The Bucking Bathroom

   I had just fed the horses and was sweeping up when I heard a strange swoosh, swoosh sound coming from outside.  I walked out and looked around the side of the barn.  The porta potty, which normally sits, still, on a concrete slab on the edge of a hill, was lurching itself off the side.  In bewilderment I watched the bucking bathroom, that was in desperate need of a servicing, begin to do the toilet timber.  I envisioned what that thing would look like on the inside after it made landfall. My living nightmare was interrupted when I saw a white tipped tail poke out the bottom.
    Lilly, my dog, was wedged underneath the thing and was trying to get out.  She wiggled her way out just as it was tilting past the point of no return.  I ran over and braced myself against the crapper.  I pulled out my cell phone and speed dialed my husband.  I got his voicemail.  I told him "Houston we have a problem.  The shitter is about to hit the hill, call me back." 
    I was on my own.  I tried shoving it back on the slab but it was just kept catching itself.  I  pushed on each corner, one at a time until inch by inch I got the john standing back at full attention. 

Standing tall.

    As I was patting myself on the back, Lilly ran past me and shoved her head back under the throne.  She was going after a mouse!  I grabbed her by the back legs and drug her out.  I only had one restroom rescue in me for the day.  She got a time out from the toilet while I called the porta potty company to come and clean the commode.

Leave the mice to the cats Lilly. 

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Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com  June 4, 2014

One Step at a Time

     I have been a member of the California State Horsemen's Association's  (CSHA) Trail Riders Awards Program (TRAP), since 2012. TRAP was established in 1988 to honor and recognize the trail rider who is the foundation of the CSHA and to encourage the use and maintenance of riding and hiking trails.  I keep track of the hours I trail ride and maintain in log.  At the end of each month I send my log into the program chair.  This poor woman patiently deals with my number dyslexia and corrects when I've accidentally added a 60 hour ride into one of my days. 

   As the hours spent in the saddle add up, you get awarded patches and plaques for your accomplishments.  It's always fun to get a lumpy envelope with a patch that awards you for another 100 hours left behind in hoof prints.  The main reason I joined is that the club is able to take all of the participant's hours, region by region, and have them work to encourage participation at state and local government levels to preserve equestrian traditions and to safeguard the equine community against policies that adversely impact its well-being. 

     Over the last few years Autumn and I have logged just over 600 hours.  We just received our 500 hour plaque which hangs off a crooked thumb tack in the barn.

 

Our major award!

Our trophy on display amongst our clutter.
(Snowdrops, can you see your blue ribbon award you made us?  We love it!)

    Autumn and I have swam away hours.

Splashing in sunshine on the Mad River

 

    We have camped away a weekends of hours riding through, and under, the most gigantic old growth redwoods at Cuneo Creek.

Cindy leading the way on Syria under a fallen redwood tree.

   We have left time in memories on the beaches in Humboldt county.

Caught in a fall sunset at Clam Beach

    When Autumn injured her stifle we walked side by side through the forest as she healed.  Our time spent on the trails sometimes only adds up to 15 minutes, just a quick walk before work. Other times hours melt away.  I don't think many people would bother to add those 15 minutes in but I write them all down.  Hoof beat by hoof beat we have logged over 600 hours. 
    It is amazing what a fifteen minute ride can give you.  It is fifteen minutes of being with my best friend sharing in the way the light slips into the forest.  Sharing the way the shadows fall from the clouds onto the mountains.  Sharing the echo of bird songs in the blowing breezes.   
    Below is a fifteen minute trail walk with Autumn as my photo assistant and Lilly leading the way:

Leaving the barn.

Looking at  Kneeland, the mountain across from us.

Autumn at New Pond, not happy that she is not pigging out on grass.

Autumn happier after I let her get a little snack of grass....I'm a total pushover.

Making the turn for home.

Snow Camp is the mountain across from us.

There's Autumn's palace straight ahead.  She is happy because she knows that it is dinner time.



