The 10 Worst Abuses Against Animals

I would very much like to believe that our modern society has gained respect for our cousins in life, all the non-human animals. Unfortunately, I can't because we haven't. But not all uses and abuses of non-humans are equal, and some are, in my opinion, more shocking in their continued existence than others. For whoever cares, here's my list of the worst continuing abuses against non-humans. In my opinion, of course. But I'll explain why each lands where it does on my list. (PLEASE NOTE: I am NOT an animal "rights" activist, and I do NOT champion PETA. I AM interested in animal welfare science, and it is in this spirit that I write). So now, the count down:

10.    Zoos – I'm ambivalent on this one, to some extent. There are good arguments for zoos, but few zoos actually living up to those good arguments. The main one is education of the public. Unfortunately, I and others have seen many zoos with incorrect information given to the public! I would rather no education than incorrect information being given out. Another of their arguments is keeping endangered or nearly extinct species alive. Yes, but the vast majority of them will never live in the wild again, due to being raised by humans. That is, when you can get them to breed. Many species are so stressed by captivity that they refuse to breed. And many zoo animals, when born, are quickly removed from their mothers so that humans can establish a relationship ensuring the animal will be docile as an adult. Can you imagine someone taking your child from you? There's no reason to surmise that mammalian mothers of other species feel any less strongly toward their children than we do. Then there is the problem of space. There are certain species – elephants being number one – that should never be kept in zoos. There's just not enough space for them to maintain happiness. The Five Freedoms, created by the UK Farm Animal Welfare Council in 1993, state that all animals should have:

    1. Freedom from thirst, hunger, and malnutrition – by ready access to fresh water and a diet to maintain full health and vigor.
    2. Freedom from discomfort – by providing a suitable environment including shelter and a comfortable resting area.
    3. Freedom from pain, injury, and disease – by prevention or rapid diagnosis and treatment.
    4. Freedom to express normal behavior – by providing sufficient space, proper facilities, and company of the animals own kind.
    5. Freedom from fear and distress – by ensuring conditions that avoid mental suffering.

It is number 4 that is by far the most difficult for any zoo to provide for virtually any animal larger than a dog. Yes, they have enrichment programs, but that's a poor substitute for non-domesticated animals. All in all, I think the weighting falls against zoos.

9.     Fishing – This one will surprise some people, I'm sure. It's here due to recent research that indicates very clearly the ability of fish to feel pain and suffering. One scientist even stated it is possible that "lower animals" such as fish, with a less developed nervous system than humans, feel MORE pain due to the fact that they don't have a neocortex to explain away the suffering. So, first they get the pain of being hooked, then they get to suffocate. What a nice way to die, hmm?

8.     Stabling horses – OK, this one is a personal thing, as equine welfare is my specialty. Would you enjoy living the majority of your life in a 6' x 6' room with no contact with other humans? And horses are even MORE social than humans. Separation from the herd means certain death to them. This is a needless, barbaric practice. Many people point to horses that have "adapted." It's called learned helplessness and it's a horrible psychological phenomenon that is basically giving up.

7.     Roping donkeys/rodeo in general – I have known the stories of far too many donkeys used for roping practice to believe that they enjoy it, as many a cowboy will tell you. These are damaged, mistrustful, hurt, mentally scarred animals that also sometimes bear permanent physical scars from their ordeal. Bucking broncos and bulls – well, let's see. How would you men like to have a strap tightened around your testicles? Enough said. That's how they get them to buck.

6.     Fighting animals – as in the Michael Vick dog fighting case. The people who run these atrocities have the animals fight to the death, you know. What a horrible way to die. Worse, because of their training, even if the animals are rescued, they're not likely to survive, as most agencies will kill them due to the inability of the animal to suppress the aggression that has been bred and trained into them.

5.     Kosher slaughter – Sorry, but I don't believe religions should get an out when it comes to how we treat non-humans. And Kosher slaughter practices involve slitting the throats of still conscious animals. Horrific at best. This is real barbarism.

4.     Factory Farming – Chickens – Like the next one on the list, too many chickens squeezed into too small a space is horrific for them. Some are raised in buildings all their lives, never seeing or feeling the sun. And slaughter of chickens is very much INhumane. Plus, there are the misleading marketing practices. Cage-free just means they squeeze all the hens into an outdoor pen or inside a building without cages. Free-range are the words to look for if you care about being kind.

3.     Factory Farming – Pigs – The environment of pigs forced to live in large numbers squeezed into small spaces has made many of those pigs quite literally insane. Stress releases hormones. The hormones are in that meat. Do you really want to be eating meat from an animal so severely stressed out? There ARE humane methods of slaughter, when done correctly. But these methods are often not applied to pigs.

