Winter weather finally came. After the crazy October Snowpocolypse, it has been very mild all winter--dry and warm.
We had a cooooold weather snap recently, and this weekend finally some more snow. Not that I'm complaining about the lack of snow. It was pretty pleasant actually, and the warmer weather has kept the ground from freezing and allowed me to ride at home for longer.
Now that there's freezing cold weather and pretty snow though, we get to raid Cathleen's trunks for pretty, pretty things to wear. Look how dashing!
We just went for a little romp down to the lake. The snow was perfect--there was enough of it on the road to cushion the ground, cover the rocks, even out the holes, but wasn't slippery or so much that it was hard to get through.
My head is HUGE
Even through the snow, EZ can find delicious things to nom.
But is still eager to get back inside and to his hay.
Since we were staying off the road, we brought the little farm dog. He would much rather go back to being a tropical island dog on his sandy beaches, I think. Although he does enjoy the poopsicles.
To try to make his cold, outdoor experience more enjoyable, he is also outfitted in winter fashions.
As I alluded to in an earlier post, Scamper went missing this fall.
I do not exaggerate when I say that this is was a tragedy in my life.
Scamp had been my constant companion since moving back to Millbrook and starting my job at my school. The first night I moved into my close-to-campus-housing and found myself locked out after late night dorm duty, I panicked because, "My kitten's in there!" (Don't worry, I eventually found the spare key with the help of the Night Watchman and was reunited).
Growing up from kittenhood as the only other living thing in my home, Scamp made the most of being the center of my attention. He insisted on drinking only from a running faucet, would meow insistently to be let out at whatever time suited him, and then to be let back in, hopefully as late as possible.
Then he would lay on my head.
Out in the woods where we were the first 2 years, he spent much of his time outside, coming back with an array of baby woodland creatures to leave half-eaten on the doorstep. Occasionally during good weather he would spend more than a single night outside, and I initially would obsess about him being devoured by coyotes, but eventually came to trust that he had developed savvy enough wilderness skills to escape from such a situation.
Log Cabin in the snow
One rainy day Scamp had been outside for longer than his usual night-or-two and I ventured out to to try to find him. I checked in the old chicken coop where he sometimes took shelter, but to no avail. I checked the big garage/barn area and finally heard the meow I was looking for. "Scamper?" I'd call, and hear his pathetic mewling in response. But I couldn't find him. It sounded like he was IN the wall. I would go inside the building, locate the sounds, see nothing. I would go outside the building to the woodpile area and do the same, with the same results. This went on for about half an hour before I started to panic. He was trapped somewhere and I couldn't find him, never mind rescue him. He had been out for a few days and had to be hungry. I filled my role as the cat-crazy girlfriend and called the guy I was seeing, who worked not far away, hoping he could come over and help. He was sympathetic, but he was working. He was sure it would work out. I didn't want to exaggerate the cat-craziness, so I turned to those who were less likely to judge: my parents. I explained my predicament tearfully. MY CAT WAS SCARED AND TRAPPED AND I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO HELP HIM!! They came right over.
In their eternal wisdom they quickly deduced that the Scamp sounds were coming from below, rather from above in the roof region I thought it did. So we started excavating at the woodpile, and lo and behold, finally reached cat-level. Scamper was so happy, and didn't seem nearly as apologetic as he should. He resumed his position as head-of-household--running to the door in greeting when I came home, coming and responding when called.
This September, after spending the summer at my parents' while I was at the ranch, we relocated to on-campus-housing. I had been thinking about how this move would affect Scamp and his wilderness-cat ways. The apartment is right next to a parking lot, between the dining hall and maintenance area, not far from the dumpsters and the old paddocks and wooded area leading to the upper athletic fields. The latter area would be great for Scamp, the others--not so much. He would need to navigate through the traffic and deliveries to find the apartment door, hidden in the corner of the L-shaped building. I bought him a collar and looked into getting an attached name tag, so that if he were wandering it would be easy to know who he was.
