Remembering Hank

I said goodbye to Hank on Friday. Yes, it was as heart-breaking as you're imagining. 

The quality of his life had gone downhill fast since mid-December. 

The snow and ice and mud took their toll on his fragile knee, 

and his bad days far outnumbered his good ones. 

I didn't think he'd make it through another storm.

I made the decision to let him go last weekend and scheduled the vet appointment for Friday, 

when I anticipated being able to get out with the horse trailer. 

That gave me a week to wrap my head and heart around the decision
and to spoil him with as much love – and as many treats – as he could handle. 

Early Friday morning, Lucy, George and Alan escorted us to the corral gate

and watched our every move as I loaded Hank in the trailer.

In their own way, I know they knew he wouldn't be coming back.

Our long-time vet performed the euthanasia, and it was painless and very peaceful for Hank.

I let him go knowing that he lived the last 10 years of his life
in the wide open spaces of the ranch, just being a horse.

Light at the end of the pill bottle

Finally, Monday morning, after 26 days, Hank is taking his final dose of medicine post-snakebite.
He's doing great, by the way, with no side effects from the bite. I shot this video Sunday morning.

The one where Hank gets bit by a snake

Spoiler alert: As I post this Friday evening at 5 p.m., Hank is doing well. 

Remember that as I tell the tale.

It was Thursday around 5 p.m. I walked out to the barn, only to find George chasing the chickens

in the front yard. WTF and how did he get in the front yard?  I tried to herd the chickens

out of harm's way and was having no luck, so I ran to the feed room to grab a halter and lead rope

for George. I passed Hank on my way and had another WTF moment. 

His muzzle was swollen up like a balloon. I knew in a heartbeat 

that he'd most likely been bitten by a snake.

I've probably read every article about snakebites and horses that's ever been written, 

recognizing that some day I would have to deal with one of these emergencies, 

but all that knowledge didn't matter one bit. When you are staring into your own horse's 

swollen snakebit face, you forget everything you've ever learned, and the first thing you do is panic.

The second thing you do is get your vet on the phone. Then the vet talks you back from the ledge

and comes up with a plan. In Hank's case, the plan was: ice if he would tolerate it, 

10ccs of banamine, 2 grams of bute, keep him calm and quiet, and above all, 

don't let his airways close up if the swelling gets worse. That would mean 

having to stick a long hunk of hose up Hank's nostril, and I truly doubted 

if I could do that safely by myself. 

Once I got all the anti-inflammatories in him, the all-night vigil began, watching and waiting, 

hoping and praying that I would not have to stick a hunk of hose up his nose. 

I've circled the area of the bite in the picture above - there are two tiny punctures. 

I have no idea what kind of snake bit him.

I contained Lucy, George and Alan in the corral so that Hank wouldn't panic in the absence of his herd.

Throughout the night, they never left his side. I was touched by their attentiveness

until I figured out what they really wanted was to slurp up the slobber and whatever else was

coming out of Hank's nose. That's Lucy standing behind Hank, licking slobber off the pipe.

Alan is waiting for the next batch to drip out his mouth. It was all very weird and disgusting,

but it gave me something to focus on besides Hank's swollen face.

I took pictures throughout the night to help me figure out if the swelling 

was getting worse or better. 

By daybreak, it was definitely worse but had moved toward his jawline; 

Hank's left nasal passage was still relatively normal. We both breathed a little better 

thinking the hunk of hose would not be needed. I checked in with the vet, who said

I could give him more pain meds and offer him breakfast. 

Eating was difficult but Hank being Hank found a way. I felt comfortable enough with his progress

to leave Lucy in charge while I drove to the vet clinic for antibiotics, which would ward off 

any infection from the bite. My new concern at this point was that Hank hadn't pooped 

since this all started 16 hours ago. Then again, he hadn't eaten, so I figured he would poop eventually.

It was a four-hour round trip to the clinic, and even though I knew Hank would be okay

in my absence, it was still a huge relief to find him bright-eyed and standing when I got home.

But he still hadn't pooped. Ugh. I would worry about that next. 

First I had to worry about injecting 30ccs of penicillin in his butt.

I give Hank injections all the time, but in his neck and 10ccs at the most.

This procedure was more involved because of the amount and the risks,

and because I could barely get my hand around the huge syringe.

But being the trouper he is, Hank stood like a statue while I bumbled around his behind

and we got 'r done. He'll get the penicillan shot two more times, 

plus he'll also be on oral antibiotics for a week.

So now it's almost 21 hours since he's pooped. He's been eating, albeit slowly,

and what goes in has to come out, and if you're a horse, that usually happens

a dozen times a day. I decided to take him for a short walk. We hadn't gone more than

ten steps into the corral and voila! Why didn't I think of that hours ago?

Apparently Hank's a neat freak and doesn't like to poop in his stall. 

He still surprises me after all these years.

It's now 24 hours since this adventure began. I think/hope the worst is behind us.