2.    Circuses – There's no good reason for circuses to still have live animals in their acts. Does anyone even go to them any more? The animals are kept in horrifically restrained cages or chained, their "training" is, at best, bullying of them and, at worst, outright assault and battery. Elephants are "kept in line" with elephant hooks…horrid creations that are a stick with an extremely pointed hook on the end. The hook is used to "discipline" the elephants, often resulting in open wounds. Never mind that the elephants kept in circuses are already insane from their living conditions – always chained or bullied about. By the way, elephants are among the most intelligent species on the planet – rivaling humans and, on some scales suggested to illustrate intelligence, surpassing us. And they have complex cultures. Yes, cultures. Their family lives are incredibly important and they honor their dead, visiting the bones, which they have placed in a location of their choosing, annually and cradling them, as if absorbing the essence of the departed friend or family member. In fact, their natural lives are so immensely peaceful, touching and poignant that it took decades of poaching, with baby elephants seeing their mothers killed in front of them, their whole herd slaughtered, and other abuses before these placid beings started fighting back against humans. And even now, it is only some that fight back. The atrocities that have been visited on these magnificent animals by humans over the centuries is truly astonishing and shameful in the extreme.

AND THE NUMBER ONE WORST ABUSE VISITED UPON NON-HUMANS BY HUMANS:

1.    Fur – This makes number one on my list because there is literally nothing redeeming about the industry of fur ranching/manufacturing. We do not live in the ice age in caves, so we do not require the skins to keep us warm. And even if that were a requirement, then we should be using cattle hides, not the hides of small, in many cases endangered, species that we do not also consume and have no other use for. The animals used for fur are often so small that dozens or hundreds of individuals are needed for each garment, and all parts of the animal other than the hide is waste. They are kept in the most horrific conditions that, were they dogs and cats, would land their keepers in jail, guilty of the most appalling abuse. Cages are barely large enough for the animal to turn around, and they spend their entire lives in them. Then they are killed in ways that allow the furrier to preserve the maximum amount of fur. This means that they are killed in the most barbaric and inhumane ways possible. Broken necks do not kill instantly. Most people do not know that. No, it takes up to five minutes or more to die from a broken neck. The other option that is proudly suggested by the Canadian Chinchilla fur rancher association is electrocution – by placement of one wire on an ear and the other on the genitals. And because the fur must not be damaged, the current cannot be too high. Thus they are essentially baked to death slowly – by the genitals. Cattle, chickens, pigs and other food animals are given infinitely more humane deaths than fur animals, many, many of whom die slowly and are still alive when the skinning process begins. Again, if it were happening to dogs and cats, the keepers would be vilified beyond belief. Somehow, unfortunately, this industry has managed to survive and fly under the radar of the average American's notice. They know about factory farming and demand "cage-free" eggs (itself a misleading marketing term – see number 4), and about dog fighting. In fact, many Americans were so angered by the Michael Vick dog fighting case that his life could be considered in danger from unruly, angry mobs. Rightfully angry mobs. Yet his dogs lived a fantasy life compared to the millions of chinchillas, foxes, etc. that live on fur farms.

Remembering the Holocaust and World War II

I received this e-mail today from a friend. It was very poignant to me, because my very first landlady…waaaaay long ago in New Orleans when I rented a little efficiency apartment in the back of her house….was a holocaust survivor. After I rented from her I was in her living room filling out the lease, etc. and noticed some blue numbers on her arm, just barely visible before the cuff of her blouse hid the rest. I'll never know where such boldness came from in me, but I actually asked her if that was a concentration camp tattoo! Back then I was REALLY REALLY quiet and shy. My folks nearly fainted when I told them that, because they had felt like they had to force me to even say hello to strangers up to that time, or even to make a phone call to people I KNEW.

 

But my landlady was very gracious about it. She told me yes, and asked if I wanted to see it. I did. I wanted to know all about the whole thing. So for the 6 months I rented from her, about once a week or so she would sit with me and any of my friends that came over and show us the tattoo and tell us about what had happened. Her parents and brother were killed. She was sent to an aunt when the allied forces released her camp.

 

I had been fortunate to have an excellent theology teacher in High School who spent probably about a month on the Holocaust and showed us films, etc. But nothing – not even those awful films, which were the actual footage taken by allied troops as they went into the camps – was as poignant and chillingly real than seeing that tattoo on this little lady sitting there with her fragile-looking, tiny hands wrapped around a delicate china tea cup. And to hear her tell the stories. L I remember her saying many times "I'm so glad you young people want to know about this. It's important." I was 20 or so. It makes me livid to hear people claim now that the Holocaust never happened, and I truly fear losing the lessons of that war and that time.

 

We were just recently talking about how the last of the Greatest Generation are going to be lost to us soon. And then what? We hope we don't find ourselves in an America that has forgotten the great sacrifices made by ALL of those people – and WHY they made that sacrifice, willingly. In this world of glaring and blaring and the loudest one wins, it's hard to hear any more those people who were so quiet about what they did and went through…even though it was likely the single most important time and events in modern history. My landlady was SO grateful to Americans, specifically to American soldiers who, she felt, she owed her very life to.

