the newest resident of Casa Fry. I drove 2 hours to an animal shelter yesterday to meet this little cutie, after a friend posted an irresistible photo on his Facebook page. Now that I've seen her in person, I think all photos of her may be irresistible.
She is older than I thought; they estimate 3 years. That's good for us, since our schedules are irregular, and we lack the patience, much less the desire, to housebreak and train a pup.
She was turned in as a stray. Mike and I worry about those tiny, mousy little paws. She looks like our Cindi (above), but even smaller. We hope Martha has the sense Cindi lacks to stay out from underfoot. Cindi came to us because she caused her elderly former owner to trip and fall. You can see what happened to her in 2007. Before you feel too sorry for her, she milked that cast for all it was worth.
We're also praying Martha's JRT digging genes are repressed, though they usually only dig when they're bored, and it stays pretty interesting around here. So much to bark at, so little time.
Martha has her vet visit this week. She has tested negative for heartworms. She will get all her shots and they'll spay her if she isn't already.
I can only get back there next Saturday, so I told the shelter to have the vet board her, and I will pick her up from there.
Impulsive pet adoption: one more reason to stay off social networking sites.
This has been the Week That Wouldn't End! I didn't think Friday was ever going to get here! While I like my job well enough — and am grateful to have it — the older I get, the more I need down time, both physically and mentally.
My rodeo injury is still with me, but doesn't yet concern me. I can still see bruising on the outside, so it's logical to assume there's still bruising on the inside. Even if I did chip a bone or something, there's not really anything they can do. And the only thing that hurts is walking. I can twist it, turn it, bend it in any direction, but I still limp when I walk. Patience ...
Tomorrow will be a busy day. I'm trailering the Boyz to their overdue annual vet visit. The Boyz trailer easily, and the vet is only a little over a mile away, so why not pocket the $60-$65 he gets for a farm call? Mike works nights and will not be home in time to help, so I had asked Nita if she'd come, but she will be out of town. Heather, so NOT a morning person, graciously said she'd accompany me. I can do it myself, but we all know the value of an extra set of experienced hands, just in case.
After that, I may be headed to pick up a new resident for Casa Fry. Friends who live about 2 hours away are active in their community, including their local animal shelter. He posted a pic on his Facebook page of an adorable little dog up for adoption that could be Cindi's younger (thinner!) sister. Like Cindi, she appears to be a Jack Russell/Chihuahua mix. We don't need another dang dog, but I'm going to call them after the vet appointment, and if she has not been adopted, I'll head down to see her. As I told the shelter folks, the only real deal breaker for us is if she's a digger, which many JRTs are; it's what they've been bred to do. In our neck of the woods, a loose little dog is pretty much a dead little dog. If she opts to tunnel under the fence, she'll either be roadkill or coyote/bobcat bait.
Cindi and Chula are at the age (about 12) that it's time to bring in another dog, so the remaining one will not be alone when the first one passes. There's not much sadder than watching a pet pine for a friend who's not coming back. Both dogs are still active and healthy, but are showing the occasional sign of slowing down.
Tomorrow promises to be a busy and expensive day, but I'm looking forward to it anyway.
I got my hair cut really short. I am done coloring my hair.
My new motto:
I'm not graying, I'm roaning.
At least I'm in good company. Well, maybe not good, but familiar.
No amount of hair color can change the fact that I'm 57 years old. The suspension of time is an illusion. We're all going to die, regardless of how beautiful a corpse we hope to leave behind.
I have earned every one of those gray hairs.
Judge for yourself — here are a few highlights off the top of my head (pun intended):
Almost having my kid taken away by CPS because the little shit was mad I wouldn't give him candy or let him sit inside all day in front of the TV. He told the neighbors I wouldn't feed him and that I locked him outside.
Or the time I took him on an outing in the desert. I looked up from my conversation to see a tiny speck clinging to the sheer face near the top of a rock formation hundreds of feet high.
Or the night I awoke and my addict ex wasn't in bed beside me. I found him outside burning press sheets of $20 bills in the charcoal grill.
Or the night I got a call from the cops to come and bail said addict ex from jail after he totaled my beloved Nissan 280 ZX. I didn't.
Let's not forget the time he emptied my bank account the day before the rent, daycare, and my car payment were due.
Or the time after I left addict ex when he showed up at my apartment "to make amends" and tried to kill me as my young child stood frozen by the front door, screaming.
On my very first convention trip, our entertainment, The Passing Zone, got hung up in Jamaican customs a few hours before they were to perform. While a coworker sped to Montego Bay to bribe customs officials, my boss and I were literally on our knees in a dank closet, praying, "Please God, send chainsaws."
We had just moved to Casa Fry. The kid ran in yelling, "Call 911 RIGHT. NOW." And I did, calmly. I walked out to see that he and Mike had set the field — the front yard — on fire. It was a BIG fire. I stayed inside and let them deal with it, except the cops showed up and wrote ME a ticket because there was a burn ban. The guys were nowhere to be found. They had gone to the store to get cold drinks. It's still on my record and the local yokels haven't forgotten. Stupid damn city folks.
