It’s not hunting season yet here in Jerome Creek; it’s fire
season. The area immediately around me here, with all the logging and National
Forest land, seems to be relatively well-managed and we haven’t had too much in
the way of local fires (I guess there was a small one, about two miles away,
that burned for a week or so, but it was out before I got out here). A. had
said to the previous house-watcher, Z., that in case of wildfire, open the gate
for the horses, take the dogs, and get out. While that is excellent advice, it
doesn’t do anything to protect us from the general air quality, which is listed
for the weekend as “Unhealthy for Sensitive Groups,” meaning “everyone should
limit exertion outdoors” and implying, I suppose, that those such as me, with
cancer/pneumonia-scarred lungs, should limit exertion. Full stop.
I suppose, also, that the trail clearing I did for a couple
hours yesterday afternoon, frequently sawing with my arm fully extended above
my head, and sometimes perched on rotting spars, hanging onto a stronger limb
with my non-sawing hand (bathed in sweat under my daypack)—I suppose that
counts as “exertion”, and I’ve probably fulfilled my quota for the . . . ever.
By way of comparison, the air quality in Beijing today, as
measured by the US Embassy, is listed at 192—which means you’re about to die.
Out here, it’s only in the range of 101-150. These numbers are based on some
measure of particulate matter as well as, perhaps, the type of particulate
matter, but who knows. At any rate, it looks like it would behoove me, as well as
my hooved charges, to stay close to home today, and by that I mean inside
typing or knitting. Me, that is. The horses can stay out, or penned in, as is
the case with Snickers. More about her later.
It’s hard for me to see the sun shining (well, glowing
through the haze) and stay inside—being from the Pacific part of the Pacific
Northwest means, in general, clean, wet, rainy air—and so no rain means go outside,
yes? Yes, for most of the year, although the bowl of the city between two
mountain ranges means that, by late August, heavy, filthy air pools over town. Flying
in, you watch yourself descending through a dun-yellow layer. The layer was
particularly dismaying this fiery September, returning to smoky, smoggy Seattle
on the 12th, after a generous week in the crystalline late-summer
air of watery Sweden. The rising sun on the 13th was End-of-Days
Red. It was a bit of a drag being home—like taking a puff on a cigarette. My
skin immediately began to feel dirty, my nose stuffy. As I slowly encrusted with
a limn of filth, becoming dun colored myself to match my surroundings, I
realized how much a creature of water I really am. Coming out here has not made
that observation less acute.
Note: I went outside
briefly to tend to Snickers and I wore one of my headscarves over my face. I
didn’t bring my oxymeter along with me this trip, but I’m definitely staying
inside. It’s bad out there.
I have also discovered that I am an aging creature of water—maybe not quite a 300-year-old sturgeon
yet, but definitely not 30 anymore. And so, when Snickers immediately came up
lame, my first morning here, I was not
thrilled to be given yet another opportunity to show off my rancher’s skills.
In the case of Snickers, she was lame with a stone bruise on
her right front hoof for a few weeks (?), up until the day K&A left for
their trip (Europe, 11 Sept-4 Oct). She was given sturdy shoes on the morning
of the 11th, with pads built in so that the rocky terrain wouldn’t continue
to injure her sensitive soles, and then
she was turned out with the other horses and went galloping off up the hill—after weeks on stall rest—and
K&A left, she went out daily for a week, and on the 19th when I
went to let the horses out, Snickers couldn’t put any weight on her right leg
at all.
SIGH.
This is where 1) having some knowledge about horses and 2)
loving this family and their animals, are MAJOR inconveniences. I let Shadow
and Sikem out, and brought Snickers up to the Garagemahal where I found her
last recovery stall still recognizable as a sick-bed: there is a deep, soft
layer of sawdust in Sikem’s stall and pen, the nearest one to the house. I
stumbled upon wraps—evidence of leg-care—on the work bench in the garage. I
gave Snickers some hay, then came inside to call W, K&A’s daughter in
Seattle, who knows the place in and out and is also comfortable issuing
directives about her parents’ animals. We decided to have the vet in.
