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
   

Finding the Stillness

   There was no sun to set.   The grayness of the day blotted into night.  Autumn had carried me down the road before I had noticed that I was riding her.  The day's shortcomings had crept into the saddle with us. I felt my tension return to me through Autumn's reins. 
     I took a deep breath and held it until I could see the forest grow in shadows around us.  I exhaled and felt Autumn inhale.  Frogs sang over the silence.  Hoof beats stepped on stones and over stars adrift in puddles.  Seas fell from the swollen creeks off the mountain's sides.  Stillness found me on the back of my horse. 



Stars drift on puddles
Frogs sing over the silence
Hoof beats step on stones.

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

Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com February 19, 2014

 

Karma...The Good Kind

      Autumn, is about 17.2 hands tall at the withers, which is the highest point on a horse's back before it begins arching into their neck.  Each hand is equal to four inches which makes Autumn 70 inches or 5.8 feet tall at the withers.  When I am unable to find a knocked down tree, a boulder or the trunk of someone's car to climb onto in order to climb on to her back, I have make my ascent from sea level.  I don't bother trying to get on her from the ground unless I'm in a pair of jeans made with spandex, otherwise it's just not going to happen.  To get on, I have to lift my leg above my waist and wiggle my foot into the stirrup which is about level with my face.  I then grab a hunk of Autumn's mane and give it the old one-two-heave-ho and in an unintentional slow motion, I struggle my way into the saddle.  Autumn, and anyone else who may have witnessed it, seem a bit bewildered that I make it up there.  I always give Autumn a treat for standing there and putting up with the abuse.
     It was Saturday when and Cindy and I took the horses down to the river to go for ride.  The sky was a true blue, the river sparkled, birds sang, people fished, dogs chased balls into the water and cows napped in the green grass.  On the paved levy, people jogged, kids rode their bikes and moms pushed strollers.  It was a perfect day and everyone in town was enjoying it. 

Cindy and Syria lead the way in front of Autumn and I on the levy, past the cow pastures and the river.

     On our way up river, Autumn stopped to contribute to the scene.  She lifted up her tail and left a big pile of poop on the levy.  We continued our ride until we turned around.  On our way back, Autumn walked around her big road block of a poop she had left earlier. I pulled her to a stop.  I told Cindy to hold on.  I couldn't leave that giant meadow muffin on the path like that.  I jumped off Autumn, karate kicked the crap into the grass and did my hard-to-watch-but can't-look-away, climb back into the saddle.  Autumn walked ten steps before she stopped, lifted up her tail and left another land mind on the walkway.  Again, I slid off and kicked it into the grass.  A woman pushing her toddler in a stroller behind us, picked up the pace and headed full steam ahead at us.  I was bracing myself for a speech on kicking poop into the grass and not getting rid of it properly and she said, "That was so sweet of you! I have never in all the years I've been here seen any horse rider do that before.  Why did you do that?" 
   I told her that I felt bad leaving a big pile like that with everyone walking around with their kids and all.  She thanked me a few more times as she walked on.  It made scaling Mount Autumn, twice, in public, worth the effort to know that someone appreciated our gesture. 
     A few days later, at work at the veterinary hospital, we had an appointment for a few young bulls to get dehorned, vaccinated and castrated.  When the doctor was finished with the procedure, I went outside to begin cleaning up.  There was poop, horns and testicles, scattered, splattered and strewn about. Before I started scooping, spraying and scrubbing I asked the dairymen if they wanted to take the balls home with them.  They told me I could keep them and take home to fry up into some rocky mountain oysters. I thanked them and told them that I had just became a vegetarian.  They then did something totally unexpected, something I have never seen any of our cattle/dairy guys do at our office before.  They dragged over the trash can and proceeded to throw out every single testicle and horn.  Karma had boomeranged right back around to me.  As sweet as it was for a girl to kick a giant pile of horse crap off the road into the grass by the river it was just as sweet have some good guys pick up their bull's nuts and toss them in the trash can for a gal.

