February is "supposed" to be relaxing. A month to recharge your batteries for the onslaught of spring and the work it brings to the farm.
Somehow that ideal is too idyllic to be realistic. February is a busy month. True, not so busy farm-wise, although the bitter cold of this winter has added challenges to the daily chore routine. Both our big water troughs have burst their seams with ice, making them purely decorative. And we've had to be vigilant about making sure there is adequate warmth for the critters- although the sheep don't seem to be bothered by even the nastiest of negative temps and wind. How do you tell when sheep are bothered? I'm not sure. They tend to be a bit black and white in the "alive= fine" , "dead= not". Category. No one has died, and they seem awfully content.
We have two late February birthdays in the family with both Youngest and Eldest marking off another year.
I had a mind expanding few days at the Midwest Veterinary Conference, being schooled in everything from dermatology and cat behaviors to traditional Chinese herbal and energy healing.
We got iced in one day, much to Huz' chagrin. His little Jetta wasn't equal to the task of driving on 2" of ice pack. The sun came out and gave us a huge assist, followed by a few hours spent chunking up ice with shovels, and the truck for a tow, we made it out the next day.
The sun was a huge boost for our spirits, and one fine Saturday, I came home from work and suggested to the kids we get Pearl out for a bareback jaunt around Cowfeathers. Pearl is the perfect candidate for the first ride of spring, as she is the least likely to get out of hand and cause strife. Or, so I thought until I was pulling off her blanket and for whatever reason (static electricity, nervous energy, hormones, funsies) Pearl kicked me- HARD- in the left thigh. That earned me a top 3 contender in the "Worst Bruises of my Life" contest, knocking the bruise from the Great Dairy Cow Poop Skiing Incident of 1989 out of the bronze position in the medals. And, it made sure I couldn't be the rider. I did get Middlest up there to give Pearlie a go, and make sure she was feeling sane enough for Youngest to have a turn. I hung around as long as possible to watch them both ride, as my thigh grew and bled under the skin, hot and painful. I wanted them to ride, but I needed lots of ice, epsom salts and arnica! Demonstrating where my kids get their resilience, I then decided to snap a few pictures, it was so pretty outside!
Last Thursday saw me in the ER for my first- hopefully last- bout with kidney stones. So far, Kidney Stones: 1, Me: 0. The final bell has not rung, but I got K.O.'d in the second round, and decided a hospital bed and IV pain medication were pretty helpful. So, while I laid next to my ornery fluids machine, mashing buttons every ten minutes when it went to beeping, at home, Pearl was feeling bad.
At 5:40 am when Middlest went up to feed the animals, she knew right away Pearl was in trouble, and started working on her. Soon, Youngest noticed Middlest was missing and found her with Pearl outside in the driveway, trying to keep Pearl from going down. Huz, Middlest, Dr. Peter Meuse of Bella Vista Equine Veterinary Services and dear, dear friends stepped in to try and save the pony, transporting her to Ohio State Veterinary Medical's Galbreath Equine Center for surgery. Before noon, our Practically Perfect Pearl was gone. We elected to euthanize her in surgery because of a strangulating lipoma (fatty mass) that had cut off the blood supply to much of her small intestine. The prognosis was non-recoverable.
My sobbing, soggy self wanted to go home.
The nurses at the hospital, with great sympathy, moved quickly to get my discharge done so I could head home to grieve with my family. Thankfully the stubborn stone, although not ready to move on, had subsided in the bulk of it's pain, and allowed me to try the waiting game at home.
Pearl's stall is empty.
But, our hearts are still full. We are held up by the love of our friends and family who have been amazingly supportive. So many kindnesses, great and small.
I found myself wondering why. I couldn't remember ever doing anything generous or kind for anyone. It's an odd place that shock, pain meds and sadness puts you in... and although I knew I must have done something for someone sometime, I truly couldn't come up with an example. Then, I found a sweet place, where I realized it didn't matter. Our friends were giving to us because they wanted to, and it isn't about keeping score. It is about accepting the words, and the love and allowing them to help you stay afloat. Joy, from sadness.
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