To sum up: Snickers’s right foot seems to be fine, although with a slightly suspicious swelling
in a spot on the coronet (just above the hoof). This could be related to a
deeply cystic stone bruise; it could be nothing. Her tendon between the pastern
(ankle) and the knee (knee), however, is swollen and sore. To help her heal,
she is having both front legs wrapped (note: by me), with big puffy bandages
and leg-wrapping material, that I’ve had to tape on because the wraps don’t
have Velcro or anything else (I had to go in search of tape). Snickers was not
happy to hear the startling sound of duct tape unrolling under her belly the
first night. These bandages are essentially support hose.
Twice a day, although for my own peace of mind it’s going to
be once a day, she gets a cold-pack for 15-20 minutes, which means unwrapping
and wrapping and unwrapping and wrapping her right leg.
(An aside: Tessa just
farted a BIG ONE in the kitchen. I feel that that is, truly, the final insult.
I can’t go outside; and now I’m about to expire inside as well. Stupid dogs.)
Since Snickers is in a stall, I have to feed her morning and
evening, and it’s better to feed her from a bag, which hangs and she doesn’t
have to bend down, putting more pressure on her front legs. The bag was
difficult to find, but I did find it after about an hour. It also takes me about
5 minutes to feed in a hay bag, instead of 20 seconds to chuck hay over the
side of the stall. Today I have to toss down another bale of hay from the loft
(I think these are smallish, 75-pound bales, but I haven’t tried to move one
yet), which I’m sure is going to freak the horse out. I’m thinking I’ll try and
toss it out onto the driveway . . .
The water in the barn is turned off, for some reason, so I
had to go search out hoses with which to fill her water tank every day (note:
her water is also Spackle’s favorite outside drinking water source.). I had to
bring salt up from the outdoor pens (about 45 pounds left in the 50-pound block)
which meant I had to go into town and buy more salt for the pens. That was
fine, however, because I also had to go into town for the medication that I
have to administer 2Xday. I had tried to get the oral injectable version, which
is like a big syringe of worming goop that you squirt behind the molars, but
the vet was out so I ended up with an orange-flavored powder (the vet: “Orange,
yeah. Horses don’t eat oranges, so I’m not sure about that.”) that I have to
mix with syrup and grain (so the powder sticks, and so she’ll eat it). This is
messy, and the powder is “not to be used on horses meant for human consumption”,
which, the way it appeared in two lines on the jar, made me think at first that
they were saying “Not to be used on horses; Meant for human consumption.” This
was briefly confusing for the internal linguist, but I figured it out. Note to
readers: do not ever eat Snickers, horse-version. She’s had a lot of bute.
AND, finally, because she’s now in a stall, I need to scoop
poop every day and because she’s much closer to the house with all her poop,
the flies have come back. I’ve probably killed at least 60 flies inside in the
last 4 days. This starts to get disgusting, after a while.
I’m not sure if I’m done listing ALL THE THINGS I HAVE TO
DO, but I’ve gotten very bored with it and so I’m going to stop. I was feeling
quite resentful of K&A yesterday, that I was out here doing A LOT of work,
when really all I wanted to do was ride, wander, and write—at Shadow’s pace,
which has slowed considerably this year, as I’d wished for mine to do as well. But the
fact is, K&A are going to be SO GLAD that I
was here, and SO SORRY anyway, that I had to deal with all this, and they are
wonderful, dear people who have enriched my life in immeasurable ways. So, much
as I am tired of the hassle and covered with dirt and smoke, inside and out,
and disappointed that this visit isn’t the vacation in paradise that I have
come to expect—although, part of my previous definition of paradise INCLUDED being able to solve problems difficult
for the standard housesitter, and that definition is clearly changing—even though
all of that is true, I am unbegrudging in my care for these animals and this
place. I, too, am VERY GLAD that I am
the one here right now.
But . . . as Shadow ages, and as K&A age, and as I age .
. . my standard of spending weeks here, year after year, is coming to a close. I
could see another, shorter trip next June, maybe, when conditions are the
perfect blend between wet and dry; and a long weekend in the late fall, maybe for a couple more years . . .
but life is moving on for all of us who love it out here.
Two valuable lessons that have come from Jerome Creek: I
will happily rent out my pastureland to livestock owners who will be entirely
in charge of their livestock. Also, I will buy a grand piano long before I’ll
buy a horse. I think Ian will go along with me on these.
No comments:
Post a Comment