Once we moved in and had open windows in the late summer weather, I thought maybe we could work out a cat-entrance from the window to the roofs, down to ground level. There would be less navigating that way.
Scamp's new (scary!) home
After a week or so in the new digs, during which time he spent much time under the couch and cowering at the sounds of delivery trucks and voices outside, Scamp wandered to the windows and cautiously went outside. I followed him the first few times, showing him the woodsy area and how to get back to the door. The first few times he went out and stayed out alone he was gone for two nights, and I would bemoan all the things that could be happening to him out there and my friends would tell me to chill, he's a cat, he'll be fine. They were fight, and each time after two nights I would go out to the trees and call him and he would come running as he does.
Then I had to leave for two nights for a retreat with the kids. Scamp had already been out his allotted two nights and I looked worriedly for him in the rain (always seems to be raining in these moments, doesn't it?) before I left. I told all my neighbors to keep an eye out for him for me, but when I came back, he was still out there.
And there he remained for two months.
I went out every night to try to find him, vacillating between increasing frustrating and desperation. I snuck around my former log cabin residence on the other side of campus, hunting for him and left a note for the current tenant to let me know if the cutest orange cat showed up. After about two weeks I sent an all-school email, attaching a picture and asking everyone to be on the lookout for him (yes, this did greatly improve my popularity among both students and faculty).
There was now no hiding that this was my true identity
The campus was very concerned, and every day I would respond forlornly to their questions of news. A few times he was spotted. Faculty who lived along the dirt road of my old house in the woods saw him in the in that area. I was so relieved he was out there, but also felt so helpless that I couldn't get him. I left food near their houses and would comb through the woods after practice calling my kitty call.
One night after dark I was driving by and saw a kitty shape crossing the road. Definitely looked like it could be Scamp. I stopped, dug out a flashlight and went into the woods after where I saw it disappear. I flashed on reflecting eyes, then it was gone. I went home, feeling like I had been so close. I couldn't stand it, and actually went back out in the pitch black to look again where I had been sure he had been, but nothing.
My faithful parents were still part of this saga--at times unknown to me, my father would come to campus, in the early morning or afternoon, and walk around and call his kitty call. He would go to the log cabin and just sit beside that garage where Scamp had once become trapped, waiting for a sign of him. Knowing he was out there was driving us all crazy.
I sent out another email to the staff, asking if anyone had a Havahart trap that I could borrow. If I couldn't get him to come to me, maybe I could catch him. Others warned me that I would likely catch a skunk or raccoon instead, so I was hesitant. It seemed like an unrealistic option, desperate though I was.
Unlike this guy, I would not be so happy to find this in my trap.
One afternoon, after about a month of having been missing, I was putting up "Missing Cat" flyers after practice and saw dad's truck along the dirt road. He was going to walk along, and I decided to go back up to log cabin. I checked around the garage as usual and then went through the thorn bushes to the dilapidated chicken coop. I poked my head around to peek in and SCAMP WAS THERE. He was laying ona roosting nook along the wall, and when I startled him he panicked, running madly from wall to wall, jumping up on the screened windows and clinging there, hissing. I couldn't believe I had finally found him. I cautiously approached him, trying to soothe him and plucked him from the wall, where he was puffed and panicky, and held him, burying my face in his neck. I couldn't believe I had him. He was obviously so shifty, I wasn't sure how I would keep him on the trek back to the apartment. I closed the door behind me and put him on the ground so that I could take off my sweatshirt to wrap him in and keep a good grip for the walk back. He paced the floor nervously. Too late, I saw him go for a hole in the floor. Before I could realize what he was doing, he was wriggling through it to the outside. I ran to try to block him, crashing through the rotten floor and further startling him, as he raced off, ricocheting off the remnants of chicken wire before he finally found a place to make an escape.
I had had him. He was in my arms. And he was so terrified. He was living out there, so terrified. Constantly feeling like prey. And he hadn't understood. And he was gone again.
I ran along the dirt road, looking for dad. I breathlessly told him what had happened. I was going to go back for the carrier and food, and maybe we could find him and keep him.
