I overheard a conversation today in which it was purported that violence is abnormal and anyone who lashes out violently must be mentally ill. I was standing in line next to the couple in at a local Wal-Mart (yes, I shop at Wal-Mart); so was privy to a great deal of the conversation. It was only moments later that this same couple suddenly began swearing loudly, flung their cart full of scanned items across the aisle where it slammed into a shelf of summer clearance merchandise, and stormed out of the store. I chuckled at the dichotomy of expressed thought and displayed action. On the way home I honked angrily and flipped off a driver who cut me off. Is violence abnormal?
At home I sat near my backyard pond and watched my Koi swimming peacefully; grazing on roots and occasionally skimming the top for edible debris. I watched for the remainder of the morning and did not observe a single confrontation in my pond. There were near collisions without altercation, and tidbits of food pursued without aggression. Do fish fight? Aside from the infamous fighting Beta, has there ever been a all out brawl between trout documented? How about the guppy; has anyone ever seen a group of guppies riot? Or a salmon slap fest? We see crows killing other birds, and sparrows dive bombing crows. We see wolves and coyotes fight over food, territory, or dominance. Horses fight for similar reasons; and just about every species takes part in aggressive acts within their group. Are they all abnormal, mentally ill? What about Homo sapiens? Is violence among humans an indication of mental illness; and if so, what degree of violence is the threshold between normal and abnormal?
Just about anyone who has been around a toddler will tell you that they bite, kick, and hit. These are traits that we parents teach our children not to do. We teach our children to express their anger and frustration with words or to control the emotions to such an extent that they become buried and perhaps lead to excessive submissiveness or other issues which as adults may lead to psycho-therapy. Very young children naturally throw toys, stomp their feet, fling whole bodies to the floor and writhe or thrash with rage. They bite if they don’t get what they want, and they kick or hit in frustration or anger at having things taken away. And we adults punish them for these natural behaviors, sometimes spanking, swatting, or slapping hands while we say “don’t hit” (now that’s a dichotomy of words and actions). By the time a child reaches school age, they are expected to interact with others without any form of aggression; of those without pre-school or socialization prior to elementary education most children fail during their first days in a classroom.
As a society we speak out against violence but at the same time we promote violence in just about everything we do. From the sports we play to the movies we watch we incorporate violence into our lives. Sports like football, boxing, ultimate fighting, hockey are multimillion dollar businesses. The wrestling industry is promoted to children through mass marketing of action figures and other toys. As parents we may chose to not purchase such toys as guns or swords; but our children soon discover that a finger and thumb can be a gun and a stick becomes a sword. Rather than banning our children from these instruments shouldn’t we instead teach them their proper uses? Movies for adults and children contain scenes or at minimum the suggestion of violence. Examples of children’s movies are: Monsters Inc., Transformers, The Lion King, UP, and I would guess any Disney or Pixar movie ever made (please correct me if I am wrong and tell me what movie does not contain violence). For adults it is difficult to find a movie that does not have some form of violence. Of course this is nothing new; recall the early silent films, the old radio shows, Aesop’s Fables, and the Greek Tragedies. Violence is not new to this world; it is not unique to this century or our current society. Violence and aggression are innate traits in Homo sapiens; even our religions are evidence of our propensity for violence.
If we can understand that violence is simply a part of human nature, that it is a part of our ‘fight or flight’ reaction; perhaps we can begin to address the issues of violence in our society. As we attempt to subdue these urges in our children and ourselves; we also promote these impulses through our media and entertainment industries. How can we expect to decrease the incidence of child/spousal abuse, workplace/school violence, road rage, or hate crimes; while our everyday lives are inundated with images and messages of violence? Simple common sense tells us we cannot. We must change our messages before we can change our behaviors.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Last Night I Had a Dream
Dreams are strange things, sometimes you wake with just fragments of images from a dream, other times you remember nothing and then there are those dreams that just keep nagging at you throughout the day; images that pop into your head disrupting your thoughts and dragging you back into the full details of the dream. Perhaps it is because sometimes a dream is more than just a dream.
