DOUBLE DUTY

Here is Spring Sport, the CEO of the pasture. When you are CEO, your duties never end. Oh, sure. It looks like you are playing golf and having drinks with friends while everyone else is working. But when the poop hits the fan, whose name comes up? You bet- YOU are on the hook!

Sport is the guy who manages Bergie and Ray (his 2 pasture-mates) day and night. He watches over both of them while they nap. He assesses danger when something unexpected shows up near their stomping ground. If he decides it is worth evacuating, they do. If he decides it is nothing to worry about, they don't.

It isn't easy being him. They both look up to him and compete for his attention, all the while bickering among themselves. So often his facial expression looks a little weary of all the responsibility. But there is no quitting this job, it is a life-long commitment.

Last week, Bergie, who had gained a little bit too much weight while Dad was in charge of feeding, was separated while the boys cleaned up their (more abundant) food. She gains weight at the mere discussion of hay, so she must be separated, just for a part of the day. Ray was standing outside, not interested in his hay (never a good sign) and he was shaking. I slipped a halter on him and led him out of the pasture area to have a better look.

Poor guy had a minor case of colic. This can be serious in horses- it can even cause death, so I proceed with care. I called the vet and developed a plan. I had to give him a pain killer and see if I could get him to eat grass to stimulate his intestines. We were just outside of the pasture fence.

Sport came over, worried about his friend. He sniffed and looked at us for long minutes. I wonder if he was giving some direction or encouragement to Ray? Soon after, Ray began eating grass. This was a good sign. Bergie was very worried about her friends because she could not get close enough to the action. She was behind a fence that was about 10 yards away. She began whinnying frantically. So, Chief Executive Officer, who really wanted to eat his hay, turned from us and went over to assure Bergie that all was well. He stayed with her for half an hour. Finally, when everyone was comforted and doing well, he lumbered in to eat his breakfast, which was brunch at this point.

So, I ask you- CEO or Mom?

DOG AND CAT THEOLOGY

A dog says: You love me, feed me, care for me- You must be God.

A cat says: You love me, feed me, care for me- I am God.

Those of us having both dogs and cats know how this theological perspective could be true. Nobody has ever "worked like a cat" (maybe they have, but I am sure they would get fired for it). The word "dog" is synonymous with loyalty, dedication and adoration.

I have heard it said that people who like (in my case, love) cats are confident and self-assured. That is, of course, because you will not get any affirmation from your cat. Your dog, on the other hand, hangs on your every move. They wait patiently while you find the leash, the treat, the ball. Their entire lives are wrapped up in YOU.

Last week I had an evening appointment with a client and I was not home until after 8:00pm. Eddy spent the entire evening sleeping in the laundry room, where the door to the garage is located. He waited there for hours until I was home again. It was a weird feeling to have somebody THAT wrapped up in me and my whereabouts. Sort of... God-like? Well, I don't know. But I certainly felt important.

Funny, I feel that important to my cats, too. They don't sleep in the laundry room when I am gone, but they certainly do look for me and follow me around. Perhaps we are better-equipped to understand dog adoration than the more subtle cat love? I am still of the opinion that if you put the love in, you get the love out.

"And, in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make" -Paul McCartney.

Oliver : The "Elfin Warrior"

So I went out of town and I got carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand. It's been a while since I posted any new blog.

In the meantime, I am now Grandpet sitting while their parents are in South America. This has given me a great opportunity to take some great pics and observe some dog-cat interaction. Our guys are so used to the routine, nothing much happens.

But then comes Oliver. Yes, "she" turns out to be a "he" and a rather raucous "he" at that. My daughter and Son-in-Law decided that the Plan B name would be Oliver. Upon further investigation, "Oliver" means "Elfin Warrior". Even at 16 ounces, he was trying to reveal that he was, indeed, an Oliver. A precocious 7- week-old now, he has taken over pretty much our entire house (in between napping and eating like a LION).