 

And last year, before my Dad died, we spent many days talking about how many WWII vets were there in that retirement village they lived in, and how many of those men and their wives were silent until Tom Brokaw's book came out. I asked Dad to tell me every story he knew from every man there in the village so I could take notes and absorb as much as I could before they are all gone. Those people did the most amazingly heroic, and IMPORTANT things I can possibly imagine. And I always wonder…was one of these men there in the village one of the soldiers who released my landlady as a little girl?

 

It is a very frightening thing indeed to see the possibility of sliding into such extremist politics anywhere in the world again…and even more terrifying to think of being in a country turning a blind eye to that extremism… yet, I fear that's exactly where we are headed.

 

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In MEMORIAM - 63 YEARS LATER

Please read the little cartoon carefully, it's powerful. Then read the comments at the end.

I'm doing my small part by forwarding this message. I hope you'll consider doing the same. 
In Memoriam




It is now more than 60 years after the Second World War inEurope ended This e-mail is being sent as a memorial chain, in memory of the six million Jews, 20 milli on Russians, 10 million Christians and 1,900 Catholic priests who were murdered, massacred, raped, burned, starved and humiliated with the German and Russian Peoples looking the other way!

Now, more than ever, with Iraq, Iran, and others, claiming the Holocaust to be 'a myth,' it's imperative to make sure the world never forgets, because there are others who would like to do it again.

Sunday Afternoon in Perimenopause Land

Not a pleasant subject for guys, I'm sure, but let me assure you – it's a FAR less pleasant topic for us women. I'm spending more than ¾ of my life lately wondering if I'll ever feel normal again. I'm emerging from my week of crashing fatigue. A MOST unpleasant symptom you never really hear about, because women try to keep going and doing and hate to admit that they CAN'T. But for days ever month, I CAN'T. I mean quite literally…the effort of getting out of bed is almost too much. It's not tiredness, grogginess or needing a nap. It's more like depression but worse. It is an effort to do ANYTHING. Even think. I mean that quite literally. And a painful effort at that. It's an all-pervasive numbness and weakness of both body and mind. Nothing sounds like it would perk you up, because nothing WILL perk you up. Like most women, I would imagine, my dh doesn't get it, and it is beginning to take a heavy toll on our relationship. I don't blame him – I hate myself for laying around like a lifeless lump for 5-7 days out of every single month. Even going to feed my beloved equids feels like an effort – and when it's an effort to spend time with them, then it's BAD.

But on this pleasant temperate January afternoon, I'm emerging a bit from the monthly cocoon; this time once again vowing to call that specialist in Austin and get an appointment. I want my energy back. I want my life back. I can tell I'm on the end of this month's rollercoaster ride from hell because the simple act of turning off the water filling a water tub for the horse didn't overwhelm me, and when I discovered the tub wasn't stopped up, so all the water was leaking right back out, I didn't feel like just lying down and letting my QH walk all over me until my death. It wouldn't work anyway. He would just have pawed and looked at me with concern, and of course the mule and donkeys would then try to help me somehow, not knowing just what to do. So that attempt at offing myself is just another example of how lackluster I have been.

It's like being a teenager again, I think, in some ways. I don't really REMEMBER the feeling of it, but I know that when you're a teenager and your parents ask you to empty the dishwasher it feels like they've asked you to do something so inconceivably difficult that you have to nap just thinking about it. That's what this is like. Only it's myself telling me to empty the dishwasher, and I go lie down instead. The grand irony is I don't sleep. I just lie there. Even at night. All night long…just lying there, with no energy for even a thought.

Then the energy creeps back in slowly. First in the form of thoughts…like today. When you're lying awake at night alone, and your whole world has been uplifted and shifted and earthquaked for years now on TOP of all the hormonal crap, it gets pretty tough. I cry then. Just cry. For everything. For the ranch I just left in such a whirlwind that I still feel disoriented. The ranch I loved and never ever wanted to leave – and didn't leave by choice. I cry for the losses of 2008. There have been so many. And each has caused a tidal wave of others. Losses of people, equine friends, dreams, and hope. I wonder if my relationship will survive this – just another in a multi-year long list of wedge-creating blows. In my more able moments I distract myself by studying what I've gone through. I now believe that losing Nutmeg and then Pooh Bear (our donkeys that were, respectively, my best buddy-was going to be my lifelong riding partner, and my co-baby-boy, truly my child in so many ways even to how he came to me to show me when he'd done something brave) absolutely affects and affected mine and other relationships that are childless in the same way that losing a child does in those couples.

Many people will hate me for saying that, for daring to say that a donkey is or could be at the same level as a CHILD. As if a CHILD is such a rare phenomena that it is granted to only one in a million rather than happening every single day, rather than, as is the reality, being just one of over 6-1/2 billion other humans. The bonds are the same. And why shouldn't they be? The instincts lie there, ready to be stirred by whatever may cause that bond to grow, and it is not just humans that can nurture and create that bond. My research is really bearing it out and despite the almost ingrained instinct to demand that human lives are more important than non-humans when we lose them, it's just not true. There's one really important key ingredient – the other species don't hurt us the way our own does. That is partly due to our own projection onto them of whatever we wish, but it exists as a phenomena nonetheless, and that alone means the pain of the loss will likely be even heavier and harder. With other humans we can temper our pain with thoughts of how they hurt us or let us down, or with our religious beliefs, or with knowing they lived a full life. But when you've had a love that never let you down and now have lost it? So many questions linger always: Did he/she KNOW how much I loved him/her? Was he/she HAPPY with me?? Did I do all I can? Nothing tempers that pain.