Snake bites are a fact of life for equines who are turned out on rangeland. 

Frankly I'm surprised it's taken 10 years for us to experience our first one.

Maybe those awful grazing muzzles I force the donkeys to wear have helped improve our odds.

Take my muzzle. Please!

Lucy has been wearing her grazing muzzle for 10 days now. Frankly I'm amazed that she puts up with it. 

There's no way I would allow someone to wire my jaw shut from dawn to dusk every day.

I wish you could see the look of resignation in her eyes every morning when I buckle it on,

then the glee on her face in the evening when she runs to me to have it removed.

Not to mention the in-between hours when she begs everyone and their brother to have mercy on her poor starving self...

Lucy: I'll be your best friend if you take this thing off me.

Lucy: What a worthless little *mumble mumble mumble*...

Lucy: Mom's busy so she said it was ok for you to take this off my face.

George: She did?

Lucy: Yeah. Why would I lie about a thing like that?

George: Okay...as long as you're sure I won't get in trouble.

Me: George, let go of that right this second or you'll never get another carrot for as long as you live.

Alan: You'd really do that?

Me: Probably not, but don't tell George.

Foraging in the front 40

As the pasture has turned from a windswept, brown desert to an astroturf-green carpet over the past few weeks, 

I've been witnessing a groundcover sprout everywhere that there isn't another weed, plant or clump of grass.

Apparently a prolonged drought followed by a couple inches of rain in the heat of July 

is the perfect storm for this mutant green thing to take over.

This is what I'm talking about. I have seen a little of it here and there in summers past but nothing of this magnitude.

Lucy and the boys are grazing around it, going for the taller and tastier grass,

but every once in awhile I watch them chomp down a mouthful of what I've been calling

"New Mexico Shamrock" for lack of its true name.

The stuff is spreading by the hour, so I had to identify it and find out if it is harmful to equines.

This is the part where the planets align. I went inside to Google my way to the answer,
but first I got distracted by a new post in my feed reader from Estorbo's mom. 

It was a recipe for Cucumber and Purslane Soup. Looked mighty tasty, but what in the heck is purslane? 

The recipe led me to another of Estorbo's mom's posts, Purslane, the delicious weed, 

which showed a picture of my New Mexico Shamrock, a.k.a. purslane! Ask and ye shall receive.

Then I had to find out what happens when equines eat purslane. The Google results were mixed. 

Some sources said it is very beneficial to equines for its healthful omega-3 fatty acids, other sources said 

it might cause calcium deficiencies in young horses and diarrhea and gastroenteritis in general.

There's no getting rid of it, so for now I'm taking the wait-and-see-and-obsessively-monitor-them approach.

My gut tells me that there's enough grass and other stuff in the pasture that the herd will be just fine

even if they eat a pile of purslane every now and then. My tastebuds tell me that they'd be crazy not to eat it. 

It's good! Think lemony lettuce. I can't imagine sitting down to eat a bowlful of it, but then again, with a little oil and vinegar...

I even found a Pinterest board with an entire collection of purslane recipes. 

I wonder how many jars of purslane pesto I could make from a ranch full of purslane? 

Enough to quit my job and retire tomorrow? One can only hope. 

 

If the bumper purslane crop weren't enough to get my entrepreneurial juices flowing...

I could start a mushroom farm!

Mushrooms in the desert? Who knew?

Between the rain and all the organic fertilizer, I've got mushrooms growing on the front 40!

But I'm afraid to try these. How does one know if one will have a tasty treat or hallucinations?

And it's not just one variety...

Check out this guy.

I need to hire a food taster. Any takers?

Put a muzzle on it

Lucy thought that I was kidding yesterday when I threatened her with talk of a grazing muzzle. I wasn't.

Lucy is prone to chubbiness, so rather than having to put her on a diet at the end of grazing season,

I'm making her wear this most unattractive muzzle now. She is not pleased.

George: You don't want to know how ridonkulous you look.

Lucy adjusted to wearing the muzzle without incident. Her only reaction was to follow me everywhere I went,

begging me to remove it.

Lucy: I'll never be able to show my face in public again.

Lucy: Take this @#$%! thing off now. I mean it.

Me: Sorry, Toots. Ain't happenin'.

It took her all of two seconds to figure out she could still eat with it on...just not as much.

There's a hole in the bottom that allows her to drink water and nibble little bites of grass instead of great big mouthfuls.

The attached halter has breakaway clips, so I'm not too concerned with her getting hung up on something and hurting herself.

(Here's a link to Best Friend Equine Supply, where I purchased the muzzle. I bought it for Lyle

when we moved here in '05. He wore it for several months without destroying it, so yeah, it's very well made!)

Anyway, my plan is to have Lucy wear it only during the day. She had it on for six hours yesterday and managed just fine,

except for all the cursing and dirty looks.

Alan: What in the hell have you got on your face?