The other night I had one of those dreams that lingers through the day and into the next. I stood at the top of three stone steps, on the first step lay five stick figures made of straw; two large and three small. I looked up to see four Native American Elders, dressed in traditional garb. These men told me that the figures on the step were a sign that "five have gone into the dessert". The next thing I saw in this dream was my boots walking through the desert, and my hand stretching down to leave bottles of water under sage brush and cactus.
This was the entire dream. It was short and quiet, but it has been bothering me for three days now. What does it mean? Why would I dream something like this? It could be about immigration, that seems to be the simple answer; I speak out about the injustice and growing prejudice that is occuring in the fight against undocumented immigration. Building walls, or fences is not the answer. Sending undocumented immigrants back across the border is not the answer. The answer to the immigration problems is in the home country of the migrating people, and the policies of our own government that promotes the inflow of undocumented workers (but that is another blog). I don't think this particular dream is about immigration, I think it is something else.
What am I missing? Is it in the numbers; three steps, five people, four elders? Or is the key in the words; straw, water and desert? Every image and word from this dream has invaded my thoughts over the past few days. I could just accept that the dream was inspired by my concern for the many people who struggle to come to America; but that just isn't right, I know it isn't right; there is a deeper meaning to this dream that I just can't put my finger on.
The other night I had one of those dreams that lingers through the day and into the next. I stood at the top of three stone steps, on the first step lay five stick figures made of straw; two large and three small. I looked up to see four Native American Elders, dressed in traditional garb. These men told me that the figures on the step were a sign that "five have gone into the dessert". The next thing I saw in this dream was my boots walking through the desert, and my hand stretching down to leave bottles of water under sage brush and cactus.
This was the entire dream. It was short and quiet, but it has been bothering me for three days now. What does it mean? Why would I dream something like this? It could be about immigration, that seems to be the simple answer; I speak out about the injustice and growing prejudice that is occuring in the fight against undocumented immigration. Building walls, or fences is not the answer. Sending undocumented immigrants back across the border is not the answer. The answer to the immigration problems is in the home country of the migrating people, and the policies of our own government that promotes the inflow of undocumented workers (but that is another blog). I don't think this particular dream is about immigration, I think it is something else.
What am I missing? Is it in the numbers; three steps, five people, four elders? Or is the key in the words; straw, water and desert? Every image and word from this dream has invaded my thoughts over the past few days. I could just accept that the dream was inspired by my concern for the many people who struggle to come to America; but that just isn't right, I know it isn't right; there is a deeper meaning to this dream that I just can't put my finger on.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Twisted Humor
A news forum contributor who goes by the handle "Vintage Viner" asked the question "So, What Are Some of the Things That Make You Laugh, and Why?" (5/7/10, http://www.newsvine.com/). This was such a sweet article and the responses were all so kind and nice; I really enjoyed reading the whole thing. But then I got to thinking, those things are kind of funny, but what really gets me laughing is far from sweet and innocent. I really didn't want to sully Vintage Viners' article with my macabre sense of humor; so I decided to write my own article where others of my ilk can share their more sinister rib-ticklers.
Just the other day, I had a good laugh when my son was thrown from one of our horses. I know, your thinking "how cruel"; but really it was hillarious. It wasn't that he was bucked off, or that he landed in wet sand. It was the way he just hung in mid-air for a long second; long enough for me to study the expression on his face (I continue to chuckle as I write this). But I am not alone in my amusement at my son's expense. No, the whole family was there, and we were all cracking up, as my son brushed the sand from his clothes. We laughed all the harder as my son explained how he had sufficient time while hanging in the air to plan out several options on how he should land.
I laughed for hours after my daughter-in-law smashed her finger between two rocks. Now, come on, that's funny! I also found it amusing when my nephew was tossed off his horse, who he was trying to ride with just a halter and lead for the first time. She was heading for a stand of trees to scrap him off with, so I'm guessing he was pretty lucky to have been tossed before she got there. And I laughed when my granddaughter bumped her head on the cabinet, then did it again to make sure it really hurt before she cried about it. Of course I also laughed when I splashed hot olive oil on my hand while making dinner the other night (dumb move).