I haven't weighed him, but I think he is at least 3 pounds. Eddy, our loyal Lab, you might remember is 90 pounds and VERY ATTACHED to his crate- his space. Now that Bubba has abandoned trying to manipulate us by going in Eddy's crate, the only other one to invade Eddy's space is Oliver. He sleeps in there, plays in there, climbs the crate sides and many times ends up on the top of it, just so he can get a better view. Eddy is disgusted.

Finally Roscoe has taken over the daunting task of socializing Oliver. He tends to greet the cats with paws and claws, and Bubba and Roscoe have swatted him s few times. Now, Roscoe patiently plays with him-chasing and a tiny bit of wrestling. Today Bubba has taken over some of the duties. It is all over his smug face that it is trying his patience. I can almost hear him lament, "Rambunctious children!" I seem to recall a tiger-striped cat who was a terror not too long ago...

Oliver is sweet and loving (lots of licks in between bites) and just enough naughtiness thrown in to make him irresistible.

Perhaps Eddy finds him resistible, now that I think of it!

EVERYBODY NEEDS A PONY

I did not have a pony when I was a small child, but my daughter did. Ellen was one in a million- she knew her job and loved it. When my daughter was around her, or on-board, she was a perfect angel. She was 4 years old when she got her pony and when I asked her what we should name the little mare, she replied with certainty, "Ellen." We don't have any relatives named Ellen, she didn't have any friends with that name, and I don't think there are any Sesame Street characters named Ellen (at least at that time). Hmmmm ?

We rode together all of the time. I was in the lead, with Ellen following closely behind my big horse. When we walked, Ellen waked. When we trotted (yes- we jogged a bit, but no faster than that) Ellen trotted. Trail rides were safe and fun for all.

So, aside from fun, what is the benefit? My little daughter gained a huge amount of confidence, riding up there all by herself. She learned responsibility by taking good care of her pony. She became goal-oriented because she always wanted to get better and better at riding. She was alert about her surroundings because any little thing can send a pony into a "flight" response. (though Ellen was pretty rock-solid)

But perhaps my favorite memory of this time was when we brought the pony home to my parents' house (we kept our horses there). My Dad gathered up the strength to sit up in his bed while I led Ellen and my daughter by his window. He was only a month or so from dying of cancer. The smile was wide and tender as he saw his little granddaughter on her first pony. I will never forget the last time I saw true joy on his face.

When we outgrew Ellen, we gave her to a family of 4 tiny children that Ellen had the task of taking for rides. They truly loved her as much as we did. The last time I spoke with them, they reported that she was doing well and they planned to keep her forever. I have not checked back with them as it would be beyond Ellen's lifespan now. But I have my wonderful memories of her.

I am planning to open "Raven's Rock Youth Ranch" in the near future. I am in the midst of applying for my 501(c)3. We are going to give pony rides to kids of all ages, just to see how much joy we can spread. I will be writing more about it coming up. Everybody needs a pony.

A New Grand-Kitten

Meet our newest addition-Anabelle Lee. Though my daughter and son-in-law paid $10 for her (we think she is a her-but that may be revised after her visit to the vet) she was a rescue.

I am going to TRY to be generous here. Perhaps the teenagers who had this adorable kitten and her siblings in a basket all day at the grocery store, without any food or water for them, or even so much as a towel for them to sleep on were simply IGNORANT. The teens reported that this 11-1/2 ounce (my daughter weighed her in a ramekin) was 6 weeks old. Maybe they just FORGOT when the kittens were born, because they are no more than 4 weeks old. Too young to be separated from their mom. When they got her home, she was ravenous. (sigh)

I am NOT thinking about the others that were adopted by other kind people. I am going to imagine that they were lucky enough to get competent homes where they are getting the cat formula that they need, like Anabelle is. As well as all of the extra work that needs to be done for such a young kitten, that my daughter and her husband are doing for this, the last kitten to be adopted and taken home. I am going to imagine that all is well.

