Give me ice cream with caramel sauce. This is how it happened.

Years ago, when we only had one channel on our black and white television (that's after we could get television!), the Kentucky Derby was always aired - and it was a program we would not miss! Even though we were extremely busy at that time of the year, my husband and I planned to take a break for the prestigious event. For some reason, I remember one of those May Saturdays very well - so well, in fact, that it comes back to me at every running of the Kentucky Derby.

It was a warm spring day in Crooked River, Saskatchewan, the perfect day for raking, preparing the garden for planting and other spring work. My three young children played outside as my husband and I worked, checking our watch often. Finally, it was time.

As we walked to the house, I planned a snack for us, something befitting the big event and the advent of warm weather. Yes, I knew what I would do. I would make my mother's famous Caramel Ice Cream Sauce. As I stirred the ingredients together on the stove (now I use the microwave), the pre-race hype blared from the televsion. Just in time, I dished up ice cream for all of us, topped it with the rich, buttery sauce and sat down. On the screen, ladies in floppy-brimmed hats toasted with mint juleps while my family spooned a decadent dessert into our mouths. Ice cream with Caramel Sauce has not tasted any better ever since that day in 1973, the year Secretariat won the Kentucky Derby. Since he went on to win the Triple Crown, that could explain why that day and Ice Cream with Caramel Sauce is forever linked to the Derby in my mind. Or was it because it was a pleasant interlude with my family?

Here is the recipe:

This year Animal Kingdom won the 137th running of the Kentucky Derby... and I watched with a bowl of caramel-sauced ice cream in my lap.