Barnmaven

Miles, time and diesel: Someone made a difference for me.

 

Well, HAY THERE!

(Haha, I crack myself up sometimes).

That's Bumi in the picture.  She's one of the guest horses I've had since March.  She's a real sweetheart and a very lovely horse to ride.  She very cooperatively walked around with her breakfast stuck on her face long enough for me to whip out my phone and capture a photo.

I know I've written about it before, but I am struck constantly by how much I owe where I'm at horse-wise to the loving support of other people.  My horse journey has been influenced so much by my parents and my husband, all of whom have willingly given up whole days to make sure my children were fed and cared for so I could go enjoy time on my horse.  My deepest gratitude is for my friend Michelle, who has unselfishly driven hundreds of extra miles over the last three years to pick up my horse and me for trail rides and clinics.  She's kept horses at her place for me, she's shared her doctoring skills and her advice, and most importantly she has shared her friendship. 

The love of horses, or "the sickness" as some call it, is somewhat indescribable.  When you have it, one of the things you simply need in order to feel truly happy, to be truly yourself,  is a horse in your life.   Its also a real luxury, because horses are expensive to feed and maintain, and if you don't live somewhere you can easily ride at home or have the money to find a good boarding facility nearby or don't have a truck and trailer, you can't really ride your horse much, and that sucks.  My relationship with my horses is as deep and as meaningful as it is with thanks to Michelle's willingness to sacrifice her time and diesel to make sure I got lots of rides in.  I owe most of the miles I put on my horse the last few years directly to her.

This year I was lucky enough to find a truck and trailer I could afford.  They're far from new, the trailer especially, but they have made it far more possible for me to just go and ride when I want to.  Michelle doesn't have to go 30 miles out of her way to collect me when there's a clinic or a trail ride the opposite direction from her place.  I can get my own hay when I need it and not pay extra to have it delivered.   It makes a huge difference for me, and this summer I've gotten to ride even more.

I have a couple of friends who don't yet have a way to haul their horses and pick up their hay.  I sincerely hope this doesn't come off as sounding preachy, but I have it in my mind that I have a responsibility to be a "Michelle" for others, to make it possible for them to enjoy their horses.   They are big shoes to fill, and I'm pretty sure I'm not as generous or gracious as Michelle, but I commit to making the effort.  Its worth it to see more horse people getting to do what they love, and having more friends to go on our trail rides with us. 

My friend Debbie gives riding lessons to kids for prices most trainers wouldn't dream of giving, because her mission is to get as many little girls to fall in love with horses as she can.  She does this not just to create the next generation of riders and keep the sport of riding alive, but because research shows us that by age 10, if a child doesn't have a passionate interest in something, they won't have something to keep them focused and on track during their teenage years.  A sport or hobby can mean the difference between graduating and maybe going to college vs. getting involved in drugs or getting pregnant.   Make riding lessons affordable and therefore putting horses within reach of more families is just her way of paying it forward.  The great feeling of watching little girls beaming with pleasure the first time they are able to canter or go over a jump, that's just the frosting.

I was cleaning stalls a couple of weeks ago and I heard feed sacks rattling.  I figured SG was just out throwing scratch to the chickens and he would eventually come and find me, but after a while I didn't hear anyone.  When I went to put the poop fork away, I found someone had left three bags of horse feed outside my feedroom door.  I had just been thinking that day about what supplies we needed and fretting about a lack of both time and finances.  Someone paid it forward, and it made my day. Hell, probably my month.

There are times we pay it forward and the people we help don't appreciate it or they take advantage of our kindness.  But we don't do this to get something in return from others; the return comes from within, from our own sense of being OK with who we are and what we do.  Intent is important.  I can't set expectations for how others will react or what they will potentially do in return for me, that only muddies the waters of my giving.  I struggle with this sometimes, but I know what's right for me and so I have to continue to strive for healthy thinking.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by this world.  Its easy to feel the weight of all the tension and fear from our crumbling economy, our bitter political rivalries, the horror of war and violence.   Focusing my attention on the things I can do rather than the problems I can't solve helps me feel somehow less frightened of the enormous challenges we all deal with.  Doing something positive helps take away the sting when one of my kids is having a tough day or I come home from work feeling defeated.  Maybe we can't change the whole world, but we can sure change something small for someone else today. 