   If you would like more information on how to join CSHA click on  California State Horsemen's Association.  If you would like to participate in the TRAP program please click on California State Horseman's Association Trail Rider Awards Program.

Thanks for reading!  If you would like to be added to my mailing list or would like to contact me please email me at Jacksonhillhorseygirl@aol.com.

Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com May 28, 2014

A Friend In Need

     It was close to 7:30 in the evening when I had finished feeding the horses at the ranch after I had gotten home late from work.  Autumn was waiting by the gate of the pasture when I went to catch her.  There really wasn't much catching involved.  I walked up to my dozing draft horse and slipped her halter on.  Her breath was heavy with spring's new  grass. 
     I tucked her into her stall and gave her a little hay for dinner.   I turned a bucket over and sat in her stall to read my book for a bit.  As I read I listened to her shift her weight from leg to leg.  After a few pages it got real quiet.  Autumn was not eating.  I looked up to see her puffed up like the Goodyear Blimp with ears.  The poor thing was so bloated and gassy from all the rich spring grass!  Of course I sort of panicked like I always do when she is hurt or not feeling well.  Then my logic kicked in...get her walking and farting!  I slipped on her halter and we headed for the hills. Gravity can be a great asset for gas expulsion in farm animals.  I decided that I would walk her for a half hour and if no farts I would call the vet.


“Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself” ~Zen saying
"...then it will make your horse explode" ~Jackson Hill Horsey Girl add on to Zen saying

     The twilight grew faint. The wind hushed the air gentle with soft stars.  Autumn stayed close to me and I stroked stroke her mane as we walked.  The lion in the constellation Leo pursued us through the trees above.  Mars blushed at Jupiter as we walked below on the country road.  I prayed to the stars to help make my friend feel better.
Then the stillness broke...more like, wind broke.  Our quiet walk through the woods began to sound more like a world polka band convention chasing us through the woods.  It was music to my ears.  I sighed as Autumn deflated to her normal giant size. 
    The moon broke free from the horizon and guided us home as we tooted up the hill.  I tucked Autumn in her stall and she happily began eating.  I was so relieved and happy.  I hugged her and headed home...Then I neurotically went back up to the barn to check on her a few more times that night and then I went to sleep.  

 

 

The moon catching Autumn's blaze in it's blue glow

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Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com  May 21, 2014 

It Is Not The Mountain We Conquer

    The Banff Mountain Film Festival rolled into town this past Monday and Tuesday night.  This is an annual international film competition which features short films and documentaries about mountain sports, culture and environment.  Each year we suck it up and stay out until eleven on a work night. 
     The sport films are extreme to say the least.  Base jumpers leap off cliffs and take flight wearing only a webbed squirrel suit.  People kayak off giant waterfalls while others climb mountains in Antarctica.  My favorite movie this year, was about a group of French guys that had paraglided three hours across a valley to a remote mountain range to ski/fly pristine snow slopes (you can see the movie trailer at Poor Man's Heli.)  Adrenaline held me on the edge of my seat in awe.  When it ended I walked to the car feeling very boring.
     I fed the horses a little late the following morning.  I had somehow managed to find an extra half hour to take Autumn for a quick ride. The birds sang to the morning as the sun's soft light slipped between the shadows of the ferns and trees.  I asked Autumn to head towards the entrance of the forest trails but she drifted up the hill.  I didn't argue.  In spring's blue air, we wandered through patches of lavender redwood sorrel, butter cups and magenta fringed English daisies.  Before we reached the heart shaped pond, Autumn tucked under the trees.  I had to lean across her neck and tuck my face into her mane to avoid the branches. She emerged on a rocky outcropping. 
     There we stood, in front of the world.

    Newborn pastures, cerulean mountains and ever greened trees

 found the looking glass pond catching the alabaster clouds that floated by...