The evidence shows that the losses are often much greater in terms of their depth of grief and length of grieving. I'll be criticized that I can't say this because I've never had a child. But I have --- Pooh Bear. I believe that now wholeheartedly. I raised him alongside his donkey mom after adopting him away from his "birth" human mom while he was still relatively young. It would be like adopting a 10 year old human boy. And he grew under our watchful eyes and learned, and I was proud of him. And I loved him. Quite deeply. He looked to me for guidance, just as a young child would. From his donkey mom he learned to navigate the donkey world, but from me he learned to navigate the human one.

For some reason, having science begin to understand and back that as a reality makes me feel better, and shielded from the sure-to-be-hurtful hatred that will come my way as I continue to write about this topic here and in the book I have planned. The fact that other scientists are criticizing psychologists for not recognizing the validity of the grief of the loss of another species makes me feel better.

And yet, as if asking for the pain to be prodded and irritated, I study it. And I am encouraging it with another being again. This time a Quarter Horse gelding named Magnum. It's not the same, of course. But are two children the same ever?

I study it as a way of dealing with it, since I cannot talk about it with my dh. He is a hider. He buries his emotions – all of them now – and puts them tidily away somewhere locked up and not to be thought about ever again (until….I loathe the feeling of waiting for that eruption). He nearly pretended to not even notice the death at the end of this year of his riding gelding, Casanova, whom I also grieve deeply. Such a sweet boy he was…and he took such good care of Peaches, my mule, which is not how Magnum is starting out with her. And just as with the children, my other donkeys play the roles of loyal friend and companion and listener and sometimes slap me with a brush off when I come weeping…which means, I now know, the weeping is not warranted at that point.

But who am I to criticize? I bury my own emotions by taking a scientific/philosophical tack instead. Put them under a microscope and examine them, compare them, dole out labels and ratings.

Like so many philosophers, I long to do many, many more things than I will ever actually attempt. The idea of doing something is always so much easier than the physical carrying out of the plans. It's so much easier to sit and talk and ponder and write than it is to DO. And then I chastise myself when I look out at the faces of the lives I have taken into my responsibility, feeling guilty that I am not "doing" with them as much as I think or thought or wanted or something. I both long to know their thoughts, and cringe at the idea of finding out for sure if they are happy here with me.

All the philosophical questioning may be just the result of my hormonally scrambled brain right now. The depressing nature of them makes me hope so. I WANT to do all those things. I really do. I hope that this doctor can work some kind of miracle to return my life to me.

The 7MSN Ranch: Choices...too many choices

The 7MSN Ranch: Choices...too many choices

Goodbye Sweet Cas

My heart feels empty today. My year of losses continues. Yesterday, November 12^th, our very old gelding Casanova crossed the Rainbow Bridge. In some ways, it was truly a blessing for Cas, as winter freezing temperatures were again approaching and we had so much trouble with his weight and keeping him warm enough last year. The day before yesterday our ranch manager Jeannie called to say that Cas looked "very bad" so I called the vet who asked us to bring him over immediately. For those of you who knew us in California, he looked alarmingly like Nutmeg did on that day of horror for me. After David (the vet) looked at him he told us that Cas had suffered a stroke that morning and the stroke had put a lot of pressure on his poor old heart. He did, however, say that he has seen some great comebacks from using the intravenous fluids used to lessen the brain swelling of a stroke, and that often the heart murmurs being caused by the stroke itself will get better with this fluid as well. He said if Cas were his, he would give the fluid a 6 hour try and then go from there. So that is what we did.

Sure enough, after about seven hours, Cas rallied and even ate some hay. So we agreed he should stay there overnight and we would take a look again in the morning. When Van and I went to check on him yesterday morning he did not look good. But at least he gave me the opportunity to come back and sing him his song which I had forgotten to do the day before. So I sang to him and was pleased by how much his eyes perked up and his ears turned to me. I kissed him a bunch, gave him all his favorite scritches, and told him we will always love him and that he was such a good boy (he was not a huge fan of treats, having had to be taught by me what they were in the first place!). I also thanked him for sharing his last couple of years with us just being a horse.

When we got home David called. He had seen us out there and opted to wait, knowing how I am ;-\. He said that just that morning (when we saw Cas it was obvious something had just been done due to the fresh bandages around his neck) they had scoped Cas because even though he was eating, everything was coming right back out his nose. What he found was a very large malignant tumor at the base of Casanova's esophagus. So we all said our goodbyes and let Cas go peacefully and relatively happy still.