Although we knew he had to be close--I had just seen him after all--we couldn't find him again. We went back for the Havahart trap and set it in the coop, leaving an old tee shirt of mine and a towel draped over it.
I couldn't stop crying. I knew he was definitely out there, and definitely terrified, and again I felt helpless to do anything about it.
I checked the trap a few times again that night, and every day thereafter for two weeks. Every time I approached the coop I so hopefully strained to see the contents of the trap, and every time it was empty and I felt defeated. I couldn't face doing it any more and eventually took it down. I still would wander up to it while out on walks, and once I heard scrabbling as I neared--but only to find a raccoon staring up at me curiously from its feast of cat food. I couldn't face the disappointment any more. Dad set the trap up again as autumn was drawing to a close, and although I couldn't bring myself to remove the litterbox and bowl of food from my apartment, I knew he wasn't coming back.
It felt lonely being the only thing with a heartbeat in my home, after having grown up always surrounded by animals and family. I couldn't imagine getting another cat, although I browsed unethusiastically on Petfinder and Craigslists for pets that needed homes. Since cats were still too sensitive a subject, I looked at dogs, although I didn't really think I had the time to devote to dog care.
But I kept coming back to this guy's profile.
He had a Special Care heart symbol next to his name, which said "Nemo--3.5 legs."
Described as a mixed breed (possibly of a miniature pinscher variety) from Puerto Rico, he had a tiny misshapen leg and foot but was otherwise very healthy and friendly and was just in the town next door.
I filled out an adoption application, just for the hell of it. Then talked to his foster mom and made an appointment to see him, just for the hell of it.
Kathleen was visiting for a weekend Bitterroot Ranch reunion, and we were on our way to my JV Field Hockey team's final game of the season. Just as we were nearing the school, dad called on my cell phone. This had never before happened. "Guess who I found?" he asked.
"Scamper??!! No way." Indeed. His diligent persistence with the Havahart trap had paid off, and Scamp was currently waiting in my apartment. Mind=blown.
He was skinny and a bit skittish, but thrilled to be home. He still had his collar and flea collar, although they didn't smell too good. He meowed constantly and followed me around, seeking as much contact as possible.
Someone lost his table manners
After two months, Scamp was back.
Kathleen and Scamp on his first night back
Kathleen may not have understood when I said I was so excited to send out another, and final, all school email to announce the return of the cat, but the reasons why became clear when throughout the evening as the movie we were watching was constantly interrupted by email dings, announcing another arrival of congratulations on the amazing recovery. Everyone was surprised, and impressed by both Scamp's toughness and dad's patient diligence.
Since I already had an appointment to see the puppy Nemo, I thought I should still at least go, it seemed like it would be rude to the foster mom, with whom I had had long conversations.
The dog was cute. Mom came with me, and was convinced. I was unsure about further traumatizing Scamper after only a few weeks back at home, and also concerned about being able to leave for a night or two when I wanted, and certainly for my summer sojourn to Wyoming.
But I wanted him.
When I first brought him home, I put Scamp in a crate so that he wouldn't bolt and the dog wouldn't start their relationship thinking he was prey. But Scamp didn't care at all. He laid unperturbed in the crate, and later outside of the crate while Nemo sniffed around. They both seemed interested in each other, but not in fear or like they wanted to eat each other.
Shortly after their first meeting
When people saw me with Nemo on campus many observed, "That is not a cat." And I would respond, "No, but it's the cat's consequence for abandoning me for two months." I joked about needed something that would not leave my sight, and that is what precisely what I got. Nemo was instantly by my side like a shadow, and I spent much of my Thanksgiving break over which I got him with him up in my lap or close on my heels.
And Scamp seemed quite bemused. He entertained himself by harassing the dog and by cuddling with him.
Harassing
Harassing/cuddling
Cuddling
And so, Scamp has returned to enjoy the indoor-apartment-cat life, complete with a 3.5 legged canine friend, and the menagerie continues to grow.
