THE BABYSITTER

It was a March day pretty much like this one. The air was filled with the aroma of blooming trees wafting in and out of the sun-warmed breezes. The song birds were singing their best songs, trying to attract mates. The budding leaves on the trees promised new life, just like Spring always does.

My eyes fell onto Arnie, my 26 year-old Thoroughbred-Quarter horse cross gelding. His once dark coat was dazzling white now. I had had him since he was 10. It seems like so long ago I happened upon this funny fellow. He belonged to the daughter of an acquaintance. She had to "get rid" of him because he had been diagnosed with Navicular disease, a chronic condition of the feet. A bone inside the hoof rotates and causes permanent lameness. There are some treatments, but no cure. No vet can make the bone rotate back into place.

In the way I always do, I just got a "gut feel" about this guy. So, I hitched up the trailer and drove to the barn where the woman said he was. When I pushed open the heavy door of the stable, a horse in the first stall nickered softly to me. It was him. He was ready to go home. He got right on the trailer after I paid the young, relieved woman $400 cash for him. He almost pulled the lead shank out of my hand rushing onto the trailer. Maybe he didn't want me to change my mind.

When I got him home, I placed him in the stall that always accomodates the new horses. It opens into a small grass paddock. There is no wall keeping the horse from roaming around the paddock. It always makes the horses feel more relaxed if they can look around a bit without having to fight for a "place" in the herd. Arnie settled in nicely.

The next morning I was shocked to see Arnie trying to open the back French doors with his lips. He had escaped somehow from the barn and he was bent on getting me back out there. He knew where I was. It turns out that he was on the thin side and wanted to be on the "husky" side. Pretty much everything he did was food-motivated. If you fed him some bribery carrots before your ride, you could be assured of the best ride he was capable of giving.

His favorite job began in earnest after he finally did get permanently lame (which took another decade). It was giving rides to all of the little children we could find. He knew that even more than the ride, the kids enjoyed feeding him carrots. We went through hundreds of pounds of carrots in a summer, much to Arnie's delight. A few pounds of carrots, a little ride, a few more pounds of carrots. Worked for him. All of those tiny fingers so dangerously close to his big teeth never once got even a little nip. I like to think it was because he was well aware of the deal: if he was careful not to hurt anyone, they would be sure to give him all of the carrots he could eat. Not every horse "gets" the deal, but Arnie did.

All of those warm memories flooded back to me like the sunshine on my face. When I focused on him, though, I knew it was time. He wasn't able to walk in a straight line. His tendons and ligaments had given out and when he walked, with much difficulty, he looked drunk. They had held his big body up for over a quarter century. It was time to let him rest.

I called the vet out and it all went quickly. I fed him a carrot (what else?) and before it was completely chewed, he was in a peaceful mound on the grass. No pain, no fear. Just 16 years of people who loved him and children who took their first ride on his back. We took care of each other, didn't we?

Keeping The Pace

I remember an old horseman laughing at me once when I told him that my horse was very smart.
"You can only call a horse smart if you are comparing him to another horse," he told me, with a smirk.

I beg to differ. My delightful, friendly, gentle, Norwegian Fjord filly is just that-SMART. She is constantly trying to figure stuff out. Whatever or whomever happens into her pasture is completely examined by this precocious curious 3 year old. When the vet was here a few weeks ago to "float" the older horses' teeth (a process that files down the sharp edges of their ever-growing teeth), Miss Bergitta was not happy until he placed the electric file into her mouth. She was not afraid, just needing an answer. What are we doing to her friend, Sport? After she experienced it herself (to a much lesser degree- young horses do not need floating) she knew that all was well and he would be fine. Indeed he was.

This intelligence can be something I need to keep in mind all of the time. I think about the 3 year old Thoroughbreds that are running in the Kentucky Derby at age 3. Are they psychologically ready for this tremendous pressure? I can honestly say no. I worked with Thoroughbreds from the track. Almost every one I got needed rehabilitation. They were frantic, kind of terrorized. Not to say that there aren't any who can take it- who even love the work. There are. But there are so many who flush out of the system who are mentally and physically broken down.

What I need to keep in mind when I train my filly is that she is more mature and smarter than so many other horses. Because of that, I sometimes think I can skip steps or rush through the process. That is ill advised. I am building trust that will last a lifetime right now. If I never ask her to do anything that she is not mentally or physically ready to do, she will learn that she can trust me, and I will be able to trust her. It is an important bond that is developing now.