Some of you may not know the story of how we got him. Briefly, we had just moved here really, and had just gotten Freckles and Casper back from the former owner, which gave us one trail horse. We did not yet own Peaches. So if Van and I wanted to ride together, we still needed another rideable horse. We discovered that Jeannie's mother was about to take her old quarter horse gelding to the auction because he was now too tall for her to feel comfortable re-mounting away from the barn. She said he was about 25. I begged Van to buy that horse for two reasons: 1) I did not want any horse I had ever met to go through an auction; and 2) he was a bombproof trail horse and as sweet as they come. The white saddle sores and roping marks on Cas told the story of his earlier life and yet he was truly so trusting and sweet with us always. We also (through no fault of Jeannie's mother as she was just as surprised as we were) found out last winter when dealing with his weight that he was likely several years older than we had originally thought. So 30 years old is actually probably a young estimate of his age.

So Van, being so good to me as he is at times like this, bought Casanova, who eventually became Van's trail horse. In fact, Peaches was supposed to be Van's ride and Casanova mine. But Van preferred Casanova's ride. In other words, Cas spent his senior years hanging out with other horses, getting loved on, getting all his favorite scritches nearly every day, getting fed all kinds of things as we all worried about him, and being ridden once every six months for about an hour. It was clear that he enjoyed being with his horse and human friends, but that once every six months was about as much as he should do in terms of riding. Every now and then, he got his favorite thing in the world which was to be taken out and groomed by two or more women! His name was Casanova because he definitely preferred the females (both human and equine). For a while, he was Peaches' beau but Peaches ruined that when she would steal all of his food.

He had the most adorable, cute little mouffie (mouth) in the entire world. You can't see it very well in this photo, nor can you see how he had such incredibly sweet eyes and always looked at you as if to say "is this all right?. You also can't see how his stripe was significantly raised compared to the brown, so I always scritched his forehead right there. I've been going through some of the photos and will be posting more here or elsewhere later. In the meantime, here is the first, simple memorial to him.

It coincidentally happened that yesterday afternoon I received an email update on the Bluebonnet Equine Humane Society, who are having another "virtual horse show" this month. One of the categories of competition is called "Antique Horses" and is available only to those 20 years and older. I have sponsored this class in Casanova's honor. The entry fees for this very informal, but lots more fun, horse show are $5.00 per photo entered. If anyone is so inclined to enter their senior horse, please do so. I think Casanova would like this show. He always seemed a little bewildered at first by the camera, but soon learned it made me very happy to point this odd contraption at him, and so he decided he liked it too.

BTW, the #8 class in the show is Mules and Donkeys. I have sponsored that class in honor of Pooh Bear. I KNOW Pooh Bear would get a kick out of this contest and is pleased with me sponsoring in his name. Those of you who knew him know Pooh loved nothing better than when everyone is having a good time. Everyone is invited to enter this for fun show which benefits a very good and very much-needed equine rescue. The address is: http://www.bluebonnetequine.org/virtualshow/november2008show.htm

As always, I find this decision making to be among the most difficult I will ever face in all my life, and fervently hope I make the correct one each time. You may be aware of my connection with the welfare of horses, and know that I believe, and Dr. Guitar understands – which is why we like him so much – that the decision must not be made for human convenience or desires, but rather should be the choice that individual would make himself if only he could tell us. This one was more difficult than any of the others I have had to make because Cas was not in immediate danger of dying. However, he had clearly moved from a state of liveliness and happiness (even though he could not keep on weight) to one of much discomfort and difficulty with simply eating, along with some neck pain which, Dr. Guitar assures me, would have moved quickly to extreme pain within hours. Knowing that the size of the tumor barred surgery, we all together made the decision at what we believe was the right time for Cas; and the time that Cas himself hopefully would have chosen.

This power we wield – the power of life and death – over these lives entrusted to our care is a frightening one. Nutmeg and Pooh Bear (even Teddy) had very quick, very extreme, downhill slides which made the correct choice self-evident. In fact, none of the three of them had any choice at all. I have mentioned to some that I had a feeling about Cas for the last several days. I hope very much it was because he had been telling me goodbye. We can have a reasonable amount of belief that a majority of beings do know as their time approaches, often before anyone around sees it. Cas was a realist, not so much an idealistic fighter. Though Dr. Guitar was not offering any heroic options I don't believe the personality that Cas was would have wanted them anyway. He had had a very good last couple of years. Who knows? Maybe one of the others told him about the approaching move and he did not want to leave this ranch where he had known love (not just from me and Van but also from Jeannie and her family, not least of all her mother Barbara).

If you would, when you think of Cas, or Pooh, or Nutmeg or Teddy or any of the friends each of us has lost, please try to give any small amount you can afford to the HSUS or one of the many deserving "one-man-show" rescues who are far from one-man-shows, such as Bluebonnet Equine (www.bluebonnetequine.org) or the one you have all heard me speak about many times, Peaceful Valley Donkey Rescue (www.Donkeyrescue.org). For those of you with a more scientific bent there is the American Association of Equine Practitioners at www.AAEP.org. I suggest this last organization and the HSUS because both are a potential source of funding for my own future research.