How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!
~John Muir

....Autumn gave this all to me.  
     We enjoyed it all until it was time to go.  Our options to descend from the out cropping were all pretty steep (steep for my taste).  Once again, Autumn took the reins and headed straight off the side.  The little voice in me said trust Autumn and give her her head.  That's what I did.  My 2,000 pound horse was like an extreme mountain billy goat, clinging on to nothing without sliding.  I nervously giggled all the way down, the not very impressive, five foot drop with adrenaline pumping through my veins. It wasn't a 9,000 foot peak in Antarctica we had just scaled down but it was our adventure and I won't forget it.

Autumn and I shadowing over our conquest

       
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Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com April 16, 2014

Barnyard Fever

  Barnyard Fever...it happens.  Occasionally, we get calls at the veterinary hospital concerning some of our bi-curious barnyard patients pushing the boundaries of interspecies relationships.  We have had pigs humping dogs, dogs humping cats, bulls humping bushes and so on.  You never know who's going to come out of the closet at the stable.

Hey baby, I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?
 

    On one particular day, I received a call from a man who had panic in his voice as he told me that his goat had been attacked by a dog.  I got the vital information and told him to bring the goat in right away.  I asked if he knew who owned the dog to be sure that it was vaccinated for rabies.  It turned out that he owned the dog and he proceeded to explain the events that led up to the attack.  He had a female goat and a male goat that lived peacefully with his large male dog (both male animals were fixed).  He explained that the dog and the female goat sort of had a thing and would hook up once and a while.  Well, on this day, as they were hooking up, the male goat decided to join in on the barnyard boogie and hooked up with the dog.  This was not cool with the dog.  The dog was OK with girl goats, but wasn't into the whole dude goat, threesome thing.  And that, is how we got our eleven o'clock emergency appointment that day.  The little guy made a full recovery.  I just don't know if he will ever be immune to the barnyard fever.

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Copyright (c) 2014  Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com March 26, 2014

Scrub Top of Sin

   I had been wearing the same three scrub tops (shirts worn at veterinary/medical jobs) at the veterinary hospital for months now.  It was time to mix it up. I dug in the scrub top pile and found one I had not worn in years...the cat scrub top.  I used to wear that thing every time I mowed the lawn until we got a landscaper.  The scrub top had faded a bit with the passing of time but the kaleidoscope of cats involved in cat shenanigans was ever present.  I put it on and modeled it for Susie who had never seen it before.  Her look told me that she wished that I kept it that way.  She asked if I was seriously going to wear that all day.  The answer was yes.  Yes, that I was 35 and I was going to wear a shirt with a collage of cats and kittens all over it at my horse and livestock veterinary job, helping our rough and tumble conservative cattle ranchers, cowboys and dairymen in it. 
      I had brought in clean towels from the laundry room to fold in the lab.  The doctor was studying the results of a milk culture on the opposite side of the room.  As I set the laundry basket on the counter it knocked the hand lotion over.  It fell into the sink, pump first, and shot out giant wad of lotion that split into two wads in mid-flight.  One blob landed on the doctor's shoulder and the other just missed nailing him in the head and gacked the cabinet behind him.  Susie pointed, laughed and cried as I stood there frozen.  When nothing happened, I got a paper towel and wiped the goo off of the doctor's shoulder as he continued not to look up.  It took Susie about a half hour to stop laughing. 
    Later we got a call from one of our older beef clients.  They had a cow that was not wanting to get up in the pasture.  The doctor told me that I was going with him.  The couple were in their eighties and he thought it would be good to have an extra hand to help out, even if they were wearing a scrub top with kittens on it.  The rancher's wife showed us the cow who jumped up when she saw us and gave us a wild eyed head toss.  We decided to get her into a smaller space to work on her safely.  We got all the right gates opened to channel her into the chute.  The rancher came out to join us.  He navigated the mud well enough with his cane to make it out to the pasture to where the cow was again laying down.  As we cautiously approached her, she jumped to her feet and stared down the doctor and took a few running warning steps at him.  The doctor said that he was going to get a stick to swat her with if she decided to charge at him.  I stayed at a safe, run for the hills, distance from her.  The rancher, though, continued on.  The cow put her head down and charged the rancher.  She crashed into him, knocked him to the ground and then charged down the doctor.  He jumped up on some old farm equipment as she bashed her head below him.  I ran over to the rancher to help him up, ready to grab his cane and give her the 3:00 in the school yard lesson if she decided to come back for more.  Luckily, she ran through the fence into the next pasture.   Thank goodness everyone was okay and the rancher had only a few scrapes.  We decided that the cow was miraculously cured just by the mere presence of doctor.  We called it a day.  
   When we got back to the office we told the wreck of an appointment story to everyone.  We all agreed that the whole day just had some bad ju ju about it.  That's when Susie pointed at me and said, "It's the cats! As soon as you put that thing on that's when it all started!" 
    I took it off and tossed it in the hamper just in case it was the cause and then sort of forgot about it.  A few days later, when folding the laundry, I came across the cat scrub top.  I took it out and slipped it on.  I told Susie to take my picture in it for the blog. 