How do you pay it forward?  What ways have other people paid it forward that made a difference for you?  Share your stories!

 

Its just what I do

S asked me the other day why it is that I like having so many animals.

I had a really hard time answering that question.

They certainly complicate life, and fostering (especially fostering highly energetic puppies) makes even the standard daily routine a lot more difficult.  Its not as if I don't have enough on my plate to begin with.

 

I've always loved animals.  We had a dog growing up, a german shephard mix my folks adopted from the Humane Society.   Queenie was a big furry baby sitter to me.  When the big kids were playing too rough, she would pen me in the corner of the yard and not let me out, despite my rather vigorous protests.  If my mom's hands were full with groceries, she would herd me from the car to the porch to the slider door.  She tolerated my attempts to treat her like a horse without ever once losing her temper.  She was my father's dog, loving him the best of all, but she was my other mother.  She was always there, for 15 years, and I can still feel the tug on my heart when I think of how much I miss her. 

When we moved from the city to the country, my parents set the bar for me when it comes to farm life.  We went from being a one-dog city family to a one dog, three cat, five duck, one (and at times two) horse, ten chicken and occasionally a donkey and a steer or two country family.

Rescue and having a large contingent of animals was never something I planned to do, but for whatever reason they just kept showing up.  With one exception, all of the animals who found their way into my life were either strays, adopted from a shelter, or adopted through a rescue.  Its not that I need to have them all - its that I can, and that the need on their part is so great. Each and every one of them is an individual, with unique personality and traits.  Hercules wiggles, Roscoe can be counted on to tolerate the loving abuse of children with equanimity, Juliet rules the house like the little princess she is. 

 

T-Bone, his job is just to follow me and make sure I don't get lost.

I see no reason why people should be irresponsible with the lives of animals.  With dominion comes great responsibility, and it is my fixed opinion that a great number of people have been terribly lacking in their duty to properly care for our planet and the animals who inhabit it.  The best leaders are the people who understand that leadership is not power at all, but a terrible burden.  In the same way, being at the top of the food chain doesn't mean that we ought to be sitting on our front porch having target practice with the neighborhood squirrels or killing animals simply for a trophy set of horns.  We are stewards, and we ought to be mindful of that.  I'm not against hunting and I'm not against eating meat.  What I'm against is the irresponsible decimation of animals for no other reason than sport.  Killing for the sake of killing.

We have, over thousands of years, formed a partnership with dogs and with cats.  We have bred them to be loyal, loving members of our household.  All recognized breeds have a purpose for which they were created, and there are a number of breeds whose only job was to be human companions.

I've seen dogs treated horribly by people, abused, neglected, starved.   They come in to rescue with no reason whatsoever to retain any loyalty to the human race and still they trust us to care for them.  Back in New Jersey we'd get dogs surrendered by the puppy mills in Pennsylvania (there are Amish farmers in PA who use those great big barns as breeding facilities) who had never in their life been out of a crate.  They'd never been OUTSIDE.  Or seen a vet.  Or played with a toy.  Elderly dogs, sick, taken to shelters by owners who couldn't be bothered to care for them in the last days of their life.  Abandoned dogs, starving, barely alive.

I've never been able to see an animal or a child suffer abuse without feeling all the way into the center of my being that I should do something about it.  Now, my therapist has told me that is an emotion I should be on the watch for, as it apparently connotates something unhealthy.  Frankly, I beg to differ.

My mom said in passing a while back, "You know, you really need more acreage for all these animals."  Then she looked at me and laughed and said, "I take it back.  If you had more room you'd just have more animals."  She's right.  I'd run a horse rescue in a heartbeat if I had the acreage and resources.

