Finding Ways to Be Frugal

There's something to be said for having had parents who were brought up as farm kids during the Great Depression (and for having had close relationships with the grandparents who did the bringing up). You learn a waste-not/want-not mentality, and don't throw anything away before asking what else you could do with it.

I've never been able to get rid of the Depression-era mindset that shaped my own upbringing, and nowadays--when disposable dollars are in shorter supply for almost everyone--I'm glad those "be frugal" lessons stuck. They come in pretty handy. (Need any chickens plucked? Just call me!)

Seriously, I put the waste-not/want-not mantra to work just this morning, after Ed finished the last of the oatmeal in the cupboard. When I spied the cylindrical oats container in the kitchen garbage, I fished it out. The sight of it triggered a memory of how my grandmother had used a similar container to help me make a school project.

I'd been all worried about how I was going to fulfill an assignment to create a valentine receiver. "Don't worry, Honey," she said, before going to her stash of Stuff Too Good To Throw Away. "We'll just wrap this empty oatmeal container in some pink fabric scraps (she had boxes of those), cut a slot in the lid, and you will have a valentine receiver." My finished project was a hit with the teacher, and with me. Grandma hadn't just saved her old stuff. She'd also saved the day.

Fast-forward to the present. To what second purpose could I put the round Quaker Oats container? Hmm.....

Just last night, Ed had mentioned that he wished he had more than one hat stand for the top shelf of his closet. Wish granted! A Western hat fits perfectly over the top of the oatmeal box, with internal storage for a hat brush.

I'm not going to wrap it in fabric scraps, though. I like seeing the words "Old Fashioned" on the box's front. They help keep me in touch with a set of values that haven't gone out of style.

Horse Underwear--One of My Favorite Inventions!

If my late grandfather (a horseman born just after 1900) were to have seen this photo of a flower-print garment, he'd have had no idea what the item was for. And if I were able to tell him, "Grandpa, this is a piece of horse underwear"--well, I probably wouldn't dare to print what he'd have said. In Grandpa's earliest days, horses wore harnesses. And pulled buggies or harvesters. Even later, when he bred ponies and horses for the pleasure markets, he'd most likely have found it ridiculous to dress horses up in anything resembling clothes.

And he'd have had a point. In the most basic sense, horses are born with all the "clothes" they really need. They're mammals. They have fur. It grows long or short, depending on season, all on its own.

Still, I'm among those who love the appearance of a horse with a perfect haircoat. I find it relaxing to go to the barn for a little "horse-Barbie" time. I'm in the group that likes the eye candy of color coordination. So, I love the invention of lightweight coat-protecting garments that stretch as a horse moves, that are easy to care for, and that allow for a measure of personal expression. I have whole wardrobes of these items designed to be worn under tougher-fabric outerwear.

They wouldn't have been Grandpa's cup of tea. But what the heck--he didn't drink tea in the first place!

Thinking About a Lost Friend Today

Last year during this week, while winding up a Horse & Rider magazine meeting in Texas, I was fighting a losing battle on two fronts. Try as I might, I couldn't give the business of business my full attention--because back home, one of our horses was dying. And there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I couldn't reach out to stroke his gray Arabian neck, couldn't tell him over and over what a perfect horse he was and how much joy he'd brought us, couldn't layer on extra blankets or take any other measures to give him some last-hours comfort. I could touch base with Ed and the vet during meeting breaks, and I could try to shove my sense of utter helplessness into a corner of my mind while discussing things like cover stories and circulation efforts. Beyond that--I just had to gut it out with my grief.

LE Najah died, by the vet's hand, before I made it home. I was on a long layover at the Portland airport--close enough to home to feel ALMOST there, but still too far to be anything but useless--when he went. Najah had been a seemingly healthy 25-year-old gelding the morning I'd left home. Within three days, acute kidney failure took him from sweet-faced barn resident to a memory.

I never got to say goodbye. The fresh pasture grave was already filled in by the time I lugged suitcase and briefcase in from the car.

Today, as the sun fails to penetrate a white winter fog, I'm just thinking about Najah, and looking through my snapshots of him (here, he's being Big Uncle to one of our foals). I'm wishing things had turned out differently.

But sometimes, they just don't.

Meet My Faithful Sidekick--the Queen B.

