PLEASE CALL TODAY TO HELP SAVE HORSES

I got this letter today. I called. I hope you do too.

July 14, 2009
Make the Call Today to Help Save Horses

With 144 U.S. Representatives and 17 U.S. Senators co-sponsoring the Prevention of Equine Cruelty Act of 2009 (H.R. 503/S. 727), this critical legislation is moving full steam ahead. However, until this bill is signed into law, tens of thousands of American horses will continue to be shipped over the border to Mexico and Canada where they are inhumanely shot and stabbed to death for their meat.

Dedicated advocates like you have brought us so close to the finish line in stopping this cruelty once and for all, and I am so grateful for your unwavering support. But we are not there yet, and we can't stop until our horses are finally protected from slaughter through passage of H.R. 503/S. 727.

Can you help us reach out to your federal legislators and secure more support for this critical bill?

TAKE ACTION
Please make a brief, polite phone call to your U.S. Representative and your two U.S. Senators and urge them to co-sponsor H.R. 503/S. 727, the Prevention of Equine Cruelty Act. Click here to look up your federal legislators and the phone number.

When you call, remember to leave your name and address so it is clear that you are a constituent. You can say:

"Hello, my name is [your name] and I'm calling from [your town] to urge [legislator's name] to co-sponsor H.R. 503/S. 727, the Prevention of Equine Cruelty Act, to end the slaughter of American horses for human consumption. We must end this cruel practice once and for all. Thank you."


We are tracking the impact of your calls, so please click here to let us know you spoke out for horses.

Thank you for your tireless efforts to protect horses from slaughter.

Sincerely,

Wayne Pacelle
President & CEO
The Humane Society of the United States

Life Lessons from a Video Shoot

I just returned from Massachusetts where I was working with a very good old friend of mine to make a video for a great organization called Red Tomato. They help family farms get their produce to market, but that is really only a surface explanation of what they do. I believe it is the way that they do it that make them so unique and valuable. Spending time with them gave me new incentive to live my life in the spirit that they embody, and naturally, some of what I felt can be related to my horses.

First, I was reminded that respect is essential in any successful, meaningful relationship. I saw genuine respect for everyone, from the farmer to the Jamaican tomato pickers to the camera crew to the people working in the office behind the scenes. It made everyone feel like they were doing something important together. Everything counts and each individual feels important and proud of what they are doing. This morning, in my barn, I was thinking about how easy it is to confuse respect with just doing something in order to get what we need out of someone, two or four legged. It comes down to putting yourself in the other person’s shoes (or horse’s hooves as it were) and sincerely considering what they need to make things better for them. It doesn’t have anything to do with manipulating what will happen to our advantage or trying to make someone like you so your ego will feel good.

I thought about all my years with Silk. We began with me trying to do things to get her to do what I wanted and to get her to bond with me. It was only when I forgot about all that and just considered what I would want if I were her and helped her feel as good as she could that she began to trust me. It starts with the small, daily gestures of respect and grows over the years. Even now, a friend called me and wanted to know if I was going to ride this weekend. I know that Silk’s belly is still pretty itchy, so the girth will rub on the bug bites and make them feel worse. I said no, since I wouldn’t want to have to endure that and be uncomfortable if I were Silk.

The other positive attitude that the people at Red Tomato have is to not get upset when they make mistakes. They look at what goes wrong as an opportunity to make things better and try different approaches. They don’t blame or look back and regret and paralyze themselves with feelings of failure. They just move on and figure out what to do next. Mark Rashid talks about that approach with working with horses, and I am trying so hard to reach the point where I can truly be that way without having any little nagging doubts and inner voices trying to sabotage me.

The third thing that I saw and heard from both the farmers and the people at Red Tomato is that they wake up every morning happy to go to work. They don’t lie there in bed, wishing they didn’t have to do what they are going to do today. I told them that they are really lucky. Today, as I was having a cup of coffee with my horses while they ate their breakfast, I realized that this peace of mind comes with acceptance. Like Silk and Siete do instinctively, I am trying to just live with what is, not wish for something to be better or different or easier or more secure or less scary or more fun. My husband pointed out to me that this sense of meaning and personal satisfaction comes from following your dream. For some of us, with the economic challenges that we face right now, it’s not hard to get off track and lose sight of the dream. This trip to Massachusetts was a way for me to pull out the compass and get my bearings again.

Thoughts about Attachment

I’ve been thinking about how people say that animals can only live in the moment, and that they don’t miss the past or worry about their future. Yet, I know that some of my animals do miss me when I’m not here and appear to be upset if things change. So, in that sense, they do miss their past experiences or they miss their past routines if I am not present to continue to do what they have come to expect me to do with them. And they also miss my presence and the attention I have given to them.