While browsing one of my favorite horse blogs, I clicked on a link that led me to this story.  I'll warn you that if you click through, you'll see some graphic photos of a horse that was terribly abused and near death.  The person who responded to the craigs list ad for her realized how poor her condition was and convinced the owner to let him take her away for a decent burial.  She couldn't even stand up, and had to be loaded onto his trailer by being carried on a plywood board.

Miracle's story has a happy ending, she has made a remarkable recovery and just last week made the trip to her new adoptive home.  Sadly, for many animals who are abused or neglected, there IS no happy ending.  The people who volunteer for the rescues, who donate food and supplies, who foster, who give us air time and feature our adoptable animals on the news or who write articles about us in the paper, they are the ones standing in the gap. 

I stand with them.  I can't explain to you why - nor should I have to.  Its just something I do.

The Grand Scheme of Things

It's a good thing its Friday.  That means tomorrow's Saturday.  That means tomorrow is the day I can go ride for a few hours, and right now I really need to go be on a horse.

As much as this was a productive week (I cleared out the jungle in the front that used to be a vegetable garden.  Cleared it to the ground.  Go, me) it has also been a very difficult week emotionally.  First there was this, and believe me it has been a very difficult time at work. Everyone is emotional, odd things and comments set off random bouts of tears.  Not only that, but someone close to me is having an enormous personal struggle, and I'm worried very much about their safety and well being.   And frankly, when I read the news, I sort of understand why people feel so damned hopeless. This is a hard world we live in, and we are in frightening times of late.  On top of everything else, my dog Lady has really been on my mind lately.  I'm missing her so much it takes my breath away sometimes. 

Friday nights are hard, as well, because the kids are at their dad's, and even though I often relish my quiet time, and I get my time to ride on Saturdays because they are spending time with J, I still miss them.  I always feel a little at loose ends on Friday nights.  I don't go out much, so its just me and the critters.  Half the time I eat a bowl of cereal standing in the kitchen, watching Olbermann and wondering why I'm such a pathetic homebody. 

In this little corner of the world, I look at all the voices clamoring for attention.  I know I'm one of them, a speck among the multitude, seeking relevance, seeking understanding, seeking connection.  At the beginning and the end of it all, and most of the time in between, we are truly alone with ourselves.  We suffer pain alone.  We can seek out comfort from others, we can receive solace from the support and love of those around us, but ultimately each of us bears our own pain in our own way, and no one else knows its depths or its breadth.  Thinking of the pain of others often releases me from the necessity of dealing with my own feelings.  It tends to remind me, as well, that even when my life seems very small, insignificant and challenging, I have many blessings and that spending time dwelling on what is painful isn't really a helpful way to spend my time.  Still, its there.  For all of us.

How do we find hope and meaning in all of this?

Faith helps me.  I don't know if there's a "grand plan" for my life, but I have the hope that there's something more, something greater.  My friend Charles tells me there is.  Actually, he tells me a lot of jokes, too, and you know those help. 

My children help me.  How can I not look on these faces and feel that my life has meaning, has purpose?

 

I can also look at the kindness of friends and family, like Michelle, who every Saturday blesses me by coming by with her horse trailer and taking me out to the trail.  Like my brother, who every time he comes to visit me takes my kids to play for a couple of hours and then cooks me dinner on top of it.  My online community, who send me tweets and leave me comments, and give me so much support just by being there.

And I see things like this .  And I remember that despite all in this world that is painful and hard and scary, that there really IS love and hope.  And sparkly unicorns that leave glittering piles of happy. 

And I still get to ride tomorrow. 