Thanks for reading!  Feel free to send this on to your friends or share on Facebook.  If you would like to be added to my mailing list or would like to get in touch with me, please email Jacksonhillhorseygirl@aol.com.
Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com February 5, 2015

Talking in Tongues

    Our first appointment at the veterinary hospital arrived right on time.  It was a buck (a male goat) scheduled to get castrated.    I could smell the musky little guy before I could see him.   I looked over the stall door to see a thirty pound, shiny black goat with horns, a long goatee and a bouffant.  He looked like he grew up on the Jersey Shore.  All he was missing was hair gel and some gold chains.  The girls in the office said they didn't see it and he seemed to remind them more of Satan.  We agreed to disagree until they went to catch him. 
     I was in the office when a deafening roar broke out from the barn.  I crossed myself as I headed into the barn.  I found the veterinarian and Molly,wide eyed, holding the goat.  I asked, over the shrieking animal, what had happened.  They said they simply went to catch the little flour sack sized goat when he started screeching in tongues as he torpedoed, horn first, at the doctor's head.  She was able to catch him right before impact.  He sounded like a Judas Priest record being played backwards, blasting at full volume as they moved him into the surgery room.  I asked the doctor if she wanted me to call in the local priest for assistance or if she thought she needed some holy water or a crucifix for the procedure.  She said she might.  Luckily, the anesthesia was enough to silence the demons, as he slept quietly through the procedure, where he didn't feel a thing.  The procedure was uneventful as we exorcised the testosterone makers right out of him.  He spent the rest of the day quiet and peaceful in his stall until his owners came to take him home.  Amen.

You may be the prince of darkness but we got your nuggets.

      
Thanks for reading!  If you would like to be added to my mailing list or would like to get in touch with me, please email Jacksonhillhorseygirl@aol.com.

Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com January 29, 2014

Blowing Off The Blog

   Wednesday night is write night.  On write night, the ranch owner feeds the horses and Autumn sleeps under the stars in the pasture.  After work, I head directly to Starbucks to force on a second wind with a mega mocha.  Then I set up shop there with my laptop as I misspell my way through a blog until closing time.  Last week, I blew the whole routine off.  Instead of writing a blog I decided to make one. The Wolf Moon was rising full in a clear winter sky on that write night.  The January moon acquired its name of the Wolf due to wolf packs hungrily howling outside Indian villages in the cold and deep snows of midwinter.   
     The sun had exhausted itself from the sky as I saddled Autumn and led her into the woods. 



The sun's twilight, opposite the dawning moon. 
(Autumn's ear is poking into the scene on the right)

  We arrived at the first clearing just in time to watch the peach Wolf stalking Orion into the sky. 

The Wolf Moon to the left of Autumn's silhouetted ear. 
A tiny Jupiter is to the left of the moon.

    The moon rose high enough to spill its light over the trees onto the forest trails on the east side of the mountain.  Lilly and Shep, the ranch dogs, shepherded us into the darkness.  Lilly ran ahead to search out our path while Shep stayed close beside Autumn.  Under the shroud of darkness my balance found its true center in the saddle.  My hearing tuned itself through the pitch of the east wind to eavesdrop on  the finer whispers in the forest.  My eyes adjusted to the shades and shadows, giving the darkness its own colors.  Moonlight slipped between the trees.  Autumn and I flickered in and out of the silver scenes.  Left behind were the frames of our silent movie in her quiet foot falls.   
     When we reached the forest meadow, the sky was turning the pages of universe's epic story written in stars. The Gemini twins cradled Jupiter in their arms.  Taurus the bull had his fiery red eye, Aldebaran, on Orion, the sky's matador.  Auriga, the charioteer, who does not actually own a chariot, was up there hugging his two baby goats.  Pegasus, left us to gallop to the west as Autumn and I continued on to the east.
     We left the mythologies in the meadow as we slipped back into the eclipse of the firs.  The moon struggled to reach us in the heart of woods.  I gave Autumn her reins and let the rhythm of her strides calm my heartbeat.  I held a piece of her mane as if it were her hand as she carried us home.   

Thanks for reading!  If you would like to be added to my mailing list or would like to get in touch with me you can email me at Jacksonhillhorseygirl@aol.com.

Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com January 22, 2014