I have been on her back at least 7 times now. Notice I did not say "ride". I work her on a lunge line and then I sit on her back while she walks around, getting used to my weight. We practice starting and stopping, turning, and just for about 10 or 15 minutes. Then she gets to have some Spring grass for a few hours. All in all it's a happy, positive experience for her. For me, too. So much so that I keep thinking I could just go on a trail ride with her. That will come in due time. For now, we are building trust. She still is such a baby in so many ways. A good baby, but still a baby.

Since horses live to be well into their 20's and sometimes 30's, we have a long time of trail rides ahead of us. It's best to pace ourselves.

JUST FOR FUN

Here is the second most photographed dog in the world (I have been told by a reader that THEIR dog is the first). No wonder Beagles have been in the top 10 most popular dogs ever since the popularity of dog breeds was assessed (I think in the early 20th century). How cute is this?

Always game for a party (you never know what refreshments will be served, lost, dropped or sneaked in your direction) Molly is wearing a traditional St. Patrick's Day top hat. Serve up a Guinness or 2 and the party is on! I am quite certain that wearing this hat gained a piece or 2 of corned beef for her. Hold the cabbage.

Molly is friendly and amiable with all people, especially fond of kids. All of that has a lot to do with her love of eating. People are the source of food. If they like you, they will give a treat or two to you. Children find it lots of fun to share food with dogs and children are not too capable of managing the food they have. It is quite easy to raid their tiny hands. Adults always give the children more.

When there is a party, because of the increased number of people milling around, there is chaos. Amid chaos is the best time to score tidbits. Molly really has all of this figured out. She probably knows that Easter is approaching and there will be hard-cooked eggs lying around, prime for the taking. There is very little that Molly has NOT figured out. She always has one goal in mind: Get a treat.

Of course, she has Gramma (me) wrapped around her chubby little paw. Grampa is worse. It is all a big game, and I think the Beagle is winning...

TRUE GRIT

Whenever I think of our stray, Trixie, I think of John Wayne riding into battle with the reins in his mouth and both guns blazing. She was a John Wayne kind of character.

We live on a dead-end gravel road where, all too often, irresponsible people drop off their unwanted animals. What do they think these animals are going to do? How will they survive? There is not a pet cat or dog that is able to forage for enough food to keep them alive. If it doesn't show up in a bowl, they will simply starve to death. Starvation is a nasty way to die. It infuriates me to think about those people for too long. But it gives me encouragement and inspiration to think of Trixie.

She came to us one day with a companion dog. He was timid and scared, unwilling to stay with us. We put them in a stall in our barn (we weren't sure about their health, temperaments, etc.) He had broken out and was gone in the morning. Trixie, on the other hand, was waiting for me. She was pretty sure this was going to be her best deal.

It was no time until she moved into our home and into our lives. She was plucky. She found her place in the "pack" and in our hearts. She accompanied me everywhere. Her favorite was walking down to the bus stop with the kids in the morning before school. She was friendly, happy and cocky.

It was over a year later that she began falling down. It was random at first, but after the vet took a look at her, he determined that she had a chronic spinal condition. It was creeping up her spine and eventually caused her hind end to become paralyzed. She couldn't walk. For a while, I carried her inside and outside, but realized it was hard on her to not be mobile. I was determined to find some way to improve her life.

Then I found a "wheel-chair" of a kind for dogs. I work with special needs people and have seen many kinds of devices that help them to move around. This was, however, the first time I had seen one for a dog. I ordered it and with much difficulty, fit it to her.

At first, she did not like it at all. I felt like I had made an awful mistake. In a few minutes, however, she got the hang of it. She became mobile- VERY mobile! She went everywhere again. I rescued her 3 times from trying to go swimming in the pond. One day, a neighbor dog stopped by. He outweighed her by at least 15-20 pounds and was a good 5 inches taller than she. But she decided that he was not welcome at our house. She lunged at him growling and snarling. One quick move on his part sent her reeling. I picked her up and she lit into him AGAIN! I encouraged him to go away (for Trixie's own good!).

Eventually, the spinal condition rendered her unable to use her wheelchair. We kept her as long as her plucky spirit and self-esteem could take it. One day, however, I knew it was time. She was okay with it, I believe. I have to believe it. She had become depressed not to be able to live the way she had been.