Not so Teeney

People often ask me if its hard to foster dogs.  "Don't you get attached to them?" they ask.  "How can you let them go when they get adopted?"  I get attached, of course I do.  To a large number of them, anyway.  Each dog has something special about him or her, some personality trait that is so endearing and so unique that I can't help but love them.  If you've read much of my blog you may recall that the wonderfully expressive Hercules was my very first foster dog.  For all of five minutes, anyhow.  That's how quickly he settled himself into the pattern of my life.  From the first time he nudged my mouse hand off the computer desk to pet him, I was hooked.  

Of all of the fosters I've had there were maybe one or two others I would have considered keeping.  I've always decided against it.  When we adopted Hercules, we were in the market for another dog.  We only had Snoop and we knew that fostering would be a away to find a dog who fit us. Lady and Roscoe were dogs we saw through other rescues and decided to adopt.   After Lady died this year, I thought that fostering would be a wonderful way to help out dogs in need, but did not at all have it in my head that I was looking for another dog.  So far as I know, I'm still not.  I was very attached to my last foster, Rosie, a beautiful little Border/Shepherd mix who came to me defensive, guarded and scared and who developed into a confident, comical, wonderful little girl.  And I helped pick out the right placement for her and had a week off.  And then Mr. Teeney walked into my life. 

• 
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He was supposed to come with behavioral issues.  He was supposed to chew up everything in the house.  Tear up the yard.  Knock over my kids.  That's why he's in rescue, or so they tell me.  Ever since he arrived in my home last week, he simply FITS.  He and Roscoe play together like they've been doing it for years.  I swear, they spend a half an hour racing up and down the yard and come in when I call them, grinning from ear to ear.  He figured out how I wanted him to walk on the leash after no more than two or three small corrections.  He's calm, he's dignified, he's gentle and sweet, and OH MY LORD he is BIG.  And huggable.  He's a 95-pounder, or thereabouts.  

Normally when I add a third dog to the household, the chaos multiplies by a factor of about seven.   For some odd reason ONE MORE DOG just makes everything seem louder and more frantic.  After Lady died everything seemed so quiet, so we fostered and it got noisy again.  When the fosters eventually move on, the house just seems to unwind and heave a sign of relief.  Then the next foster arrives and BOOM!  The merry-go-round starts up all over again.

Not this time.  Having him here is effortless.  Pleasant.  Enjoyable.  Like it was meant to be.

He reminds me a little bit, in his facial expressions, of one of my favorite fosters ever.  One of the very small number I would have seriously considered keeping:  Trouble.  Trouble was a mastiff mix, he came to us suffering in the end stages of cancer.  His owner had dropped him at a kill shelter in the city and the rescue pulled him out.  We didn't know then that he was so ill, all we knew is that his leg kept swelling up.  Even desperately ill and in a lot of pain, Trouble managed to be the most dignified, magnificent dog I have ever met. He was the kind of dog that is the reason people love dogs so much.   When we discovered how full of malignancies he was, putting him to sleep was the only merciful thing that could be done.  I cried like a baby.  I held him while the shots were administered, telling him what a good and special dog he was, how wonderful, how loved.  After he died I sat with him for the longest time, crying tears into his thick coat, stroking him, honoring his journey into the next world.  If he hadn't been sick and died so quickly after arriving there is no doubt in my mind that I would have adopted him.  He was a "forever dog."  And just like Trouble, there is a niggling feeling in my heart that Mr. T is just that kind of dog, too. 

Welcome home, buddy.  Your family has found you.

**Yes, I'll still be fostering other dogs.  Its just that THIS dog isn't leaving.

Admission of guilt and a Pledge

I do it every day.  Sometimes several times in a day.  Sometimes its not just my fingers, its my mouth too. I'm such a bad girl.

But today?  Today it ends. 

Today is the day I take the pledge. 

Today my car becomes a NO PHONE ZONE.

 

The bluetooth headset is charged.  Harder than that will be not checking twitter or texts on my 90-mile round trip to work.  I know I can do this!  Too much is at stake, too many lives have already been lost or changed forever because someone like me just couldn't wait another few minutes to read or send a tweet or make a call. 

Won't you join me today and make your own car a NO PHONE ZONE?