I believe I see the lessons I have learned, and how they may help others, in the many losses I have had this year, especially my father. But can it please be over now???

(I want to, here, post the lyrics to his song, but he's one of the ones who truly created his "own" song in that the melody is not based on any song I know of. It just kind of popped out one day while I was brushing him. So it will unfortunately not be a sing-along. You'll just have to have heard me sing it to him (Christy) or just imagine it.

Casanova's song

CHORUS:

Casanova, Casanova he's a romancing horsey,
Who must think he's still a stallion 'cause he loves the mares you see

He does make the perfect mount
for the man who owns the ranch
'cause he's old and he is slow
and he does not like to dance

He has got the perfect mate
and she's sure nobody's fool
She is beautiful and smart
that's because she is a mule

CHORUS:

Casanova was so sad
'cause he did not have a song
but today he's got this one
and it is not very long

All the rest of them have one
and now Cas has his own tune
he's a simple Quarter Horse
but we think he hung the Moon!

CHORUS

Repeat as long as desired. Random new verses are also allowed. Best when accompanied by new lessons on carrot eating or while grooming.

 

Herd Member Part II

So the other day I had the thrill of having Magnum and Freckles regard me as a herd member, but today's visit with them topped even that.

It was dusk, so I had gone out to feed the donkeys. After putting away the wheelbarrow I use to clean up the donkey area, I wiped my hands and decided to go have a peek on the other side of the house to see if Freckles and Magnum were up front in their pasture. Freckles was. Alone. Looking back into the pasture. So off I loped down the hill and into the paddock and asked him where his friends were? He sighed and stepped close to me, wanting some scratches. I obliged quite happily; I've noted before this is a new behavior for Freckles, who was distant and distrustful until then. Standing with my hand over his neck, we both stood contentedly and stared off into the far reaches of the pasture, but after quite some time there was still no sight of Magnum or his filly girlfriend. Freckles' brow began to wrinkle. It was, after all, getting dark quickly now.

So out through the always open gate between that front paddock and the 5 acre pasture, in search of the wayward lovers. I followed the trail worn so very reliably by days and months of their lovely hooves pounding on the ground in that exact same spot every day. The grass on either side of me reached my waist, and thoughts of the wee tiny snakes I've been seeing recently at dusk kept poking into my thoughts. Then I realized that Freckles was following me. He caught up to me and walked so calmly just to my left, so politely. I think I'm falling deeply in love with this boy. So there we were, the old horses team, out looking for the young star-crossed lovers.

After dipping down into the draw toward the tank again, which requires much ducking under new oak limbs from all directions, we skipped up the other side of the bank and there I saw the filly, emerging from behind a stand of oaks not too far from where we emerged. Hmm. I HAD been calling Magnum's name. Suddenly, Magnums striking face peeked out from the side of the oaks, almost sheepishly. I said "Magnum…have you and the filly been smoking back there?" LOL. At hearing his name again, he came running to me, faster and faster as the filly joined him. I began to worry he might not stop in time, but he did, and quite gracefully too. With his nose right in front of mine. "Hello!" he said. "hello to you" I said, in horse speak of course. That is, we exchanged breaths through our noses. Then I stroked and petted Magnum as he has grown accustomed to when he sees me.

But the darkness was now approaching quickly and the pasture was one long, very dark, shadow. Freckles appeared at my side again, and I asked if we should head back to the paddock. He looked at me and I'm pretty sure his answer was "yes," but he wasn't moving. This puzzled me. Until I remembered that often in the wild one of the boss mares determines where and when the herd moves. So with my new found herd membership I said "OK, Freckles, Magnum, Filly. We're going home" and I began a slow steady walk down the trail. Sure enough, I heard hooves fall in line behind me from Freckles, then I could hear another set, and then another. All single filed. After a few moments I stopped to check. Yes, there was "my" herd. Freckles right behind me, followed by Magnum, and the new filly bringing up the rear. Ah, yes. The mares on the front and back. I sighed and smiled with such contentment and turned to continue and listened as each horse picked up the walk behind me one by one.

