Life's lessons from a burro

How many times have I heard Ray Hunt or Randall Davis or Buck Brannaman say, "give something you never gave and you'll get something you never got" or "observe, remember and compare" or "they live what they learn and learn what they live." I never found a way to apply this cowboy logic to Lyle – a way that works for me, at any rate. Maybe it's taken a little burro named George to teach me these lessons in a way I can understand and apply. Tonight I learned that if I treat and approach Lyle the way I treat and approach George, Lyle behaves differently...politely...as in not a bully...as in a horse who wants to be around me. I'll be thinking about that alot every time I go out to the barn in the next few days.

Every picture tells a story

Click on the pictures to enlarge.




Burros are such thinkers! I watch Alan contemplating his next moves with regard to me - he wants to come closer yet he's still not convinced that it's the right thing to do. But I am patient and will wait til he takes the next step. Each day, he touches his nose to my hand a tiny bit longer than the previous day. And he usually positions himself so that George is between us as a buffer. It's just a matter of time.

Meanwhile, George stays in my pocket. Sometimes he will try to nibble on my sleeve or collar, but one stern universal "no" sound ( a la Cesar Millan) makes him stop instantly. I've hung a halter on the top rail of the corral for him to sniff and consider. He should be ready to wear it in a few days.

Way (Weigh) Wrong

I found a formula for weighing a burro: height x girth circumference x torso length, complete with a diagram showing where these specific measurements should be taken. After George became accustomed to my ruler - a piece of yellow baling twine - I was able to take his measurements today. And he weighs.............338 pounds. My eyeballed guess was 400 - 450, so I'm glad I took the scientific approach. And Alan is significantly smaller (by 20%?), which would put him at 271, though I won't even attempt to measure him up close - he's not ready for that. So I'm feeding them too much grass hay. But they're still growing, and they're eating dirt, which makes me crazy, and their manure contains a significant amount of sand already, and they're probably bored, having to spend their time in the confines of a small corral, which means they will continue to eat dirt and increase their risk of developing sand colic. All of which is to say I will continue to overfeed them with 4 pounds of hay 4 times a day until such time that they are out of their quarantine corral and able to spend part of their day in their pasture with something more to do than wait for me to come out to play. Overfeeding vs eating dirt/boredom balanced against growth and sand colic...I believe I'm doing the right thing but will closely monitor George's weight.

This morning, a pronghorn came onto the ranch with the sole purpose, I believe, of checking out the new inhabitants. I noticed Hank and Lyle getting pretty riled up out in the pasture, running in tight circles. Smooch started barking, then sure enough, I see a big buck moseying through, closer to the horses, the barn, and the corrals than I've ever seen one. George and Alan watched him, he watched them, Hank and Lyle resumed grazing, and I stood like a statue, watching everybody and trying to blend in. Later this morning, I went behind the barn to do some manure management and saw some fresh coyote scat on top of a fresh pile of horse manure –– clearly a deliberate attempt by the coyote to mark his territory, and it was barely 50 yds from the burro corral. I shouldn't be surprised by how the non-resident inhabitants of the land have noticed the new guys in town - they are far more perceptive than I. Yet nature continues to amaze me. A great blue heron flew over yesterday in the early evening - only the second one I've witnessed in two years. Surely the word can't be out as far as Bosque del Apache that a couple of burros have moved in at the 7MSN...good news travels fast.

How I love these burros...let me count the ways

First let me report that our wonderful vet, Kevin Dralle, checked out the emailed photos of George's gelding incision and all's probably well. The 'redundant cord' hanging out was not uncommon, and in fact disappeared by Monday morning. And George's body appears to be fighting the infection on its own. Today, there's no swelling at all and the incision is healing nicely.

I have learned that burros lay down to sleep way more than horses. After every meal, I can pretty much count on finding two donkeys curled up next to each other, in the sun, in the middle of their corral. They're tidy little creatures, and usually poop in the same place all the time. They pee in the area that's closest to the horses, which sometimes triggers a pissing contest...literally.

George's training is proceeding at lightning speed. Today, he learned the follow-me game and allowed me to pick up his front feet. I've been trying to comb off the caked-on blood and gunk from his hind inside legs; he's not thrilled about it but allows me to remove a little each time I'm with him. Alan, meanwhile, will now touch his nose to my hand.

It's clear to see that George gets jealous when I'm hanging out with Hank or Lyle and seems resentful when my attention and affection is given to anyone other than him. This might sound anthropomorphic but, from what I'm reading about burros, comes as no surprise to me. They develop strong attachments to people - I'm just surprised he's become so attached this quickly. He just loves to be hugged and groomed.

