Thanks for the well-wishes, prayers and jingles for Dad. He’s doing much better, though suggestions for good-tasting recipes that are low-sodium, low-fat, and don’t involve citrus would be nice. We’re also lucky to have great neighbors–Mr. R. and his son have been helping with barn-cleaning, and even installed overhead lights right in the stalls (yay, now I can see the mess in detail!), while Mr. R and Mr. L, one of the hunters who uses the front forty, worked on repairing the barn lean-to’s roof. The horses were heartbroken, heartbroken I say, at having to stand in their stalls eating hay all afternoon.
In the ‘goings’ category: I had the horrible shock of losing my big fat fluffy kitty, Jet, two weeks ago.
Dr. W., the vet down here, said that large breeds and their crosses, which Jet clearly was, often have heart defects. Everyone at the vet’s was very nice. They’d already seen a lot of me–Jet and Marcus had just been in for their shots with Maggie in for her heartworm check, grown-up shots, and she was coming back for her spay, while Tucker had unexpected trips to the emergency room and was due in the next day to have staples removed. (Lesson learned: No matter how tough Corgis think they are, they cannot take three pit bulls but are far too dumb to back down. Though apparently an elderly cataract-afflicted skinny hard-of-hearing shepherd mix can leap into the fray and trot out without a scratch on him. I think there is some sort of reason other dogs respect Puff.) I had Jet privately cremated, so I could take him back to my parents’ house to bury him next to his littermate.
Some of you may be saying, “Wait…Maggie?”
Maggie was originally bought by my neighbor as a tinypuppy for his granddaughter. Pretty much since she was old enough to run, she has spent every moment she could get away in my yard. Case in point: I was digging up weeds in the garden and POW, Corgi to the back of the legs. I think at the point when they brought her over and put her on the line by the doghouse in my yard (the granddaughter tends to lose interest in puppies, and unfortunately my neighbor was in hospice care and his daughter simply couldn’t manage all the animals-speaking of which, now he’s passed, does anyone want a kid wether or a Saanen-cross nanny? I’m trying to sell them for her as she needs to downsize his animals), which lasted about as long as it took for me to flea-dip her, Maggie was thinking “I KNEW IT! I knew there was a mistake and I was delivered to the wrong house and I was supposed to be here all along!”
Tucker does not recall asking for a Mini-Me. (No, they’re not related. I know Maggie’s breeder and he doesn’t know where Tucker, whom I got from the county shelter, came from.)
It didn’t take long for the situation to be permanent. That meant grown-up shots, spay, and a surgery to fix her umbilical hernia (the latter two much to her breeder’s relief. He was a friend of my neighbor’s and while he sold them Maggie, he wasn’t really thrilled with her being left to potentially breed.)
He’s also the person who kindly helped me get my fair goat home, and as you can see, Maggie and Tucker know their ancestral duty:
As for the Home For Wayward Geldings?
I’m debating whether or not they’re going to need turnout sheets for winter. They’re already growing in their fuzzy coats (Lucky always looks filthy once he grows in the fuzz, as if it has magic dirt-retention properties) and I generally don’t blanket as I don’t clip, but I always end up pondering.