When we got past the gate into the paddock, I kissed Magnum good night and then stood by Freckles for quite some time, just being with him, but also asking him if he could please take me on a ride later this week. A ride that usually wouldn't be terribly smart, but that I know intuitively will be fine with Freckles. I told him I want to go retrieve my wildlife camera from one of the stock tanks at the very back of the property. And then we could mosey back to the front. He turned his head toward me and rested it against my chest. I'll take that as a yes. *sigh*

But to make the evening even better, I also tonight became Edie's pasture buddy when I went to tell the donkeys goodnight. Since losing her son, she has been the odd donkey out with the two minis glued at the midsection. So when the minis left the area we were visiting in, and headed to the darker back side of their barn area, Edie took a step or two forward, but turned to look at me and sighed. I said "Oh, honey, do you want a pasture buddy? I can't stay all night, though I would like to, but I'll stay for a few minutes." I moved up next to her shoulder and watched as the look in her eyes moved from slightly sad to surprised. She took a few more steps toward the dark side. I followed. Her eyes became sparkling, smiling even. So together like that we walked over to the back gate where she showed me how she looks across that field for all kinds of wildlife. I stood with her watching for a long while, maybe 10 minutes. Then she went to gnaw on an oak tree trunk. I glanced to make sure I knew where she was, and she was looking at me. It's important, you know, to keep an eye on each other.* I milled around a bit there, watching the lightning in the distance, breathing in the awesome fresh country air, and just being. After another 10 or so minutes, I turned and came toward her. She raised her head questioningly, but calmly. I said "yes, I'm afraid it's time for me to go in, but I love being your pasture mate. Can we do it again tomorrow?" She still had that slight smile on her lips as, after my goodnight kiss on her cheek, she went back to gnawing the oak tree.

Coming around the corner and getting the usual wonderful hugs from the minis just completed a magically wonderful evening – especially since Vickie's fur was still slightly damp from today's rain. I adore the smell of Vickie right at the tip of her butt when she's been wet. It's such a sweet, calming, beautiful smell.

Ahhhhhhh. I can think of no better way to wind down my day than the one I had tonight.

*The importance of keeping your buddy in sight can be shown in a little story about Chloe recently. I was outside with them giving them cookies. Vickie and Chloe had wandered off, glued together, to the other side of Edie to graze on hay. When she realized I had more cookies, however, Vickie quickly turned and came back around Edie. But that meant that Edie was now blocking Chloe's view of Vickie. Chloe raised her head a moment later, looked around quickly, and then BRAYED. It was a bellowing, slightly panicked sound, much like the mad ringing of the church bells when a child has gone missing. Then she took off running, but as she cleared Edie's rear end, and caught sight of Vickie there, perfectly fine, she stopped short, stifled the bray, and tried to look very nonchalant as she walked slowly toward us. But poor Chloe's cool girl cover had been blown. Of course, we all knew about her anyway.

So goodnight Freckles. Goodnight Magnum. I hope your filly makes you feel safe enough to lay down for some sleep. Good night filly. Please be nice to my baby boy. Good night Edie, it's an honor being your pasture buddy. And goodnight VickieChloe. Rest your sweet fuzzy heads in peace tonight. I love you all. (and goodnight Peaches and Casper and Casanova, too!).

Part of the Herd

If you've never had the experience of your horses treating you as a true member of their herd, I highly recommend the experience, having just had one today. It is such a thrill when you realize that your horse looks at you and expects you to understand his language fully and adhere to his social norms. A kick when they acknowledge you as one of the lead mares. An honor when they humbly come to you for mutual grooming. I mean, here is a 1,200 lb. animal who could easily off me with one toss of his head, and he is choosing – CHOOSING – instead to lower that head to my chest asking for a soft scritch behind his ears.

I was out taking pictures. My ranch manager had put a filly of hers in with two of our geldings, one of whom is young and playful. The filly has been lonely since her pasture mate left yesterday for his new home, and Magnum, my gelding, has been bummed since his pasture playmate has been laid up with a bum eye for a while. My other gelding is one of those prototypical grumpy old men, though underneath it all, Freckles is, like those quintessential grumpy old men, a marshmallow with a caretaking streak a mile wide. You just better damn well never say it out loud though – HARUMPH.

Looking out my breakfast nook window this afternoon I saw Magnum and the filly running and playing, tails held high streaming in the wind. The sheer beauty of their joyful leaps and twirls, the thrill of their on-the-run kicks, the emotion of their sturdy Quarter Horse muscles in flight were all screaming for me to get that camera out and capture this on film. So I reached for our video/still combo digital and headed out the door.

It seems I watched too long though, because by the time I got to the pasture, they had had their fill of running for the time being, and all three were far off in my favorite part of their pasture, under the oaks, grazing calmly. Nonetheless I headed over, since this area, with the oaks flanking the draw for our largest tank, is the most enchanting place on our ranch. I could think of no more relaxing way to spend the remainder of this perfect afternoon than hanging out with some of my horses in that perfect spot. I snapped a couple of shots before Magnum came to greet me as he always does. This time he brought me his new girlfriend, too, as if introducing her to his "mom." With his sweet eyes dropped and occasionally stealing a glimpse upward, he seemed to seek my approval, and when I said "what a beautiful little girlfriend you have Magnum" he brightened and lifted his head proudly.