I do not want to overfeed them so have started weighing their hay rations. I'm guessing their combined weight is 800 pounds, so I'm feeding them a total of 16 lbs of grass hay per day (2% of their body weight), spread over four meals. The Peaceful Valley Donkey Rescue website contains a treasure-trove of donkey husbandry information - they can count on me to become a supporter.

Day 4 1/2

Never having witnessed burros at play before, George and Alan stopped me in my tracks a few times today. There was a lot of rearing, neck grabbing, leg grabbing, more rearing, Alan chasing George, George chasing Alan. It's really hard not to laugh when burros trot. Alan gets one step closer/one ounce braver each time I'm with them; he ever so briefly put his nose on my hand when I held it out to him.

The swelling from each of their geldings has gone down remarkably since Friday; however, something is up with George's incision. It may be infected and a piece of tissue or who-knows-what has emerged from the incision. I was able to take some closeup photos and have emailed them to the vet. I will call him this morning to see what I need to do. If it means hauling him to town in the horse trailer...let's just not go there.

Day 4

Another day of 45mph winds is interfering with my burro-training plans. It's all I can do to make my way to the barn to feed them. I think it's fair to say that George and Alan are relaxed and comfortable in their new environment; they took frequent naps today, lying down together in their corral.

The Story of George and Alan, Day 3

This blog is starting with Day 3, because that is what today is; however the prelude, Days 1 and 2 are worth recapping, so let's catch up.

Prelude

I am now the proud adopter of two BLM wild burros because I applied to be on CBS' Survivor and was not chosen. The burros are a gift to myself as a consolation prize.

When I moved to the 7MSN Ranch two years ago, I starting thinking about getting more animals – certainly, there was room, and it's a well-established fact that I prefer the company of animals to most people. So when my established herd dropped to eight in number (with the deaths of Dusty, the elderly yellow lab, and Waylon, the elderly goat), coincident with the rejection of my Survivor application, the time just seemed right.

Why burros? I have two rideable horses and there is only one of me. When I ride off on Hank or Lyle and leave the other behind, the horse left at home needs companionship. A hardy, easy-keeping burro seemed like the best choice to serve that purpose...aside from which a burro's cute and cuddly factor is off the charts, and they are also renowned herd guardians. Perhaps my burro would learn to keep the coyotes and mountain lions and whatever other predators lurk at bay. And since burros seem to thrive better in pairs than alone, then a pair it would be for me.

I did my homework on the BLM's Wild Horse and Burro adoption program, and in mid-September 2007, I contacted the folks at the Canon City, Colorado, facility, which was the closest, yet still 400 miles away. After a few conversations with a very nice lady named Lona, I decided to let the BLM select two burros for me based on my criteria (two healthy males, as young as possible, who got along with each other). Lona e-mailed me their pictures and of course it was love at first sight. Their names would be George and Alan. I filled out the adoption papers and asked that they be gelded. Once they recovered, I would go pick them up.

I set up a burro corral in the big corral adjacent to the barn. George and Alan would have shelter and a small area where they would be confined and separated from Hank and Lyle until I was sure they were disease-free.

Have I mentioned that the Canon City BLM facility is located at the Colorado Correctional Facilty, a.k.a. prison? The BLM co-locates a number of its wild horse and burro programs at prisons across the U.S. The animals get trained and the inmates learn a skill that might serve them well upon release – a classic win-win.

I got the call from Lona on October 12 that George and Alan had been gelded, and plans for a road trip to Colorodo the following week were hastily made.

Day 1

Smooch and I left the 7MSN around 7 a.m. with Google directions in hand and the expectation that it would take about 7.5 hours to get to Canon City, pulling the horse trailer. The sky was clear, the sun was shining, and a hurricane-strength wind was howling out of the northwest. We drove into that blasted wind the entire way with a death grip on the steering wheel and the truck engine working hard to maintain a speed of 65 mph.

My only prior knowledge of Raton Pass, on the NM/Colorado border, was that it closed any time a flake of snow fell. Now I understand why. Pulling the horse trailer up the pass, into a headwind, in traffic... I twitch at the memory. But we made it up and down the other side, only to confront the rebuilding of the interstate through Trinidad, then the maniacal drivers of Pueblo. Finally, we reached Canon City around 3:30, found our campground, hiked along the Arkansas River, went out to dinner, and got a good night's rest in the tackroom of the trailer.


Day 2

The plan was to meet the BLM lady, Lona, at the visitor's entrance of the East Canon Correctional Facility at 9 a.m. Smooch and I arrived at 8 and walked many laps around the parking lot, killing time. I couldn't help but think I was channeling my inner prisoner, walking the yard. Around 8:30, this good-looking cowboy pulls up in his truck. I see by the writing on his jacket that he's an employee, not a prisoner. I explain I'm here to pick up my burros, and he explains no dogs are allowed beyond the gate, and now we have a problem. "But she'll be in her crate in the truck and no one will even know she's there." "If it were me, I'd let you in but the guard saw the dog." "But it sure would take alot of time to take her to Lona's office and leave her there, then go back and get her once I got the burros loaded and I really need to get home before dark and it's such a long drive..." "Let me go talk to the guard." Good-looking cowboy drives off. Fifteen minutes passes. Good-looking cowboy comes back and says "follow me."