This has been a season of firsts. I fell off E Z Dollar for the first time, we scheduled our first hunter pace, we lived through our first freak October snowstorm and the subsequent cancellation of our first hunter pace, EZ got his first laming injury, and recovered from said injury.
Mid-October was a pretty wet month, and riding through the woods down towards the lake we encountered a nice big sloppy puddly area. Perfect water obstacle practice! It is dark in the woods and always pretty spooky anyway, and this nice puddle was muddy, deep and dark and filled with floating sticks. EZ did not love it. We walked through part of it to dry land, then ventured back in. EZ caught sight of a board floating near his left front and did a gymnastic hop through the air away from it, and I ungracefully parted ways with him. Pro of being in the mini lake: soft! Con: very wet. EZ scuttled to dry land and then stood there nervously. He seemed a bit ashamed. I clambered back on and we hauled back and fort through the wetness some more. It really was the perfect experience of a fall--he reacted in the best possible way, without getting freaked or sassy, just was sort of like, whoops, sorry, won't let it happen again.
This could have been me. But don't worry, it wasn't.
Then we were off to getting fit for the hunter pace that KC invited us to go along to. I bought royal blue stuff so we'd be matching and everything. Would've been adorable! I was worried about getting him in shape enough--the length of a pace is certainly farther and more strenuous than the ringwork we had been doing. Cathleen chaperoned us across the brook to the hayfields on the other side, and we both realized it was the perfect place to exercise. I was so proud of EZ going across the brook like a pro all by himself the next day.
Brook crossing, as demonstrated by Steve and Donovan last spring. It's sorta higher now.
Finding the time to get a good ride in was hard though. Coaching field hockey meant my afternoons were taken, and I have early morning classes. A few times I showed up at Indian Pond Farm before the sun rose and we headed off to the fields just as it was making an appearance. I had a minorly embarrassing display of emotion during faculty meetings when it was suggested we needed to spend more time during duty on the weekends, as I was sensitive of trying to find time to get off campus and ride.
Fall hay fields modeled by Kathleen and Donovan during her recent appearance
And in the end, it was all for naught, unfortunately. October 30th, luckily right at the end of the school Halloween dance I was chaperoning, the power went out due to the extreme amounts of snow we received. All in all our area got 20 inches and was without power (and school!) for 3 days. The damage to trees and trails meant that the hunter pace was canceled, and with it our opportunity for getting out this season. Now we'll have to wait until next spring!
View from my apartment window the morning after the storm
A few weeks later I went home at around lunchtime on an unseasonably warm Wednesday to ride before our field hockey game. When I went to get EZ from the field I thought something was wrong immediately. He just seemed weird. He was sweaty and downtrodden seeming, but I thought it was probably just the warm weather after growing out his winter coat. I tied him up in the barn and stood studying his heavy breathing. I unclipped him quickly and brought him down to the house, where Philippa and John were having lunch--I wanted to catch them before they left and get a second opinion if they thought he was acting weirdly.
John took a look at his breathing and sweaty self and agreed that most likely it was just the weather; probably he'd be ok with a light ride, we could see how it went. But as I turned to walk him away John said, "You know he has a big cut on his right hind, right?" Nope, no, I did not know that. John took a look at it and pulled out the remnants of a barb from a wire. Ouch. I cleaned it up, and it was pretty gross. One deep slash on the back of his fetlock, near the bulb of his heal, sourrounded by more superficial scrapes. His leg was slightly swollen about halfway up and he wasn't putting full weight on it. It didn't seem infected though, so we agreed that a regiment of cleaning and antibiotics would clear it up.
I found some SMZs belonging to Cathleen to feed him, and knew it wouldn't be a problem to get him to take them in grain--dude is pretty food obsessed. He was anxious during the cleaning process, being away from the rest of the herd, and when I finished he absolutely jetted off, carrying his injured leg aloft. The whole thing was a bummer, but on the scale of injuries, a pretty lucky one--shouldn't be any lasting damage.