We only had a few years with her, but they were years learning how she managed her disability. She knew no limitations, but much joy in the extra years she acquired by coming to our house. She was an example of "every day is a gift." I have had the philosophical debate with others who decry the time, effort and money spent on just one animal. "Why not take that same money and save 10 others?" they ask. But I ask, who decides who is worthy and who is not? She was the one who searched me out. Her spirit inspired me and taught me an important lesson of acceptance of what is without allowing that to limit her.

She really is a beautiful testament of life worth living.

MY PUPPY

Our sweet, sensitive Labradoodle got spayed last week. Of course, it is inevitable. It is routine. However, it is a complex major surgery.

I made the appointment at Homeward Pet, a local low-cost spay and neuter clinic that also rescues dogs and cats. I had over a month before they could fit her in, so I had time to adjust to the idea. Of course, I was concerned about it. It is major surgery.

Augie is the most sensitive, aware, thinking dog I have ever met. She uses her soft muzzle to console sad people, to comfort those who are in need. She never misdiagnoses- she is always right on. Constantly trying to put together the puzzles that are humans, she often twists her head from side to side as if to say, "What are you saying?" She is loyal, obedient and smart- so very smart. Perhaps it is even more than that. Maybe she is intuitive.

That morning she needed to be at the clinic at 8:00 am. Leading up to the surgery, my husband made me promise that if anything seemed weird, I would turn and run. I promised. She was happy to go in the car. I already felt like a deceptive person. Waiting outside (we were early) we met some other spay/neuter candidates. They were scared and nervous; barking, pacing. Augie was anxious to meet any new friends. There were no new friends there that day.

When we went inside, I gave the place the scan. It was meagerly furnished, but clean. The woman checking me in was dressed in scrubs and very kind and calming. So far, so good. Then we went back.

The operating room doubled as the kennel. The cages were very clean and spaced about 3 feet apart. If they filled them all with prospective spay clients, they would have their hands full. Augie did not want to go back, but did because she is obedient and trusts me. I was beginning to feel like a real heel.

At the door of the crate, she stopped and would go no farther. The kind woman and I had to get behind her and shove. When locked in, I looked into her expressive eyes. I could almost hear her cry out, "Don't leave me here!" But it was just silence- Augie never cries.

I felt so badly. I couldn't really explain it to her, but I did tell her I would be back in a little while. I hoped she understood. All I could do was wait. I tried calling later that afternoon, but only got voicemail. They are very busy, I know.

She has bounced back (literally) very well. Perhaps all of my concern was ill-founded. But she is my puppy. She trusts me and I did not want to squander that trust. She seems to have forgiven me, if I needed forgiveness. I guess that might be one of the things we appreciate most about our dogs. They always forgive no matter how bad we might be.

MORE INSPIRATION

I was sent this picture and story from a follower. That is one of the best things about this blog for me- I get to be amazed and inspired by animals all over the world!

This is Molly, a survivor from Hurricane Katrina. She was abandoned by her owners when the hurricane hit. She was alone for weeks until she was finally rescued. Because there were so many animals in need in southern Louisiana at that time, she was stockpiled with numerous others at a farm. There, she was attacked by a Pit Bull and almost died. Her front leg became infected by the attack and she was in dire straits.

The owner of the rescue farm appealed to LSU for help, but was turned down because Molly, after all, was a rescue and not a well-bred horse. But Dr. Moore, a vet there, decided to help after he met Molly. She was careful, smart and gentle all at once. He sensed her strong survival instinct.

He removed the lower leg and she was finally fitted with a prosthesis made by a human prosthesis maker. She asks for it by putting her little limb out, and has a way of asking that it be removed.

Now, her job is to visit hospitals, nursing homes, rehabilitation centers- anywhere people need hope. She has overcome the hurricane, a life-threatening injury and all of the odds. She is tough, kind and adaptable. Anyone who knows me knows my favorite motto: "adapt and survive". Molly is a living example of that.

I think if you are reading this blog, you look to animals (at least sometimes) to demonstrate the character traits that we admire in our fellow human. Can an animal have unexpected courage? Yes, I think they can. Can they offer comfort and inspiration to those who cannot find it anywhere else? Animals can do that, too. Does God use that dog wagging its tail when we arrive home or that cat purring in our lap to give us the "hug" we needed that day? I'm pretty sure he does.