The phone call from the kid, now grown and in the military, stationed in Korea, telling me they were being deployed to Iraq. I blame George Bush for a BUNCH of my gray hair.
The phone call from Mike while I was at Atlantis, telling me the kid, home on leave before going to Iraq, was going to marry his 16-year old girlfriend, the day after I got back, with HER parents' blessing. My kingdom for an unregistered handgun.
I could go on, but you get the picture.
I plan on wearing my gray like a badge of courage and survival.
Warning: this post contains a graphic photo of equine anatomy.
I'm pleased at how well Amber is filling out. Both she and Vera are starting to look like mature horses rather than gangly youngsters. Amber is so, so sweet. Poor baby has allergies. She likes it when I wipe her eyes with a cool, damp cloth.
Amber is a champagne Quarter Horse. She has the oddest skin and haircoat. Her skin is baby soft and she's tender-hided.
The areas that appear as grey shadows are mottled. You can really see it when she's wet, as she is in most of these photos. I've been trying to toughen her up a little so she's not so creepy-crawly when you touch her. I was excited that she was able to tolerate a nubby rubber mitt during Sunday's bath.
She has seborrhea on the places that are the most heavily mottled. I did a Google search to see if the two are related, but I couldn't find anything.
The saddle area is where the seborrhea is the worst. Of course it is.
Her skin is an indescribable shade of salmon pink.
Sometimes it looks almost apricot colored, or like the blush of a peach.
My hairdresser would charge a fortune for streaks like she has in her mane and tail.
I think Heather will be pleased at how nicely sculpted both her fillies are. And I think (I hope) I taught them a few things that will help them be better horses.
Twenty-one days ago, I brought home 2 of Heather's fillies — 2.5-year old Appaloosa Vera (The Horse Formerly Known As Oops) and 3-year old Champagne Quarter Horse Amber (Cristal Lynx) — for some spoilin'.
For those who have been absent, Poco and Jaz have been at Heather's since Jaz's abscess in March. At the time, Heather and Nita were on foal watch, and kindly offered to care for Jaz, since I don't have a barn. Rather than bring back a buddy for Poco, we sent them both to allow our drought-ravaged land to rest. Praise God for all the rain we've had! The annual rye we sowed took hold and took off. Mike said to bring ponies or he'd have to mow. Poco and Jaz are finally back to a good weight, and we're not ones to waste good grazing, so we brought the gawky fillies. Between the grazing and big buckets of grain and BOSS, they are looking pretty good.
Vera and Amber on their first full day here. I believe horses do well here because there's not the stress of being part of a large herd.
Amber — Day 21 The first week or so, she filled out. After that, she got ribby again and shot up.
Amber Day 21 I love a nice round pony butt.
Vera — Day 21 She filled out until about 4-5 days ago. Now I can see her ribs and suspect she's getting taller as well.
Vera — Day 21 Spotted butts make me weak. Isn't she lovely?
Vera is beautiful, smart, and the haughtiest little girl you ever want to meet. She reminds me of Poco on estrogen. As the Boss Mare of this microcosmic herd, I'm actively managing the dynamic, as always. I protect Amber while she eats, which I also do for Jaz. Vera pins her ears and rears at Amber to run her off both pans of food, unless they are spaced well apart. Even then, Vera will greedily eat all hers, and take whatever's left of Amber's. When I bathed and pampered Amber for the second time last week (seborrhea), Vera hung out next to Amber and let me hose her down without being tied. She likes the attention; she thinks she should have all of it. Sounds like a certain fat-assed Appy gelding I know with a sense of entitlement, but even he's never that aggressive toward Jaz.
I miss the Boyz terribly, and my plan is to take the Gurlz back and bring the Boyz home next weekend, providing the weather cooperates. I need to buy some grazing muzzles to control the Boyz' weight. I'll let them gorge themselves for a few days when they get back, but then I need to begin active management.
And it's almost warm enough to plant our Bermuda grass! The annual rye is dying back because of the heat, but it will help hold the Bermuda seed in place until it gets established. Mike bought 3 of the smaller size round bales that are stored in the round pen, so we should be set for awhile.
I've already smooched my ponies earlier today, and will rest my hip for the remainder of the weekend. Have fun out there and be safe.
Thanks to all who have inquired as to my wellbeing after my header off Poco last Tuesday. Because it only hurt when I walked, I was too stupid to stay off last weekend, and I'm paying for that mistake. My hip is deeply bruised, and I now understand I need to give it plenty of time to heal completely. I won't even do ground work with the horses, since I don't need to walk any more than necessary. I work on a huge corporate campus, so there's a lot of walking. I'm grateful I wasn't hurt worse.
I tell people who ask why I'm limping that it's an old rodeo injury.
I cleaned all tack out of my truck, cleaned and conditioned everything, and put it all away here at home for awhile.
Here are some photos I took on the way to Heather's recently.
Hope y'all are having a good week, and don't forget to smooch your ponies.