Do I sound like a horrible person? Perhaps I need therapy? If so, I am not alone. Two summers ago the family and I went camping. This in itself is not unusual or particularly funny but what happened proved to me that my family and I are not the only evil people on the earth. As a matter of fact I think most campers have a twisted sense of humor. We didn't go out on our own, away from humanity as we usually do; this time we went to a public campground, paid the fee, and set up in a tiny square of dirt surrounded by dozens of other campers. It was noisy, and smoky, and unpleasant for the most part. There were showers, and other facilities and even paved roads and trails (yuck). As the sun was setting there were two boys riding their bikes on all these stretches of pavement. They were having a great time, which was somewhat annoying (as any young boy having a good time can be). It slowly got darker and darker and the campground got quieter and quieter; except for these two bicycling boys. Then one said "Maybe we should stop, it's getting pretty dark" to which the other replied "Nah, I can see fine". Immediately after that we heard: bump, bump, squeal, thump, scream, and crash! After only the slightest moment of silence the entire campground burst into laughter. I'm sure somebody, somewhere, felt sympathy for that poor boy; but they weren't in the campground that night.
So, think what you will of me, I am sure that even you have laughed at someone else's misfortune. These little stories here are only a tiny fraction of the tales I could tell of hardy, evil laughter. Now, I invite you all to share your moments of macabre humor.
Just the other day, I had a good laugh when my son was thrown from one of our horses. I know, your thinking "how cruel"; but really it was hillarious. It wasn't that he was bucked off, or that he landed in wet sand. It was the way he just hung in mid-air for a long second; long enough for me to study the expression on his face (I continue to chuckle as I write this). But I am not alone in my amusement at my son's expense. No, the whole family was there, and we were all cracking up, as my son brushed the sand from his clothes. We laughed all the harder as my son explained how he had sufficient time while hanging in the air to plan out several options on how he should land.
I laughed for hours after my daughter-in-law smashed her finger between two rocks. Now, come on, that's funny! I also found it amusing when my nephew was tossed off his horse, who he was trying to ride with just a halter and lead for the first time. She was heading for a stand of trees to scrap him off with, so I'm guessing he was pretty lucky to have been tossed before she got there. And I laughed when my granddaughter bumped her head on the cabinet, then did it again to make sure it really hurt before she cried about it. Of course I also laughed when I splashed hot olive oil on my hand while making dinner the other night (dumb move).
Do I sound like a horrible person? Perhaps I need therapy? If so, I am not alone. Two summers ago the family and I went camping. This in itself is not unusual or particularly funny but what happened proved to me that my family and I are not the only evil people on the earth. As a matter of fact I think most campers have a twisted sense of humor. We didn't go out on our own, away from humanity as we usually do; this time we went to a public campground, paid the fee, and set up in a tiny square of dirt surrounded by dozens of other campers. It was noisy, and smoky, and unpleasant for the most part. There were showers, and other facilities and even paved roads and trails (yuck). As the sun was setting there were two boys riding their bikes on all these stretches of pavement. They were having a great time, which was somewhat annoying (as any young boy having a good time can be). It slowly got darker and darker and the campground got quieter and quieter; except for these two bicycling boys. Then one said "Maybe we should stop, it's getting pretty dark" to which the other replied "Nah, I can see fine". Immediately after that we heard: bump, bump, squeal, thump, scream, and crash! After only the slightest moment of silence the entire campground burst into laughter. I'm sure somebody, somewhere, felt sympathy for that poor boy; but they weren't in the campground that night.
So, think what you will of me, I am sure that even you have laughed at someone else's misfortune. These little stories here are only a tiny fraction of the tales I could tell of hardy, evil laughter. Now, I invite you all to share your moments of macabre humor.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
A Gathering of Horses
I have made it no secret that I am disabled and suffer with chronic pain associated with my disabling injury. Once I was forced to give up my job I began taking classes to earn a new degree in the hopes that I would eventually be able to secure a position that is flexible enough to accommodate my needs. But over the years my condition has worsened to the point that I cannot even attend on-campus classes and changing my major to one that can be earned fully online I still see a drop in my GPA because I am often so debilitated with pain that I cannot sit at my computer long enough to complete an assignment. But hope persists and so do I.