We realized that the antibiotics had expired years ago, and I called the vet to see if we could get some more. After describing the injury she thought it best to come out and check it out. Only the best for EZ boy. Of course though, it was the day of our last field hockey practice and team dinner. I hated missing it.
Field Hockey Practice, when it was warmer.
While waiting for the vet to arrive I did a search of the field and found the offending string of barbed wire. The old cow fence was obstructed by brush, except up at the very corner, where brush had been removed to separate the old pasture. Of course, EZ had found it. I found bits of his hair on the wire, and even where the missing barb came from, and immediately alerted Mr. Dad Fix It. The vet concurred with our current treatment plan and gave us fresh SMZs and jumped back in her car to get away from the cold as soon as possible.
Two weeks later, I was concerned that the thing was still not better. It was no longer swollen, it didn't look infected, it just looked like it had not closed at all. It was in an awkward place, constantly flexing when he moved, so I didn't want to ride him until it looked better, and I wanted it to look better! I called Ronan and asked if he would take a look at it when he came to pick up Aiofe from mom. I sent him a picture of the wound and he came that afternoon armed with all the supplies. After a thorough cleaning he applied a topical penicillin cream and wrapped it, and recommended putting him back on SMZs for another week.
Not for the faint of heart, right? Kinda gross.
Even with a poop ball for scale!
Two days later the improvement was amazing--fresh, pink healthy skin was already appearing. It was really interesting what a difference the new treatment plan had. Ronan had told me that if it looked like proud flesh was developing, to add a paste of aspirin, so I incorporated it into the routine. It was becoming quite the process! I wanted to send a picture of the nearly healed wound to Ronan as proof of the healing, but it was Thanksgiving, and that seemed like it might be a little offputting to the eating of the turkey, as appropriate as it would've been, seeing as how thankful for it I was.
Much improved!
I rode EZ the next day, and he seemed happy to be back in work, and the perfect gentleman. He even gave a pony ride to my 9 year old niece afterward. When she left following the holiday she instructed me to let me know when he was all healed up, as she as acted as my apprentice in the complicated healing process--stirring the SMZs into the food and reminding me not to forget the aspirin.
Medicine mixer: All action shots courtesy of Kath
Doctoring it up
Dad took up Project Remove All Barbed Wire with a vengeance, and I sort of helped him a few days over Thanksgiving break. It's all officially out! (Except for a tiny section impossible to reach until we--the royal we--pull out some bushes)
Mr Fix It strikes again, hauling out old wire and poles.
Now that fall has drifted away it's time to make some winter plans!
I've been that way, back, for quite a while. And it's been a whirl of often agitated activity: leaping aboard E Z Dollar with delight, saying hello to my parents too, moving into a new apartment, dreading classes, starting classes, planning classes, failing to grade classes' work, trying to socialize, losing my cat, fighting for hot water in my new apartment, you know, just the usual. While doing all of that I was pretty consistently doing my best not to miss Bitterroot Ranch.
"So what.....Are you going to go to Wyoming forever?"
"Yeah."
This is a conversation my mother and I had over email a few days ago, after I sent her a link to an adoptable dog I wanted to get since my cat is missing and I apparently need a housepet to feel complete, but know that I can't actually get because I am too busy, and what would I do with him in the summer when I go to the ranch?
I can't guarantee that I will go to Wyoming forever, and there are certain elements that make continuing to go somewhat irrational (that I miss out on E Z Showing and Riding Time high among them), but...it gets in your blood.
Photo by Tre Cassetta
There is no doubt that I missed the Dollar. But there are SO MANY horses out there. Everywhere you look, horses. Horses running by you, horses coming to sniff you, horses beside you and underneath you. So, I was comforted from not having my very own racehorse. Instead, I had my ranch horses--those wrangler horses you work with, coax past insecurities and are impressed by when they are bolder than you give them credit for. Due to the kind care of Hadley, the Super Wrangler, my mounts are very rarely the babiest of the learners, or the squirrelliest of the unreliable. I would never claim to be a trainer, and nor would I claim to be a particularly brave rider, so my favorites are those who have had a few years under saddle and have been already pretty well figured out by the Super Rider herself.