Given my January 7 post about horse people who are dog people, and seeing as how I just ran across this photo, I thought I'd introduce you to my faithful 12-pound sidekick, Miss Button B. Barksalot--Schipperke companion, watchdog, and roadtrip buddy extraordinaire. Here, she's got her doggy-bag and best bone packed and ready, waiting to go somewhere with me in the dually.

At home, during my wordworking hours, the B-dog snoozes under my desk--except when it's time to sound the alarm over the UPS or FedEx drivers, who're generally the only other people I see after Ed leaves for his job in town. Of course, she goes on the regular walks up to the barn throughout the day, and so does Squeeker, aka Squeeker J. McFuzzy. He's Schipperke No. 2. (I'll have to give him his very own blog spot someday. But in the meantime, he appears in the tractor-snow digout photo from a few posts back.)

On road trips, Button B. never lets me out of her sight. She ran off and got lost overnight on a camping trip, back in her puphood days, and seems never to have forgotten it. I've often wished she could tell me her impressions of being lost, out alone in strange woods--cuz they sure did give her the closest thing to humility that a Schipperke could accept. (You've heard of the big-dog-in-little-dog-body concept? Any self-respecting 'kee accepts that as Code of the Breed.)

So here she is--this horse gal's other kind of four-legged friend.

How Do You "Give Back"?

Maybe it's presumptive of me, but when I picture the people who read this blog on a regular basis, I see people who are stakeholders in the world of horses:

--People who care not just about their horses, and what they get to do with them, but who also care about supporting the good of the order.

--People who give of themselves--somehow--whether it's via time, knowledge, labor, money, or some combination--in order to support and help perpetuate some aspect of horsedom.

--People who do this so naturally, and with so little in the way of self-congratulation, that they maybe have to stop and ask themselves, "What DO I do that contributes to the horse world in some way?"

I hope that you will prove me right about this, and step forth with a contribution about your favored causes.

Don't worry about seeming immodest. As the saying goes: "If you've done it, it ain't bragging."

Here's one of my give-back efforts that I don't mind talking about: I furnish time and efforts in support of the Appaloosa Museum & Heritage Center, located in Moscow, Idaho--close to where I live. I serve on the entity's board, help produce the annual fundraiser trail ride, and pitch in elsewhere as I can.

Sometimes, that just involves the very fun process of shopping at the museum's gift store--whether it's in the permanent home of the museum, adjacent to the Appaloosa Horse Club in Moscow, or out "on location."

Here, you're seeing the museum's traveling gift booth, set up at last year's base camp for the Chief Joseph Appaloosa Trail Ride. (A trail ride with retail therapy?! Now you're talking!)

Other times, "pitching in" is as mundane as vacuuming up the cookie crumbs from the annual holiday open house, where Santa arrives at the museum on a real Appaloosa--to the delight of the many children who attend. (There's some big payback, right there, for being on hand to help out. The looks on those kids' faces...priceless!)

Visit www.appaloosamuseum.org to find out more about the Appaloosa Museum & Heritage Center--and see photos of things like kids with Santa, real horses, and cookies!

Chime in. I think it might make a lot of other readers' day to hear about the generosity side of our horse world.

Did You Get To Ride Today? I Did (Finally)!

They say it's like riding a bicycle....

I finally got to ride my horse Riley today, and there was a moment there when I wondered if I would remember how. I hadn't thrown a leg over this guy since last June, when he developed a lameness issue that required months of layoff time. He's been getting ridden lately by an area pro, but bad weather and worse roads have kept me from traveling to her barn to squeeze in any rides for myself.

So today--wow, I almost DID forget how much fun it is to be up on a responsive horse!

And that there's more to owning horses than the hard work of taking care of them through the winter.

The People's Economy: "Stuff 4 Sale"

Done any online buying or selling of horse stuff lately? Maybe through an equine-related message board, buy/sell site, or even craigslist?

If you said "yes," I wouldn't be surprised. Today's digital-communications means--cameras, camcorders, high-speed connections, and so forth--combined with online social networks and instant-payment systems--has brought forth a whole underground economy in people's used goods. And why not? Getting this stuff swapped around is just so easy to do nowadays.

It's not even hard to skip right past the use of ebay or the like, and to sell something on your own, to an eager individual, without paying a commission. Online contact in like-minded social groups can be audience enough. And as the economy tightens, the used-item discount holds appeal for a lot of people.