Look what the cat dragged in. 

      I had it on for about one minute and thirty five seconds, give or take, before I took off the voodooed garment.  The doctor left the office for an appointment and a half hour later we got a call that her patient had crushed her foot and broke her toe.  Susie then had to leave because her horse wasn't feeling well and had to have the doctor go see him.  The whole day just kept filling up with, family emergencies, people bumping heads and just plain bad luck.  When the doctor returned to the office she made it clear that the cat scrub top was never to be worn again. 
     I thought back to the past when I would mow the lawn in the cat scrub top.  I did not recall any phenomenal bad luck in it except for the last time I wore it.  It was a bright sunny day, about four years ago.  I was happy to be out of the office mowing.  I was on my last lap when I had that funny feeling that I was being watched.  I looked over toward the chain link fence.  Through the trees I saw a man looking at me intensely with his pants down and well...entertaining himself.  I stopped mowing, cursed him out, went into the office and called the police.  I was so mad and grossed out by the whole situation.  My friend Amanda, who worked there at the time and loved to find silver linings told me that I should look at it as a compliment.  That's quite a compliment for a woman mowing the lawn wearing a kitten shirt. I never mowed the lawn in the cat scrub top again.
    I decided to take a closer look at the cat scrub top for some clues that could reveal the mystery of its darkness.

What cryptic message do these cats hold?

     There were fat cats, stoned looking cats, angry looking cats, proud looking cats... There it was plain as day!  These cats were all, obviously, indulging in the seven deadly sins; lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride.  I referenced the "What Christians Want to Know" website for a refresher on the exits to humanity's highway to hell.  After reading their site I was 100% sure, without a doubt, that this was the scrub top of sin.

Lust

A sinful ménage a trois.  Notice the heathen kitten to the right joining in, licking the black cat's ear.

 

Gluttony

The middle cat hasn't missed any fancy feasts lately.

Greed

This is my kitten bitches.

Sloth

No explanation needed.

Wrath

Cat's got your tongue?  How about your tail?

Envy

Green eyed monster! 

Pride

This cat knows he's too good for this scrub top.

     Like a Judas Priest record played backwards, I had been sublimely spreading the messages of the dark side through kittens sewn by the threads of sin.  Cat-in-hell-chance I'll ever wear that thing again.

Thanks for reading!  If you would like to contact me or to be added to the mailing list please email me at Jacksonhillhorseygirl@aol.com.

Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com March 15, 2014

A Date With Some Goats

    Susie and I had waited a week for it to be Tuesday after 5:00.  Susie had covered me the last hour of work so I could run home to feed the ranch horses early.  When I got back to the office her daughter, Ella, had been dropped off.  We had a dinner date with about fifty or so hungry and totally cute baby goats.  One of our goat and cow dairy families, that are clients at our veterinary hospital, said that it would be okay if we came by after work to help them feed their baby goats.
    When we arrived we were met first by the dog and after a few minutes of waiting and worrying if they forgot that we were coming, the farmer.  Out of the back of the pickup he unloaded four, five gallon buckets filled with cow's milk for the baby goats.  We followed him into the dark barn.  When he turened the lights on the barn erupted in a chorus of tiny  me~me~me~meeee-s (aka baby goat sounds).  The babies were divided into groups of four and kept in play pen sized enclosures, bedded with straw.  There were a few does (girl goats) with their newborn kids(baby goats) and a few does waiting to have theirs. 
    The farmer and his assistant pulled out totes of clean bottles and nipples.  Each bottle got a scoop of supplements before being filled with the fresh cow's milk.  The farmer attached the nipple, shook the bottle until it was well mixed and placed it in a hot water bath to keep warm.  He pointed out the pens of the kids that we would be feeding.  He was quite the host and set us up spots to sit while feeding.  He set a clean towel on a office chair that had turned into a pimped out milking stool for Ella.  Susie got a step ladder with a towel and I got a bucket that was filled to the rim with grain.  Every time I got up, one of the hens would hop on it and do the funky chicken, flicking grain, my seat,  all over the floor.
   Our job was to feed the kids most recently separated from their moms.  Unlike the older goat kids that could feed off of bottles hanging from a holder, our little guys needed a little extra help guiding the nipple into their little mouths.  After receiving our instructions we leaned over the rail of the pens to scoop up our first babies.  They me~me~me'ed and darted around the pen in a hungry hysteria.  Catching them proved harder then we expected.  Then Susie stepped in.  She leaned over and grabbed one of the little suckers faster then a lightening bolt.  She passed one to Ella, then before I could blink she handed one to me and had her own in her arms.   The whole evening she wrangled up our little dinner dates earning her the title of the fastest baby goat wrangler in the west...or at least between the three of us.  
      We sat down with the little bundles on our laps and gave them their bottles. There little lips would crinkle up around the nipple and their tails wiggled excitedly as the drank.  As their bellies grew full and their eyes grew dreamy they would snuggle deep and cozy into our laps. When they were finished we put them back in their straw beds for a little rest.  It was stretchy pants and couch time for these little creatures.   
     We all chatted happily over the little me~me~me'ing in the barn.  The cats waited patiently for their share of the left over milk. A hen roosted above us in the rafters, as another drank the milk that dripped off the bottle table.  The dog dozed in the doorway.  The light in the barn glowed golden and warm. With a little white baby goat on my lap I watched as it all happened into memories.
    Ella and I tucked our last kids back into their pen. We passed by a pen with a mama goat in it and noticed a teeny tiny white bundle hidden in the straw. We opened the pen and picked up a few hour old kid that was very weak.

Our baby goat that was in serious need of some love!

    I gave him a good little rub to warm him up and get his circulation going.  He blinked his little eyes at us and gave us the teeniest me~me~.  Of course that melted our hearts.  We held him up to his mom to nurse but he was just to weak to latch on despite opening his mouth to try.  We carried him to the farmer and Susie suggested that we should give him some colostrum (it is the thick, yellow first milk produced by the momma after she gives birth.  It contains maternal antibodies that help protect the newborn from disease pathogens).  The farmer defrosted some frozen colostrum and filled up a bottle.  We held our breath as we held the bottle to his lips and nothing happened.  I wiggled my finger in his mouth to open it and guided the nipple in.  Then like a ferocious lion who hadn't eaten in months he attacked that bottle, sucking it down quicker then we had filled it.   

The baby getting a bottle of colostrum.

Someone call the police.  This little goat is too cute to be legal.

Susie the master goat wrangler feeding our little goat lion, as I hold him.
 

His eyes grew dreamy as the bottle emptied. 

Drunk on milk..and wearing it.   

   We tucked him back in with his mom.  She got so excited to see her little baby with a little fight in him now.  She licked him all over as he teetered on his newly discovered legs.  Fully content and soaked in milk, it was time for us to go home but not without making plans to come back the following week to feed the calves. 

Thanks for reading!  If you would like to contact me or to be added to my mailing list please email me at: Jacksonhillhorseygirl@aol.com.

Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com March 2, 2014