I never found out what he said to whom; all I know is that the guard waved me through the gate. So I follow the good-looking cowboy in his pickup past various named correctional facilities. All had guard towers, some were surrounded by coils of razor wire stacked 10' high, and others seemed less ominous. But all of these facilities had the Rockies as a backdrop, and I kept thinking if you're going to get into serious trouble, do it in Colorado so you'll end up here.

I'm led down a winding gravel road, and I see pipe corrals filled with wild mustangs stretched out below. At the bottom of the hill, good-looking cowboy stops his truck and chats with a guy who is atop a horse and teaching it to back up. All would seem quite normal were it not for the fact that the rider is wearing prisoner garb with his cowboy boots. But the energy about the place was good; all the prisoners who were working with their horses seemed very calm and patient, and the horses seemed anything but wild. Good-looking cowboy comes over to my window and points to the trailer loading chutes. He offers to back up the trailer for me but I allow as how I can probably do it as long as I've got plenty of time. So I manuever the trailer around and start backing it up toward the chute. And in just two tries, I had succeeded...except I had backed up to the wrong chute. In the interest of expediency, I handed off the keys to the good-looking cowboy. So he's busy backing up the trailer to the correct chute and I'm busy taking pictures - this was a momentous occasion and I wanted a record for posterity. Good-looking cowboy gets out of my truck and about has a coronary when he sees the camera. "First you bring in a dog, now you bring in a camera...weren't you paying attention to Lona when she read you the list of don'ts?" I claimed ignorance - honestly, Lona never said a peep about prison protocol, how was I supposed to know? Good-looking cowboy was more incredulous than angry and now we had a running joke about what other contraband I might have hauled in. Seriously though, he made sure I kept the truck locked, and the trailer tack room locked, and he kept looking in the bed of the truck. At first I thought he was just being nosy, but then I realized he was looking for hitchhikers.

Now it was time to load up George and Alan. I hadn't even seen them yet, then the next thing I know, there's a stampede of prisoners chasing these two little burros down an alley, waving crops and whips and giant fly-swatter-like things and hootin' and hollerin'. And George and Alan hopped right in the trailer. The prisoners closed the trailer doors and I thanked all of them for taking good care of my boys.

A BLM paper-pusher was there to take my money and hand over the medical records and all the other assorted paperwork that comes with two government-issue burros. I peek in the trailer window and there were George and Alan, standing there looking at me as calmly as can be. I have a good feeling about the trip home. Good-looking cowboy escorts me back out to the main gate and away we go. The whole process took less than a half hour. While I'm sure I wasn't the first female to show up by herself to pick up adoptees from the prison, they sure were in a hurry to get me out of there.

First stop, Pueblo, just 35 miles down the road. I would gas up and check on the boys before hitting the interstate. Between the two of them, they can't weigh more than 750 pounds total, so there wasn't much difference between hauling the trailer with them loaded and with it empty. We made it over Raton pass without too much difficulty; there was much less traffic than the previous day and mercifully, we had a tail wind. I stopped at a rest area on the other side of Raton. George came right up to me at the trailer window and let me pet his nose. They seemed relaxed and comfortable, so I had enough confidence in their calmness to crack open the trailer doors at our next stop to offer them a pail of water.

We survived the worst part of the journey - 60 miles on Interstate 40 into another headwind with a steady stream of semis passing us – and made it home just after 6 p.m. There was just enough daylight left to back up the trailer to the corral and open the doors so George and Alan could check out their new home. I let them choose when to unload themselves. They were in no hurry. Hank and Lyle ate dinner in their stalls and headed back out to pasture before the burros did come out of the trailer around 8. Once convinced that the feed tubs and the water tank weren't predators, they ate and drank calmly and quietly. Neither Smooch's barking, nor Wynonna's vocals, nor the presence of any of the other animals, seemed to phase the burros for long. They easily settled into their surroundings, and I only got up once during the night to check on them. Hank and Lyle had come back to the barn before dawn, but other than doing a lot of looking, there were no histrionics on their part either.

George and Alan watched and participated in the morning feeding routine, and I went about my chores as normal. While Alan is the more cautious and wary of the two, he follows George's lead and is learning that I can be trusted. By noon, George was allowing me to rub him anywhere I choose. I expected it would take weeks to get to this point. I won't rush it though, and will hold off picking up his feet for a few more days.