My favorite horse message board, for instance, has a "Horse-Related Goods" section that functions like an online tag sale of everything from used tack to "worn once" items of show clothing. I've sold all sorts of things on it lately, to unseen, unmet individuals who've happened upon my posts, and just zipped me the funds via PayPal. It's sort of like renting a table at the annual saddle-club tack swap. Except this venue is open for one-on-one commerce 24/7, 365 days a year.

My favorite sale so far was of a newborn foal blanket. The wee blanket went to a lady halfway across the country, who bought it not for a baby horse, but for a tiny orphaned calf named "Norman," pictured here in the blanket.

Personal commerce often comes with personal stories. And that was really fun in the case of Norman the calf.

How about you? Got stuff 4 sale? Looking 4 more? Are you part of the people's underground economy?

Let's All Hear It for MRS. Appaloosa--Iola Hatley

Congratulations are in order for my friend and mentor, Iola Hatley of Moscow, Idaho. After over 60 years of behind-the-scenes work on behalf of the Appaloosa breed, she has been named the lone 2008 inductee to the Appaloosa Hall of Fame.

This, in the Appaloosa Horse Club's 70th anniversary year, is a most appropriate and long overdue tribute to an extra- ordinary person. (Here we are--Iola at left, me at right--getting ready to serve campfire coffee at this year's invitational Hatley sleigh ride.)

Many people with connections to Appaloosas recognize George Hatley's name in conjunction with his honorary title, Mr. Appaloosa. George was one of the people largely responsible for turning an obscure relic of the Old West into an internationally recognized breed of horse. But what many don't realize is that Iola worked right alongside him, starting even before their marriage in 1947, and that she does so to this day.

This Idaho couple built the association from an initial set of records that fit inside a shoebox. They gave their time for years, without pay, and ran the outfit out of their home until sometime in the 1960s. Even after there was enough money for the association to erect its own building, Iola reported to work every day, answering phones and running the office.

Now in her eighth decade, she remains just about as tireless. Most 80-year-olds do not spend their winter days putting on sleigh rides and wintertime outdoor potlucks for the enjoyment of their fellow horse enthusiasts.

But, most 80-year-olds are not Iola Hatley, either.

Here's to someone who deserves to be in a Hall of Fame--and then some.

How to Use Snow as a Horse Management Tool

Photo at right: Tiffany meets her match, with snow.

In the midst of our travails with extra- ordinary snow, the date finally came when for Tiffany, our yearling filly, to be allowed out of her post-surgical stall confinement. She's been stuck in that stall for over three months, so you can imagine how worried I was about finally turning her out to a bigger space, where she might get explosive and hurt herself.

Mother Nature handed me a solution: Put her in a stall that opened to a snow-filled run. I'd heard stories of how the area's native Americans had captured and tamed wild horses by herding them into deep snow. Why wouldn't that work for Tiffany?

That turned out to be a brilliant thought. She surged out the open door, only to land chest-deep in snow. Shocked and surprised (she hadn't even seen snow until this point), she floundered back to the stall and its familiar footing, and gave up any further tries at going wild with freedom. Instead, she settled for making friends with her new neighbors, enjoyed standing with her head out in the sunshine, and gradually made her way out into the run as the snow melted down on the barn's south side. No bucking, no frantic running, no twisting on her still-healing stifle joint.

How's that for turning weather-lemons into lemonade?!

How I'm Spending the First Part of '08

Just in case you've wondered about my sporadic rate of blogging the last few weeks, here's a hint of what's been eating up my hours so far this year:

This is yours truly, using herself as a human measuring stick against this year's north Idaho snowfall. The building is our weekend house about 45 miles from the ranch. That big untouched snow mound on the left of the image tells you how much snow's fallen on the level. Roof drop alongside buildings adds that much more to the piles all around the town. Our place is still standing, but other buildings around the town are not. No wonder, huh?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

More dig-out continues there as well. The fallen snow depth wasn't as great, but the wind-drift factor set up its own series of issues.

Positives: I saw a robin yesterday, hopping over the top of a white bank. And I got to turn some horses out into runs, because we managed to get the doors to them freed after they got snowed shut in the latest storm. Those are some VERY happy horses. (And lucky ones, too, to have had a barn to get into during this record-setting winter.)

It's a Good Thing I Had a North Dakota Childhood...