I could clearly tell that Pepper, our dear departed dog, was always extremely sad when my husband would take out his suitcase and when I would leave with him to drive him to the airport. She was visibly relieved to see me return, but still pined for him until he came home. When I go off to work on a video production, Silk usually spends a lot of her day when I am gone standing at the gate, watching for me to pull into the driveway. When my husband feeds the horses and does the evening chores, putting them in their stalls and locking up the barn, Silk is anxious because I’m not there. Is she worrying about the future and whether she will see me again?

I know that there are a lot of people who think it’s wrong to compare animals to children or give them human attributes. But how can someone not believe that we share similar emotions with animals? My animals and I both feel jealousy and sadness and loneliness and grief, and of course, happiness and love. It makes me realize how difficult it is to not become too attached to another being -- human or animal -- since many of the things that hurt when they are gone are the things that you love when you are with them. What’s different is that people are able to rationalize about how you need to let go and trust that the one you love will return, but an animal can’t. Silk will learn from the repetition of my coming and going that I will eventually be back, but she has no way of knowing when that will be and that causes her anxiety.

So, as I go off to shoot a video for the next couple of days, I will carry with me a touch of sadness. I will know that my horse is spending a lot of her time waiting for me at the gate, no matter how many times my husband reassures her that I will be back by Saturday morning. And I don’t know which one of us will be happier when I come home and see her eager face light up as my car pulls in the driveway.

Chillin' on a Sunday Afternoon

We had a big party yesterday so I didn’t have time to wish you all a Happy 4th of July. Here I am, doing it a day late. I hope you had a wonderful time. The weather was glorious, the company was excellent. We are lucky to have some great neighbors and friends of ours from India brought some delightful visitors who were here from Delhi. Today, I am one tired hostess.

The horses enjoyed all the attention. Right before the fireworks were going to start, I went to the barn and gave each horse a flake of hay. As I was standing with them, the first explosions began. I jumped a mile, but neither horse even looked up from their late night treat. Later, I checked on them again and Silk was lying down, asleep, even though things were still popping. Siete stuck her nose out to see if I had any more hay, of course.

So, this morning, when I came out to feed them, I was worried that I didn’t see Silk’s head sticking out to greet me. I found her in the back of her stall and had to coax her to her bucket. First, I thought colic, but then I looked at her tail and realized that she was really itching. While she ate, I slathered Deogel on her bottom and her belly. Before I could do her face and ears, she left her stall, which is again very unusual, and stood at Siete’s door, conferring nose to nose with her daughter. As soon as I opened the door, Silk began nibbling on Siete’s neck at the base of her mane. Siete started nibbling her mother along the base of her neck up and down like she was chewing on an ear of corn. Silk was weak at the knees from how good it felt to be itched in just the right spots.

The love and attention the horses gave each other was really touching. I felt like I was witnessing this really private moment, and I was grateful to be accepted by them as I stood at Silk’s side. When they were done, Silk gently touched her nose to my chest as if to be sure to include me in their circle.

Okay, I thought, it’s time. I called the vet to tell her that we needed to start the prednisolone. When she pulled up the records, we realized that it was exactly the same day as last year when we began the dosage. Because of Silk’s age, I try to not have to use steroids but we decided that the least amount of pills for the least amount of time was necessary. Once the itch cycle gets to a certain point, no amount of washing and salving will calm it. The Deogel is great though. I use it in both the gel and the lotion. I mix the lotion concentrate four parts to one part witch hazel, one part vinegar and six parts water. It works really well and is very economical.

Silk took her first dose of twenty pills at lunch. I just checked on the girls, and they are chillin’ in front of the fan in Siete’s stall. Mama Silk looks so much happier, even though the skin on her face is raw in some spots. It will take a week or two for her to return to normal, but the Pred really did the trick last summer. You know how I fear that stuff, yet at the same time, I’m glad that I can give my horse something to help her stop the itching. I got some mosquito bites on my legs last night, and they’ve been driving me crazy. It’s nothing compared to the bumps on Silk’s belly, under her tail, along the base of her neck and under her chin. I don’t think “sweet itch” is the right name. It’s “crazy itch”, and it’s time for the heavy duty ammunition.

Turtle Time

I had the feed buckets in my hand as I approached the corral this evening. Silk and Siete were both conferring in Siete’s stall. Suddenly, something moved in the mud outside Silk’s open door. It was a turtle. I quickly closed Siete’s stall door and threw in a flake of hay to occupy the girls. If I hadn’t, Silk would have charged out of the barn as soon as she saw the feed buckets and run over the turtle. Of course, curious Miss Siete was craning her neck over the top of the door to see what kind of creature this was.

By the time I managed to reach the turtle, it had already crawled into Silk’s stall, in direct line to be trampled by a horse who was ready for her dinner. I grabbed a small shovel and hoisted my new little friend out of the shavings. The turtle looked pretty startled to be sitting in the grass a few seconds later. I gave it some bits of carrot and a little bowl of water and went back to the horses.