I am certain it is for little Anabelle. It is amazing how small she actually is! She is getting stronger all the time, but is still wobbly- really just spends her days sleeping, pooping and eating. No playing yet. But that is coming attractions. She will grow and thrive because she has such loving, caring "parents." I hear that Molly and Baby Jake (will he need to change his name to "Adult Jake"?) are adjusting well to a new sister (or brother, as the case may be). This will be a fun summer over at their house!

THE HEART OF THE MATTER

A few blogs ago, I told the story of my own introspection about how I had not really invited Roscoe in- into my life or our family. I made a vow to fix that. I am here to report that it has worked! That has caused more introspection...

I have decided that it was all hinging on Roscoe needing to feel as though he really mattered to someone. He had decided a while ago that it mattered to him that he was wanted. He was patient, he just waited until he was.

We all want to feel as though we matter. I see it all the time in counseling with couples and families. What couples describe as "falling out of love" really is they have stopped feeling as if they matter to their spouse. Kids often do not feel as though they matter to their parents. People get all tangled up n the day-to-day goings on of their lives, just as I did when I walked right by the anticipating kitten who turned into a cat while he waited for me to turn towards him. I do not ever walk by him now without a few words, scratching and a kiss. I have found that he simply LOVES getting brushed.

That is all that it took. Just feeling that he mattered to me. He comes downstairs and watches TV with us, jumps up on the place where I keep his brush. He actually meows, loudly, for me his daily brushing. He feels that he can demand it, and that he matters enough to me that I will give him the attention he craves.

It is the silent ones who are saddest to me. They don't feel that they even have the right to ask for what they need. Perhaps cats are the last ones to decide that a person matters to them. Dogs are the ones who are born knowing that their entire life is wrapped up in a person- good or bad. It isn't enough to be loved. "I love you, but I don't really care that you need some time from me right now." You can be loved, but perhaps you don't matter enough to that person for them to change their own plans or busy-ness to include you or your needs.

I think I saw it in a movie once. "I'm just trying to matter." Thank you, Roscoe for teaching me such an important lesson. You really do matter to me.

AUGIE'S MISSION STATEMENT

I WILL BECOME THE BALL.

Does your pet have a mission statement? This pooch has developed her ball-handling skills to the level of a hall-of-fame shortstop. The ball NEVER gets past her. She is consumed by her passion: retrieving the ball. I remember reading a biography of one of those spectacular athletes. He said that his goal was to become the ball. I never really knew what the heck that meant until one day a new student arrived at the junior high where I was working.

He was a very tall African American 9Th grader who was obsessed, no, absorbed with basketball. Every minute he was awake, he carried a basketball around with him. The administration decided not to follow their own rules about what was appropriate in class. He did not "play" with it- he just held it wherever he went; every class, lunch, the locker room- everywhere. It reminded me of when I had babies- I could cook a meal, answer the phone or read a book while holding the child. I fully understood what it meant to "become" the ball. It was, indeed, an extension of this young man. I never found out if he made it to the NBA. but if determination had anything to do with it, I am sure he did.

That is Augie. She has found every ball we now have- we have never purchased one of them for her. It is so odd to see her dive off of the trail and come back with a new tennis ball. She carries it all the way home. When we get home, she places it carefully in your track, so that it is almost impossible to ignore. When the vet was out to examine Sport's leg for a lameness issue, she was able to place the ball directly under his foot. Just in order to continue the exam, he had to throw the ball to the side to get it out of the way. Augie caught it on the first bounce.

She knows how to bounce the ball, too. She drops it and catches it over and over, like a kid who has a new ball and some time to kill. I can't tell you how many times I have shoveled the ball up in the pile of manure I was working on in my stall-cleaning chores. Yes- I had to fish it out. She sniffs with the ball in her mouth, pees and poops with the ball in her mouth. She even barks with the ball in her mouth.

I am not sure of how many people have a personal mission statement, but Augie Doggie certainly does. And she works on it every day!