Animal husbandry

Last weekend, maple on fire

Technically speaking, I practice only half of animal husbandry. I do not raise animals from birth; my hens aren’t broody and even if they were, we eat their eggs; we’re not breeding horses or cats or dogs (though we do have a lovely yearling warmblood, Hal, living here now, thanks to our friend Katherine, who’s training him); the only reproduction going on here is wild and unintentional.  But we do spend a whole lot of our time caring for animals of all kinds: Dacos, and the horse who boards with him; three barn cats; a house cat, the three remaining chickens, our dog…you get the idea. It’s an investment of time, energy and no small amount of emotion.

On the weekend, we try to do barn chores as a family, a welcome change for me, since most weekdays, I do them alone. I have a pretty good rhythm now, at least when the H is in town (as he’s not, this week) of making my tea in the morning and then heading off to the barn as soon as he and the kids leave at 7:30. Even if I tarry, I like to have all the chores down there done by 9, so I can get to work early enough to feel like I have a lovely expanse of time in front of me. Saturday, miraculously, the adults in the house slept in, until after 9 a.m. (I literally cannot remember the last time that happened) and so I didn’t get to the barn until late,10 or so. Our plan was to groom both horses, clean their stalls, and then take turns riding Dacos. But when I haltered him and led him out of his stall, Dacos couldn’t put weight on his right rear leg. This was the first time in the ten months we’ve had our beautiful gelding that he’s come up lame, and it was a shock.

Instead of calling the vet, I called Katherine, our resident (practically–five of her horses are here, so I see her morning and night, most days) equine expert. Cold water, analgesic, stall rest, waiting were the components of her prescription, and so began the first test of my own fortitude for the equine project I’ve undertaken this year. Shoveling shit is hard work, but not taxing. Ditto tossing hay, hauling buckets of water, spreading clean bedding and picking hooves. Worrying about the health and future of an 1100 pound beautiful beast is a greater challenge. Two days into this program of rest and rehab, the leg is improving: still swollen, still warm to the touch, but neither symptom as severe as Saturday, and the leg can now bear some weight. If it’s not better in a couple more days, we’ll have to call the vet.

Dacos is a gentle, patient horse. He has quirks: he has never learned to be tied, meaning that when you saddle or groom him, he simply stands,  untethered. This is not something anyone would recommend, but he does it, and has never surprised us with a dash or snort or kick; he just stands, watches, waits and cooperates. He likes, under saddle, to pretend to spook, to see how his rider will react (best not to, and then, whether reassured or disappointed, he calms and readjusts.) But mostly, he’s just interested in us. He bends down to sniff and nuzzle the children, puts his cheek next to mine and gives a soft exhale of grassy breath, takes treats from our hands with his lips instead of his teeth, watches us as we clean or lead or feed him. He let me blanket him in his stall in the dark last night without so much as a start. He’s sweet, and we are all four of us holding our breath a bit to see where this injury will lead.