Posts Tagged ‘horses’
Weathering Out
Does it seem like I am always writing about the weather? It just keeps weathering outside. What can I say?
I should have had an inkling, after the spectacular red sky the morning offered.
Last night when Delilah and I stepped out for her last walk of the day, we were met by this:
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Earlier, I had checked the radar and felt like we had a chance of the mixed precipitation missing us. Shortly before our walk, I flipped on the outside light and found the deck bone-dry. I’d forgotten my concern by the time I opened the door with Delilah, so then it came as a surprise. Silly, how quickly I moved from anticipating it, to being taken by surprise.
It felt and looked like rain, but a large percentage of it was the little ice balls. The ground was becoming a frozen glaze. I knew the horses deserved to come inside before they got soaked and chilled by it, so Delilah’s walk was delayed a bit, while I tended to horse chores.
Not only was her walk delayed, it was abbreviated, poor girl. I didn’t want to be out in freezing rain and sleet for any longer than absolute necessity.
I heard from another poor girl last night that the weather in Florida has continued wet and cold, with flooding rains. Cyndie’s “vacation” sounds like anything but. I warned her that she will be returning on a day when we might be getting bombarded by a significant winter snowfall on Tuesday.
I don’t know if it has anything to do with her, but it could give a person a complex.
Regardless, it just keeps weathering out there, …and I find myself writing about it.
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Very Happy
Despite the annoying ongoing saga of my favorite auto repair shop failing to figure out why my “check engine” light keeps coming on, I am feeling so very happy today, over how well my homemade slow feeder hay boxes have worked out for our herd.
We keep the boxes pushed up against the back wall in the two spaces beneath the overhang, so the hay doesn’t get wet. There is enough space for two horses to nosh at the same time (if they are feeling agreeable).
Only one time did we find a box pulled way out of position. It was really puzzling, because there was a surprising lack of obvious drag marks that would have helped to reveal how it got there. Other than that curious instance, the horses haven’t showed any inclination to need to mess with the boxes at all.
I had struggled to make the boxes sturdy enough to withstand a beating, anticipating that the horses would test each one in a manner similar to how they tested our solar-powered electric fence charger. I made the mistake of hanging it in a location where they could reach it.
The red control knob disappeared, the plastic trim around the solar panel got ripped off, and they scratched up the paint with teeth marks. I wasn’t very happy about that outcome.
Occasionally, the horses will get extremely picky about hay they don’t want to eat and the grate ends up at an extreme angle, due to their eating only one end of a bale down to the bottom. Most often, they just munch away evenly and the grate settles to the bottom.
As I was making my way in and out of the gate to the small paddock last night, making trips to the hay shed, I noticed a sensation of also being very happy that our horses allow us to be so relaxed with gate management. I have yet to find evidence of them attempting escape from any of our fenced areas, and they show no tendencies toward threatening a getaway when I am occupied with my own entering and exiting through the openings.
This gives me the impression they are satisfied with their confines and all that is within.
When they are happy, I’m happy.
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Breakfast Served
I’m posting a little later than usual for a weekday, but it’s a weekend day for me, since I work a 4-day week at the day-job, so that’s my excuse. The actual truth is that I am busier than usual tending to tasks because my ranch partner is on vacation. Cyndie is lounging by the pool at her parent’s home in Florida for a couple of weeks.
I know! She deserves it, make no mistake.
She threatened to pay me back by taking care of our place and George’s for a few days so we could go up to Hayward, WI and do some skiing. That’s nice, but sounds like a lot more work than lounging by a pool, to me.
I am back in the old routine of waking up alone and giving all the animals the morning attention they require. The first task is cleaning up after the horses in the area of the barn overhang. Then I serve up their breakfast cereal in a dance that has become very routine for them when I am doing it. I love how apparent it is that they understand what I will do, and they wait patiently, for the most part, for me to mosey through the steps.
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You may notice in the images, we are being treated this morning to a picturesque “snow-globe” snowfall that is adding a magical feeling to this winter morning. It doesn’t hurt that the temperature has warmed considerably, bringing more than a magical feeling, it is a very real sensation of being much more comfortable for a winter day.
On the way to the barn, Delilah has already taken care of her first order of business, and then she busies herself in the barn by searching for mice or barking annoyingly at the horses or some distant other dog that is inevitably baying for attention. Delilah is more than happy to oblige the neighbor dogs, regardless the anxiety it creates in me and the horses.