Lucy: Shut up and help me take it off.

Lucy: I mean it, mom. Take this off. Now. I promise I won't eat as much.

Lucy: Come on, George. Help me out here. 

George: Fat chance. More grass for me.

It's time for this week to end

Some weeks just don't turn out the way you expect. I posted on Monday about all the wonderful things 

that would be happening to the sunroom this week, so of course they didn't.

On Monday, Smooch spent her seventh birthday watching the snow fall and waiting for the crew to arrive 

so she could bark at them. It would have been such a wonderful gift.

Alas, paths and plaster and paint can't happen when the ground is frozen and the temperature is below 30.

Our hopes were raised on Wednesday when it got a little warmer, but that's when Hank told me it was time to go to the vet to figure out what in the heck was going on because he was having trouble walking that morning. Yikes! Luckily, I had to deal with a flat tire on the horse trailer so that helped take my mind off Hank and we made it to the big city without me having a nervous breakdown. Anyway, we still don't have a conclusive diagnosis. Could be dryland distemper (also known as pigeon fever); could be an allergic reaction to we know not what; could be any number of other non-serious things. I do know this: my team of vets is extraordinary and Hank is getting the very best care possible. They did an ultrasound on his swollen chest area - nothing but edema was found. More blood work showed that the antibiotics are working - all the levels are moving in the right direction. And they sent a blood sample off to UC/Davis for further study to help figure this out. I'm not crazy worried, and Hank is loving all the extra attention he's getting. Lucy is not.

By the time Thursday rolled around, I was ready for a break and I got several, in a roundabout way.

This stray dog showed up just as I was feeding supper. 

Lucky Break #1: Alan and George didn't hurt him before I contained him in a safe place, despite their best efforts.

Lucky Break #2: He didn't hurt the chickens, despite his best efforts.

Lucky Break #3: I starting calling every phone number in my two-page phone book and found his owners on page 1. 

They came and got him and we all lived happily ever after. 

Good thing, too, because I was starting to think up names for him.

I knew it was too good to be true

It took Hank three servings of antibiotics on top of his food to decide he didn't want to play that game anymore. 

No problem. I was prepared to go back to my syringe-full of medicine method, newly improved and perfected 

thanks to the very smart readers who commented on this post. Forget everything I said and did then, 

because the following method trumps that and then some.

My new technique is similar, minus the coffee grinder, the applesauce, the cheese spreader, 

and the great big stinkin' mess I made all over my kitchen.

The champagne flute wouldn't even be necessary were I not trying to photograph the process.

I cut the tip off the syringe and widened the opening to about a half inch - big enough to drop in the pills.

I pour in just enough room-temperature water to cover the pills.

...then I stick my finger over the hole and shake the syringe until the pills stop rattling - about 10 seconds is all it takes.

Using the least amount of water possible seems to be the best approach.

The thicker the mixture, the better, so it doesn't spill out of the syringe on the way to the barn
or out of the horse's mouth once you squirt it in.

Then I squirt in a little molasses. It sort of looks like Bosco, don't you think? 

Please tell me I'm not the only one who remembers Bosco.

Where would I be without my chopstick? It's the perfect tool for stirring molasses 

into dissolved pill paste through the top of a cut-off syringe.

With my coffee grinder/applesauce method, I would end up with a full syringe of stuff that was difficult 

to administer in one squirt because my finger-span isn't big enough reach the bottom of the plunger when the syringe is full. 

With this method, there's less stuff and no muss or fuss.

Hank is doing fine, by the way. The swellings on his lower abdomen are barely there, though they seem to have relocated 

to his chest area. Our vet is not convinced we're dealing with dryland distemper/pigeon fever. We'll re-evaluate once the antibiotics run out.

Hank joins the clean plate club

I love you guys. I mean it. You offered up so many great suggestions and recipes on yesterday's post, I will forever be in your debt. 

Never in a million years would I have thought Hank might take his medicine if I simply mixed it in with a little feed. 

That method worked for so many of your horses, I had to try it.

Last night I mixed Hank's medicine with applesauce, spooned it over a bed of timothy pellets, then drizzled it with molasses. 

I've watched enough cooking shows to know the importance of presentation. 

I considered using a china plate or, at the very least, Fiestaware, then thought better of it.

Anyway, I took "dessert" out to the barn and Hank dove right in, much to Lucy's dismay.

Lucy: This doesn't seem fair at all.

Me: It's not polite to stare at Hank while he's eating.

Me: Beg all you want, but you're not getting any.

Hank: Is that all there is?

Me: Yes, except for that little bit on your whiskers.

We've got 22 more servings to get through before the antibiotics run out, and Hank might turn his nose up at the applesauce/molasses concoction at any time, but that's ok. I've got plenty more recipes up my sleeve now, thanks to you all. I can't wait to try the meds and jelly on bread. I'm thinkin' a nice sourdough, or maybe raisin... I wonder if he'd like English muffins?