Now that was a sweet moment, but it was not as sweet as when, a moment later, Freckles came up to my other side and stood calmly by my shoulder. Freckles has always been a somewhat aloof horse, so I have been working on melting his heart as we've lived here with him. I try to make much of my time with him have nothing at all to do with riding. I just focus on building a trusting relationship. My training and handling style with horses is one based on mutual respect and absolutely no hitting, so it is rewarding, if slow. Unfortunately, despite wishing that Freckles not see humans as always coming for him only when they want to put him to work, it's tough here since he is that horse that every ranch should have; the one you could put a newborn on for a trail ride and know all would be fine, that Freckles would take good care of the baby. The kind of horse we call "bombproof." In fact, just this week Freckles proved his worth yet again when we put the wife of a visiting couple, who had insisted she could ride the wildest horse in the world, on Freckles for a ride around the perimeter of the ranch.

It turns out the husband had long doubted his wife's riding ability, and I had noticed pretty quickly that some of her mannerisms belied her true horsemanship ability. She wanted to run, and tried to get Freckles to trot for her. And tried. And tried. Yet Freckles could not be budged. She asked us if he was sick? No. Did he dislike her? No. Is he just lazy? No. He can go quite fast when he wants to. What we didn't tell her is that Freckles was taking care of her. He could feel her novice body on him and ensured she would not get into trouble.

So when she wanted to ride bareback the next two days, we again relied on good old Freckles. Only on day two I decided she'd do fine on my mule, who I'd tested out bareback the day before.

I have a theory that riding bareback serves to not only give the rider a much better "seat," or sense of balance on the horse, but also to build a bond between horse and rider. You are literally skin to skin in a very intimate dance. That is, if it's done right. If you as the human do not hold up your end of the bargain and instead sit heavy on the horse's back, acting like an interfering bag of potatoes, bareback can be a horse's worse nightmare.

Whether it was just the extra time with Freckles this week or the bareback ride on him yesterday, I must have done something right because as he stood at my side today, I realized that this was the first time in nearly 3 years I'd seen Freckles ask to be loved on. So I granted his wish, and there we stood for a solid 10 minutes, starting out with a good scritch behind the ears, a massage of his neck and withers, moving to a brushing move on his belly, then back up to just hug his neck and whisper in his ear. He surprised me again by turning toward me for a soft hug, gently cradling his beautiful head on my left shoulder. Then he let out a big sigh. I was thrilled. I love all those expressions of trust and contentment I get from my horses that I've taken the time to be fair and gentle with. I was so excited I decided to spend another half hour or so out there with this mini-herd. Besides, Magnum and his new girlfriend were still grazing, so maybe I'd get some play photos yet.

Freckles still had more surprises for me, though, as each time I moved he came up to my side yet again and was content to just stand quietly with me, sighing, and dozing briefly. What a thrill! Yet this was not the quintessential "part of the herd" nod from today yet. Magnum and the filly kept grazing for a while, contentedly munching on the high grass. They occasionally moved our way, as Magnum is normally as attached to me as Freckles was today, so he came to seek attention and scratches. I had a pleasant 15 minutes or so of just leaning on a sturdy old oak, taking snapshots of the horses and enjoying observing their movements and interactions, both with each other and with me.

Time passed, and dusk came too soon signaling dinner time. Freckles is a chow hound. I tell him I know he thinks he'll get blown away in the next breeze if he doesn't eat frequently and eat a LOT. In reality of course, he is on the border of obesity. Suddenly, Freckles seemed to remember the dinner truck would be arriving soon, and he turned and started for the stall paddock. After a moment, the filly, without even looking up from her grazing, took out after him, mirroring his steady walking pace. I had been petting and talking with Magnum, and he became instantly worried. His eyes and forehead wrinkled up some, as he looked back and forth, back and forth.

That's when it dawned on me. Magnum knew we MUST do the proper horse thing, which is fall in line behind Freckles, but his stupid human wasn't heeding the rules! "Magnum thinks I'm part of the herd" I realized. And my heart leapt in joy!! But then I did another faux pax. I assumed that, even though young and gelded, Magnum would like to play the role of the stallion, who falls to the back of the line to protect his herd in front of him. As I moved off in front of Magnum, he rushed up to my left side and very, very gently, yet firmly, grabbed my shirt. The frantic look on his face told me quite clearly that I was making a grave error. No, I was not to be in the middle of the herd! I am a boss mare, I must fall at the back to protect the herd! So I stopped and gave him my ok to move on, which he did, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to ensure I was still there.

As we made our way back, I noticed that Freckles, too, was acknowledging my herd membership, as when he'd stop to let everyone catch up he'd stay put until I was within the right distance, and then he'd take off again.

And that was how I ended my day, just another horse, albeit an extremely pathetic looking one. Being a boss mare and bringing up the rear of her herd of four. Freckles the old guy was leading the way to the feeders, the young filly next, then Magnum, the youngest male, and finally this odd human taking the position of protector. One by one we filed through the gate into the feeding area.

After wistfully saying my good-night's to them all, I made my way back to the house and to feed the donkeys who were waiting patiently.

But I am still glowing from the special feeling of being accepted by the horses, of being an acknowledged boss mare, of knowing that all my time spent quietly building a true relationship with them truly is time well spent.

Maybe we CAN talk to the animals, after all.