If she would be quiet, that morning time can be incredibly serene. When she’s not, her harsh hollering is exceptionally grating. It usually earns her a short leash in the middle of the barn, after which, I close the doors on her. There. Take that, Ms. Barksalot.
When the hay boxes are topped off and the immediate vicinity is poo-free, Delilah gets what she has been waiting for. I take her for a walk. This morning’s was a shortened version, because when we reached the road, there were empty garbage and recycle bins ready to be returned to the garage.
Delilah is usually more than happy to have a short a.m. walk, because returning to the house means she will be presented with her morning meal.
After all that, the master of the house finally is served. Well, not really served. I have to get it myself. Time for my breakfast!
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Above Zero
I am intrigued by how noticeable a relief it is when our temperature climbs back above zero (F) after an extreme cold snap. There’s an almost magical difference in how it feels. After a full day indoors at work yesterday, I stepped out the door and was immediately aware of the softer feel in the air.
It doesn’t necessarily come across as being warm, but there is a definite lack of it feeling mercilessly, brutally cold.
I don’t know if any of this has anything to do with the headlights in my car burning out, but it seems to me that I always find myself changing a bulb when it is uncomfortably cold for my hands to do so. Even though it is above zero, it is still cold for a hand to be navigating down through limited space of dirty metal and plastic, and then awkwardly trying to press a release tab to wrestle a reluctant connector out of a socket.
It’s worth it to me though, because I really don’t like having only one working headlight. I noticed the reflection of my padiddle in the tailgate of a truck while approaching a stoplight. I was headed to get gas on my way home yesterday, and the station is located very close to an auto parts store.
How convenient.
I successfully replaced the bulb within an hour of discovering the need, despite the not-below-zero-but-still-hard-on-the-hands cold temperature. I’m pretty sure that was a personal best time interval for me.
Cyndie leaves for Florida today, but before she goes, her plan is to take the blankets off the horses. I’m a big advocate of letting them adjust au naturel, and the weekend may bring a warm up that gets us above freezing, so it seems like a chance to give them a break from the straight jackets.
I think they will be happy with that. But that’s coming from a guy who prefers to sleep naked, so my opinion is probably biased.
As long as we anthropomorphize how cold they must feel, it would stand to reason to assume they grow weary of the constricting confines of the blankets, as well.
I’m going to assume they have the same reaction as I do, to the incredible difference in how the winter air feels after a cold spell breaks.
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Chilly Chillin’
When I got home from work yesterday, Cyndie wasn’t back from an errand to Hudson, so it became my responsibility to take Delilah for a walk. Cyndie anticipated her arrival would be shortly thereafter and that she could tend to the horses.
Fine with me. Ms. Canine greeted me at the door, sweet as could be, and appeared perfectly thrilled over the opportunity to get outside, regardless the ongoing deep freeze we were experiencing.
It was an agenda-free stroll. We just hung out together.
I started with a little bush-whacking through undisturbed snow along one of our trails that hadn’t been traveled for a long time. Delilah loved it. There were plenty of fresh scents from critters for her to investigate, and several opportunities for her very fox-like “pounce.” She cocks her head to listen and then leaps straight up with all 4 paws, so that her nose-down landing, deep into the snow, will be a total surprise attack.
Cute as heck, but she very rarely seems to be on the right track. Makes me wonder what spawns the sudden dramatic maneuvers, either sound or scent. Maybe both. She obviously shows signs of listening, but I am never sure whether that is because she smelled something first, or not.
We made our way over toward the horses in the large paddock. They all seemed to be biding their time until they could get inside to the bedding of wood shavings in their stalls for some long winter naps. Even a thin metal roof overhead is good enough to offer a noticeable buffer from the bitter cold that seems to fall directly from outer space. They show signs of being keenly aware of that advantage when the nighttime temperatures head into double digits below zero.
I glanced toward the orange glow of the setting sun and spotted a nice view of the steam that rises off the cooking compost pile. With the air so bitter cold, it is all the more fascinating that the microorganisms breaking down the pile of sullied bedding generate temperatures to 140° (F) and beyond.
The pile gets a thick version of hoarfrost from the steam, which provides a nice touch of drama on top of the otherwise unsavory mound.
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New Sitters
I’m not quite sure why, but something about this past weekend felt surreal. Part of it was probably a result of the extreme cold accompanied by a dangerous windchill, which limited my time outdoors. Part of it was the unnatural amount of time I spent in front of the television, watching NFL playoff games.