Once dinner was served in the barn, and the horses were settled for the night, I went back to check on my little buddy. The carrots and water were gone and so was the turtle. I felt so relieved. I had redeemed my good turtle karma. Several weeks ago, our neighborhood was the scene of a terrible tragedy. There was a famous, very big, very old snapping turtle who would appear every June, making her rounds from yard to yard to find the perfect spot to lay her eggs. Last year, she picked our pasture. My neighbor and I had to use two snow shovels to lift the snapper who was as big as a dinner plate and carry her to safety. It took some doing since she kept grabbing the shovel and knocking it out of my neighbor’s hands. This was a strong turtle with a neck as big as a soda can. My neighbor remembered her from his childhood and estimated the turtle was about 40 years old.

This year, as usual, we had all been waiting for the turtle to show up. I drove home one morning in a torrential thunderstorm and saw the big snapping mama in the middle of the road just past my driveway. My neighbor was waiting for the school bus with his kids at the end of his drive sitting in his car. I pulled in and ran into the house to grab a raincoat and the snow shovels so we could move the turtle. The school bus came barreling down the road and hit it before I got there. It was horrible. All the neighbors came out and some were weeping. I’ve been haunted by the turtle’s death, feeling guilty that I didn’t stop my car, forget about the raincoat and just block the road. Tonight, saving the my little friend from more turtle carnage, I could actually feel that the big snapper mama’s spirit was pleased.

So It Begins

With the rain and the beginning of summer, so comes the Sweet Itch. Silk is rubbing her belly in her special dirt patch, despite all my efforts. It’s not as bad as last year, thanks to the Deo Gel. Of course, it’s only June, so we’ve got a lot more itching to do before the no-see-‘ums are gone.

It’s more cloudy than sunny today, but we’re celebrating that the rain has given us a brief respite. There was more rain in this last week than we’ve had all Spring. Yesterday, the corral flooded, the basement flooded but miraculously the barn didn’t. Neither horse left her stall all day, which was a first. Siete didn’t want to move even four feet into her mother's stall since the mud had this peculiar quicksand-like consistency. She lost a shoe the day before, and it was raining too hard for the farrier to come. We’re waiting for him today. Just before dinner, my muck boot got stuck, and I ended up with a very wet, gooey sock before I was able to pull it out. Not wanting to stick my disgustingly soaked foot into the boot, I squished all the way back to the house with one boot on and one off. It was that kind of day.

We’ve settled into a slow routine around here. Silk and Siete are so consistent in their behavior that you could set your watch by what they do. Breakfast comes at 6:30, even if it’s pouring rain. I make a point of being prompt since I know it’s been a long time from last night’s dinner. They wander back and forth in the corral from stall to stall. At 9 am , I groom them, clean their feet and turn them out in the pasture. After they graze for two and a half hours, it’s so weird but they head back to the barn on their own accord. They wander right though that wonderful open gate (thank you, honey!) between the corral and the pasture.

At 12:30, when I come outside with their feed buckets, each horse is waiting for me in her own stall, sticking her nose out and staring at the back door. After lunch, they switch stalls for exactly a half an hour, and then, Silk goes back to her side of the barn to join Siete. It’s siesta time. I don’t know why but they always sleep together in Silk’s stall. When my daughter gets home from school at 2:!5, each horse gets another flake of hay to last until 5:30, at which point dinner is served. Shavings are fluffed, lights out and they’re both sound asleep by seven. They don’t object to any unexpected changes, like a little groundwork or a short ride, but they certainly aren’t looking for any excitement.

It’s a big change from last year, when Siete was six and rambunctious. I felt like she was never satisfied to be where she was, always at the gate looking for some action. Seven seems to have given her peace of mind. JME predicted it, and I’m so glad that she was right. I’m wondering if anyone else has seen a change in your horse between age six and seven?

The Moment for Peonies

The peonies have opened. It might be grey and raining here in New England, but that didn’t stop them. I remember growing up in the Midwest and being given the important job of watering the peonies every night after the sun set. We had a huge, thick display of them, running across about 100 feet of the backyard. Even as an eight year old, I loved their lush petals and intense perfume. I would carefully aim the hose near the ground so I didn’t damage any of the delicate flowers. The wet grass was cool on my bare toes.

Deep red to almost white, they were my mother's pride and joy. The light pink petals glowed in the dark green, some of them stroked with thin stripes of magenta. Now, in her 95th year, my mother is still delighting in this summer's peonies. She is very protective of them, cutting the stems and arranging them in vases that belonged to both of my grandmothers. We don’t have as many peonies here in our yard as there were in hers, but I hope to add more over the years to come.

I am reminded of Mary Oliver’s wonderful poem, “Peonies”. Here’s the part I like the best:

“the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again ---
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open,
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?”

I love Mary Oliver almost as much as I love peonies.