...because otherwise, I'd be utterly overwhelmed by the killer winter we're having in the interior Pacific Northwest. As a kid, growing up in a state with regular Arctic winters that produced deep snows, I learned quite a few winter-survival skills, particularly where caring for livestock's concerned.

(1st pic: My husband, Ed, digging out to the barn. 2nd pic: What I face, trudging to the barn. 3rd pic: House area, encased in snow.)

Good thing I did, because those skills are coming in handy, 40-some years later, when we've got snow up to the rafters on some of our buildings, snow that's over the tops of fences in others. The horses haven't been out of the barn in weeks. There's no safe place for them to go.

I've hauled feed and bedding into the barn on a sled, shoveled snow off the long barn roof, chopped icicles down from the gutters, and tunneled my way to the manure pile. I've worn plastic bags over my socks to help keep my feet warm, and snowpants over my jeans every day for more than a month. I've made sure at least one vehicle was parked where it could make it out onto the snowplowed highway. Those are things you automatically learn to do as a farm kid from North Dakota.

Another thing you learn: The smell of spring in the air. I caught a whiff of it yesterday, as I was de-icing a gutter in a 35 mph wind.

"Chinook!" I exclaimed to myself. "Spring is on the way."

What the Horse World Needs Now Is...

...a new equine euthanasia drug that's not just effective for terminating a horse's life quickly and painlessly, but that's also safe for the environment. Added to the wish list: A drug that's affordable, and in unlimited supply, would be good to have as well.

It's become quite clear that "putting him to sleep" (a euphemism, if I ever heard one) is just about the only form of equine euthanasia that most people find acceptable these days. So be it.

But I have to come right out and say that the thought of escalating this practice, with the drugs now most commonly used to take the life of a horse, scares the environmental bejesus out of me. In fact, if I can help it, and until that desired new drug comes along, I won't be burying any more chemically euthanized horses on my property.

Here's why. Have a read of the reply I received from a practicing equine veterinarian when I asked her about the toxicity of horses made dead by lethal injection:


TOXICITY OF EUTHANIZED HORSES
"Most euthanasia solutions on the market are a combination of very potent anesthetic solutions called barbituates. Most are considered controlled substances, and have to be ordered and logged as such into the controlled-substance logs within a practice.

"The one I happen to use the most is a combination of phenobarbital, pentobarbital and phenytoin in a highly concentrated solution. The administration rate to cause death is approximately 1 cc per 10 lb of animal, so I use one entire 100 cc bottle per 1000 lb horse.

"I do not pre-sedate most horses unless they are very fractious, as I have found that it takes them longer to actually die and that they are often more violent when they fall to the ground. Again, more chemicals in the body to be concerned with.

"Now, when I put 100 cc of this highly concentrated death-inducing solution by IV injection into a horse, it kills by rendering the horse completely unconscious by overanesthetizing the brain, which then stops the heart quickly. Usually within 2 minutes a horse is truly dead.

"However, 2 minutes is not long enough for the body to break down the chemical at all. So now we have a 1000 lb dead horse with 100 cc of potent death inducing chemical in the bloodstream. If the horse is buried, the chemical will leak out into the environment unaffected as the body decomposes.

"Phenobarbital, pentobarbital and phenytoin are not species specific. If injected or ingested in enough quanity, they will kill ANY animal. Wild, pet, or human.

"I have heard incidental reports of wildlife and pets dying because they drank water that was contaminated by euthanasia solution. This often occurs because the horse was not buried deep enough in the soil and, as the body decomposes and settles into the dirt, a sinkhole over the body results. This is a place for rainwater or runoff to collect and, as such, may mix with the leeching chemicals and blood/muscle tissue from the dead animal. Oddly enough, the chemicals are really sweet tasting, and the combination can be irresitable for animals passing the burial site.

"It goes without saying that animals that are euthanized and then rendered are NOT put into the food chain at all. They are incinerated instead."


Well, let's HOPE they're all incinerated instead of rendered back into the food chain...but I'm not holding my breath. And I don't even want to think of how many lethally-injected horses have ended up, and will end up, in landfills around the country; we know darn well that all owners who have this procedure done don't have the means or the land to get their animals safely buried.

Like I said: What the horse world needs now is a different kind of chemical for killing horses by needle.

Until then, I'll be opting for gunshot.