On how I fill the void

Rough week last week.  I miss my dog so much.  Changes in my relationships were difficult.  The kids have had some behavioral issues, not surprising with the loss we all suffered.  I had to change the desktop photo on  my laptop at work (it was this picture), I couldn't look at my screen without wanting to cry.

I've never been one of those people who are comfortable just sitting still with their feelings.  Perhaps I'd be more highly evolved if I could do that, and its something I'm working on, but I'm not yet to the point where I can experience a deep emotion and not feel like I have to get up and MOVE or DO SOMETHING to help alleviate the pain. 

So...

Meet Mali.

Mali is NOT my dog.  

The city I live in has a three-dog limit.  I've had three dogs for so long, either of my own or my own plus a foster, that I knew I would want another dog.  Never a replacement, but there are so many dogs out there in need that I feel that whenever I can, I should open my home and my heart to help out.  Its something I can do, its something I am good at.  But I decided instead of looking for another dog to be a permanent member of the family that I would put my empty crate and aching heart to better use and start fostering again.  Mali is my first foster for Pet Over-Population Prevention, a dog and cat rescue group in my area. 

I can help more dogs in the long term by fostering, and I don't know about where you live, but out here in the rural areas, the number of stray and abandoned dogs is just mind-boggling.  People drive out the rural highways and dump dogs by the dozens.  Its so sad.  Mali is one of those dogs, found wandering out along the Kahlotus highway.  She is a very sweet, timid Rottie mix who adores children and is very calm and submissive with outher dogs and cats.  She is housebroken and crate trained and we will be working on her leash training here, as she appears to never have been taught to walk on a leash. 

I'm half-tempted to rename her "Shadow" since it appears she has decided to become mine...

It is a fitting end to a difficult week.  In some ways I still feel as if I am being pushed down by gravity - my heart is heavy, I feel weight on my shoulders, I feel raw and emotional.  I know that I will heal over time and I know that God sees and comforts me with every tear I shed.  Helping others is the best way I  know how to help myself.  

Friday and an opportunity to help someone

I am breathing a sigh of relief, although I still have to get through work today.  In a way, my first day back in the office yesterday was a relief because having mounds of work to do and a plethora of people who all needed a piece of me kept me from dwelling on things.  And it was good to be around other people and to interact, laugh and talk and joke.  One more day to get through, hopefully with a lot of checkmarks on my To Do list, and then its the weekend.  Weather forecast says tomorrow might be riding weather!  I think a long ride on the river is just what the doctor ordered for this tired mom.

Speaking of tired and speaking of moms, if anyone here follows Anissa Mayhew's blog, you probably know about Anissa's stroke.  For those of you who don't, Anissa is a well-known long time Mommy blogger.  She originally started her blog when her daughter Peyton was diagnosed with Leukemia.  Peyton is doing very well these days, but 92 days ago Anissa suffered two strokes and has been in the hospital and then in a rehab center ever since, slowly regaining strength, the ability to talk, sit up, and move about.  Her husband Peter has been updating her blog as frequently as working, parenting the kids and spending time every day with Anissa would allow.  This is a truly amazing family, and this couple's love for one another shows in every word.  Anissa's getting ready to come home, a step which her husband and children are so very excited about.  She will still require outpatient treatment, but the family's copay for 40 days of outpatient treatment will be $100 a day.  This is not a wealthy family, like many American families (me included) they're probably a paycheck away from the cliff's edge.  Peter has asked their friends if 400 people could send them $10 apiece via paypal, which would cover every single day of Anissa's outpatient therapy.

I'm not in the habit of asking people for money, and I'm not really asking you for it now.  But if you follow the link above to Anissa's blog, you can read her story, and if it moves you the way it has moved me, maybe you would feel up to clicking on the Paypal link that Peter has provided and show little tiny bit of love for these folks. 

I hope you all have a beautiful weekend and that you get a chance to do something you really enjoy.