My entire life I have had a multitude of pets, and for most of my life I have owned horses. About ten years ago I sold my last horse, and have suffered what I call equine withdrawal since then. It is impossible to pass a field of horses without feeling a need that must be met, a desire to ride, to muck out stalls, to buck hay, and haul bags of grain. Memories of dust covered clothes and the smell of the barn fill my head; along with recollections of poker rides, and play days, and simple sun dappled trails either shared with good friends or savored on a solitary ride. Until August of this year I thought all this was something of my past, something I would never experience again. But then something came over me; I decided one day in late July that no matter what I would have another horse. So I started shopping.
I located several stables in the area, many of them over priced but a few were reasonable; and I started shopping for the animal that would become mine. I looked at about three horses before I met Leo. A five year old, recently gelded Mustang/Paint, Leo stands 15.3 hands with a short back, and stout legs; and I made up my mind that he was the one when I first laid eyes on him. Of course I could not ride him or do anything other than to pet him and look him over to make sure he was in good shape. My sister and my son were the guinea pigs who had to climb up onto any animal that I chose for them to try out. It was probably a waste of time for either of them to try Leo, because I had already determined that even if he were to have bucked them off, he was going home with me. The decision to buy a horse should be based on things such as breeding, training, and temperament; not on personality or looks. But sometimes that just doesn’t happen and thank goodness or I wouldn’t have Leo the clown of the barn. He is smart and funny and even though I may never be able to ride him; he is a good riding horse for my son and other members of the family. For me he is a cuddly teddy bear, who likes to give hugs and nibble on my coat sleeves, and he is always happy to see me.
I guess it should have stopped there, but I was determined to ride; so I hired a trainer for Leo handed his riding over to my son and I purchased Sugar. Sug is a Tennessee Walker mare 14yrs old and gaited. Being gaited means she has gaits that are so smooth that there is no sway or bump it is like gliding on ice. This is a horse that I should be able to ride (if I can get on). She is also a brood mare with Paint genes, so breeding her to the donkey will produce a nice gaited mule hopefully with color and the sale of that mule baby will bring enough money to pay for the board and feed for the other horses for a full year. Now Sugar is the most solid horse I’ve seen in many years. She has no spook, she doesn’t argue or get agitated, she just does what she’s told to do and likes to stay out of trouble. We say “There’s Sugar trying to be invisible again” whenever the other horses are acting up, Sug just gets out of the way and takes no part in the ruckus.
I have ridden Sugar a few times since I brought her home. It takes both my son and my nephew to lift me into the saddle while my daughter-in-law holds the headstall to make sure Sugar doesn’t move. I also need for Sug to get into a ditch or I have to have a bale of hay to stand on just to get my foot into the stirrup. Now Sugar isn’t tall she’s maybe 16 hands, but my leg likes to push down when I am asking it to lift up, and once the foot is in the stirrup I have to have the boys push and lift me into the saddle because that very same leg now refuses to push down and give me a lift. My very first ride was incredibly short it lasted about three minutes. I have never in my life been afraid of a horse. I’ve broke horses, ridden problem horses, been bucked off, fallen off, and even had horses fall over on me; but not once was I afraid until I climbed onto Sugar. The second my butt was in the saddle I was overwhelmed with terror; what if I fall off, or what if the motion of her walk or trot destroy what is left of my back? The fear was not really of the horse, but of the consequences of riding. But she waited patiently for me to gather my wits and ask her to do something. I finally got some guts and asked for a walk and we walked gently around the arena for a few minutes, then I started to feel more pain than I thought I could take and we stopped. I climbed down with less grace than a pig climbing over a fence; I threw my arms around Sugars neck and started crying because I was so happy that I had actually ridden a horse again; something I thought would never happen. I’ve ridden Sugar about a half a dozen times since then, never more than just a few minutes at a time.