Like Wajir.
Wajie has had more than a few years under saddle, but some squirrellyness still remains. She is super round, I always crack some joke about her skinny jeans not fitting after her pregnancies, and also still a bit jumptastic. Like spooking hugely and surprisingly at a thistle. It's charming. But she also has the smoothest gaits, the most speedy but ratable canter, and knows her job. She has a hard little eye, and threatens to pull back every time you tack, making it very clear that she never, ever, wants a lunch pack put on her back, but I would ride her every day out there if I could. One day moving cows I dismounted to chase them out of a highly wooded and steep ravine, and rather than pull her along as I tried to chase them out I put the reins over the horn and let her follow me. As we squeezed our way under brush and back out into the open I looked behind me to see her cute little badger face following along obediently, head down to duck the branches, to halt when I stopped and wait to let me remount.
Then there's Kitui. A younger lil dude who is unpredictable in line, but also knows his job in the front. Nervous and often startling in the woods, he would nevertheless go anywhere after cows. A favorite moment of mine was an epic transfer of 16 cows from the bottom of one pasture to another, an occurrence we weren't expecting, so had neither the best cow horses or the most avid riders, and took a full three and a half hour with what felt like Kitui doing all the work, but a beautiful, willing, independent, and totally fun, long canter at the end to reach and open the gate. Every time a guest offered to take a picture of me on a ride, and I wasn't too embarrassed to say yes, I was riding Kitui, so somewhere out there guests have majestic photos of us on mountaintops and at Butch Cassidy's hideout, but they aren't sharing. So you'll have to trust me when I say he is the cutest. Dapple gray with black mane and tail and and black tipped ears, guests would never fail to comment on his good looks (which is maybe why they're holding on the all the photos?).
Update: Here's Kitui! (Thanks Danielle!)
Alicante is a favorite of many.
Can you tell we had a photo-shoot on the bench?
One of what we call the Trios, he is the product of a Thoroughbred-Andalusian sire and an Arabian dam. As well as being handsome, he is a charmer. He is probably the most talkative of the herd, nickering constantly if you pass him in the corral and pretty much the whole time he is tied and being tacked. Not immune to the occasional tantrum, he is still learning, but rarely nasty. I was glad to have him the day I was riding with a woman and her three young children, and the mother lost conciousness and suffered a seizure while riding.
While trying to keep her stable, her children calm and the horses cooperative, Alicante was the least of my worries, and he willingly left the group to get some help as quickly as we could. He and some of his half-siblings form a giant, curious gang in the corral, curious and always searching for attention, and probably more so, oaties.
These trusty steeds and many more were my partners for two rides a day, taking guests of varying levels of skill through a variety of trails. To be aware of them, the guests, the guest-horses, the trail, the cows, be charming to make sure everyone's having a good time and also behaving themselves--it's not always an easy job. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it is pure pleasure, and you can appreciate how lucky you are to be doing exactly what you are doing.
Because as well as the horses themselves, there's the place that we live in. And you know you've got it good...
When this the view you outside your cabin...
Photo by Katie Cassetta
and this is your weekend swimming hole...
Photo by Tre
and this is the first thing you do when you wake up.
There's no doubt that it's a unique and inspiring place. The minute I get there and am surrounded by the open land, the dry sage and the red mountains, I just feel my heart expanding. That's not a scientific definition, because that might be worrying, but it's a sense of awe and possibility.
And lastly, and perhaps most importantly, there are the people.
Photo by Katie
The job would be unimaginabley difficult, and way less fun, without the wranglers I work with. As long as they continue to return, I will find it hard to not do so with them. I have an affinity with them born of our shared love of the place and the work that we do there that I am lucky to have.
Photo by Tre
The few months I am able to spend on the ranch are often grueling, uncomfortable and difficult. But out of those experiences there is also a sense of accomplishment, of recognizing your capabilities and seeing the results of your work. And in addition to those moments there are others of unfettered freedom, adventure, beauty, and possibility.