Playoff games can be disorienting, when you have no emotional attachment to the outcome. It means so much to the players and fans on the screen, but in my home, the drama and spectacle were meaningless. Delilah, Cyndie, and Pequenita were oblivious to it all.
Cyndie is preparing to visit her parents in Florida for a couple of weeks. That is a little unnerving for me, contemplating how I will manage both the day-job and the ranch detail without her. She has a plan for that. In an ongoing quest to recruit potential horse-sitters, she recently came upon an interesting combination.
Following up on a couple of leads, one from our vet, and another from a hygienist in our dentist’s office, she learned about two local people. It was a surprise to us that the two happened to be well acquainted with each other. One woman had been a babysitter for the other, years ago. Now they both have horses of their own and do pet sitting jobs regularly. Last Thursday they came to meet our herd and discuss the details of how they could give Delilah attention and feed our horses on mornings that I leave early for work.
What wonderful luck to find two people at once who can split the job and provide full coverage for us, despite their varied individual availability.
There is hope that the bitter cold will release its grip after today. That means we will be able to keep the horses outside at night again, which will save me from the chore of cleaning the stalls every day.
This is a view of the back side of the barn. Legacy’s window is on the left, Dezirea’s window on the right. When they are cold or wet, the horses congregate at the door, wanting to get inside.
The new sitters were surprised we didn’t just open the door and let them go inside on their own. We decided to give it a try. I was down cleaning the waterer when Cyndie let them in.
It was a little chaotic. She had put up a rope to confine them to the side where their stalls are located, but it was just enough change, on top of the fact they were free to find their way, that they seemed to get a little confused.
Dezirea went into her stall, but then came back out again, Legacy was checking out everyone’s stall, and Cayenne was flustered and just stood in the aisle-way. Hunter hustled in behind her and suddenly there was a traffic jam. It sounded kind of funny to me, but it was risky enoCyndie said she was going to walk them in individually again next time.
There isn’t really enough space for our 4 large Arabians to do a free-style entrance into their stalls. We’re going to stick with the routine that has been working well for us thus far.
If the weather warms up like it is expected to, it won’t be an issue for a while now, anyway.
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Passing Middle
As long as I am writing about calendar days, it occurs to me that, not only are we passing the middle of the month of January, we are essentially heading into the second half of our long winter.
There are several ways that I can gauge this. We have almost devoured the first full rack of firewood that we stacked on the deck.
We are about halfway through the hay stored in our hay shed.
We have filled just over half the space where we store composting manure during the cold months.
In terms of weather, this weekend we are due to receive the coldest blast of Arctic air of the winter. There are warnings posted about dangerous wind chills on Sunday through Monday morning.
After we get through this, it is expected to warm up to El Niño-driven-warmer-than-usual temperatures for this time of year. I’m okay with that. Even if I live a long and healthy life, by conventional standards, it is reasonable to think that I am past the middle of my years on this planet. I am growing more satisfied with mild weather than I was in my younger days.
I checked the level of propane in our big tank yesterday, to make sure we don’t need to order more yet. It is less than half full, but there is enough to get through the winter at the rate we use it.
I have a sense of being on the downhill side of things, which provides an impression things should be easier. We get to coast.
Could it be that we are even passing the middle of a change in our climate? Thinking about the coldest possible temperature of the winter reminded me of the remarkable graphic posted by Paul Huttner in his weather blog, “Updraft.”
Look at the trend line of the oscillating minimum temperatures recorded in the Twin Cities in my lifetime. If this keeps going, I could live during a year when temperatures here don’t even dip below zero.
That would seem like coasting through a winter.
In my advancing years, I think I will enjoy the ride. In the mean time, bring on today’s deep freeze.
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Four Tattletales
Our lovely dog, Delilah, took advantage of Cyndie’s decision to allow some time off leash in the afternoon yesterday, while she shoveled away the accumulation of Wednesday night’s snow. After a couple of successes, in which Delilah returned to Cyndie when called, there came the great escape once again.
Out of sight in a blink.
Cyndie hollered and whistled for Delilah. She walked through the barn and found the horses in the paddock, looking at her while she made the ruckus. They’d witnessed this routine enough times before that they knew what was going on. Cyndie decided to drive the roads in search of our wandering canine. She hiked up to the house to get the truck keys, but was stymied by a dead battery.
That’s an ongoing occasional drama for another time.
She went back up to the house to get her car to widen her search. Down the road, when she spotted a flock of turkeys luxuriating in a field, she knew she was in the wrong spot. No dog in that vicinity.
As she returned to our place and pulled into the driveway, she spotted all four horses, now in the hay-field, lined up and facing one specific direction. They didn’t even turn to look at her, as is their usual behavior, but rather, maintained their intense stare in that single direction. They were clearly signaling a message for Cyndie, compelling her to look at what they were seeing. She turned her head to follow their gaze and immediately spotted the bright orange flash of Delilah’s vest across the street, in the neighbor’s field, past the snowmobile trail leading into the woods.
Cyndie described how it was the distinct posture of each of the horses which made the message so clear. They were not lolling around aimlessly, or relaxed in the stance of a nap, but instead were straight and tall, flexed as if on a specific mission. She would totally have missed that Delilah was in that direction, had it not been for their help.
The horses had totally ratted out our dog on the lam.
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Slow Motion
Our kids came to visit yesterday and we celebrated a Christmas gift exchange between just the four of us on Boxing Day. We took Delilah for a walk, visiting the labyrinth and then the horses.
We were all in the paddock, milling about amongst the herd. I had grabbed a pitch fork and was cleaning up manure. When I lifted the fork up and knocked some frozen manure off a board, it startled Hunter and his reaction set off the herd panic reaction. I turned to see Julian deftly react with a leaping side-step as Hunter bolted past, barely averting a collision. Delilah tried to shrink herself as Hunter ran right over her.
I didn’t see how Elysa and Cyndie avoided being run over by Legacy and Cayenne behind me, but somehow the dangerous “emergency evacuation” by the horses was carried out without causing anyone physical harm. Seconds later, the horses looked around and sensed there was no threat, returning to their previous stations as if nothing had happened.
It’s possible the horses had not entirely recovered from the high alert they were on earlier in the day, when coyote hunters and their baying dogs were creating a ruckus in the vicinity.
On the way up toward the house, Cyndie pulled out discs to throw for Delilah, and Julian pulled out his phone to record slow motion video of the action.
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At the beginning of each video, Delilah has one disc in her mouth, which we tell her to drop before chasing the next toss. We have to hustle to pick up the one she drops, because her real goal is to try to get both discs and keep them away from us, despite how much she loves chasing after them when we fling ’em.
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Truly Best
Our Christmas celebrations this year have provided a wonderful addition to years of fabulous Christmases with Cyndie’s family. Now that we live in Wisconsin, the routine for us has settled into a pattern of driving back and forth to Edina on Christmas eve, and then two more times on Christmas day. This allows us to participate in spectacular meals, and all that comes with them, as well as tend to the care of Delilah and our horses back home.
I’m used to driving that route, so it doesn’t bother me. The trouble comes in accounting for that extra hour that always separates us from our intended destination. It becomes a struggle to get out of the house on time to arrive at the celebration by the appointed hour.
Then we need to watch the clock while enjoying the time of our lives so that we don’t end up forcing our dog to wait too long without us at home. Sure wish we could just ask Scotty to beam us home. We always want to stay longer at the social gathering, but without it resulting in such a late return to our home an hour away.
I enjoyed two particular “bests” yesterday that deserve specific mention. Cyndie’s mother, Marie, is a master hostess who prepares world-class meals for large numbers of guests. The traditional family dinner of beef tenderloin on Christmas day is one of my favorites. It is magical, because no matter what variations may occur every year, it is always the best meal I have ever had.
This year, it was even better than that.
Honestly, I struggle to justify enjoying such gastronomical pleasure. The dessert which followed the best-dinner-ever included a cranberry cake with a caramel sauce topping that always tastes so amazing, it should be recognized as a dangerous weapon and require a license to prepare.
I received some very nice gifts from very generous people this Christmas, but there is one that immediately claimed my heart as the best possible thing I opened. We draw names for a gift exchange in Cyndie’s family, and this year, my fellow in-law, Sara, wife of Cyndie’s brother, Ben, picked my name out of the hat.
She nailed the precise art of matching a gift to the recipient, and steeped it in her own joy while creating it. Sara made a wood-burned image of our Wintervale logo on a beautiful pine board. I find it absolutely beautiful to look at. It smells good, too!
It is the best gift.
I just want to look at it again and again. It is one of a kind, made by Sara’s hands, and intended specifically for me. What a precious thing.
I had a very merry Christmas.
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Relative Something 