It would seem that this is the end of the story, but no; two horses just aren’t enough. Soon after I bought Leo and Sugar the woman who owns the stables where I keep them came and told me about an orphaned mustang filly who was in need of rescuing. I agreed to take the filly and find her a home. She came on a Saturday, and I expected to go out to the barn to find an ugly little thing that I could feed up and adopt out, but to my surprise I found a beautiful little sorrel filly with a perfect mustang confirmation. Short back, thick neck, stout legs, big butt and beautiful head. At only 4 or 5 months old, she already had a flowing mane and long tail, and a intelligence in her eye that surpassed anything I had seen in a young horse. This little girl was completely wild, we could not even get our hands on her. But three days in the stall with lots of food and loving she came around quickly. Then we started taking her out to the round pen where my son and his wife worked with her teaching her how to lead, how to come to us instead of running away, even how to lunge. After a couple of weeks I decided that it was time to find her a real home, but we were already attached so it was difficult. I thought of my niece who had ridden barrel horses when she was young, and now as an adult was suffering with her own medical and physical ailments. If having these horses was helping me so much, I was sure that it would help her too. So I mentioned it to her husband, who immediately said he hated horses but if she wanted the filly she could have it. I gave the filly “Athena” to my niece who was happy to have her, but her husband is the one that was the big surprise; he fell in love with Athena at first sight and all of a sudden he not only didn’t hate horses he wanted more. So they now have Athena and Bella a thoroughbred mare.
Again it should end, but in November my sister had some horses brought in so she could try them out for her kids. One of those horses was a pale palomino Quarter-horse gelding who was nothing but a rack of bones. While my sister was contemplating a Morgan gelding and a Quarter/Arab mare, my son climbed up on this sack of bones and found that he is a well trained cow horse with a great attitude. I bought him, mostly to keep him from going back to the trader who starved him. His name is now Mister. We soon found that this guy was not just underfed he was starved; he went after food as though he hadn’t seen it in months. He also started displaying traits that I have only seen in abused animals. He is terrified of gloves, and is very head-shy. We have had him about three weeks now and have put at least a hundred pounds on him, he is getting used to gloves and the head-shy is giving way to trust. He comes from the same trader that I bought Sugar from who also came to us very skinny and unhealthy. I just can’t understand how people can be so cruel as to take a great animal like Sugar or Mister and mistreat them and neglect them so badly.
At the same time that we bought Mister, the woman who owns the barn where we stable bought a little Appaloosa mare from the auction. My nephew who does a lot of work at the barn started noticing this mare, and he developed a liking for her. She follows him around the pastures and watches every move he makes. So he bought her. So now I have three horses; Leo, Sugar, and Mister. My nephew has one horse, Shadow. My niece and her husband have two, Athena and Bella, and my sister has one the little Morgan gelding Stryder. In 4 months time my decision to buy one horse has blossomed into my family having seven horses.
This has had a tremendous effect on me and my family. First it has led to me losing forty pounds, I have at least another fifty pounds in order to get back to a healthy weight but that is ten pounds a month and is a great start. This weight loss has led to me feeling a lot better, eating better, and having more energy. Even though I have never ridden Leo or Mister and have only spent a total of about an hour on Sugar over the past four months; I AM HAPPY! I get to be with them, help to feed them (with lots of help from my family), brush them, talk to them, watch them and know they are mine. I have a reason to get out of bed every day, and to leave my house every day. I have chairs in the barn where I sit when I cannot stand or walk any longer (which doesn’t take long), and I am not able to do anything that requires any lifting or stooping or really any sort of real movement at all. But just being at the barn is enough to improve my health, improve how I deal with my pain, and has led to a great weight loss.
For my family it has brought us all together again. We don’t just sit in the house in our separate rooms meeting in the hall near the bathroom or bumping into each other in the kitchen. We meet at the barn and we talk and laugh and care for the horses. I watch as my family rides together and help each other with riding or training tips. Every single one of us is happier and healthier because of these horses. We did not have to hire a psychologist to deal with depression or family relations; we bought a horse. We did not have to join a gym to lose weight and build muscle; we bought a horse. We did not have to hire a nutritionist to help us cut out calories; we bought a horse (we no longer can afford food). I no longer wish this life was over; I bought a horse. My leg still doesn’t work, and I am still in pain….. But I Am Happy.
My entire life I have had a multitude of pets, and for most of my life I have owned horses. About ten years ago I sold my last horse, and have suffered what I call equine withdrawal since then. It is impossible to pass a field of horses without feeling a need that must be met, a desire to ride, to muck out stalls, to buck hay, and haul bags of grain. Memories of dust covered clothes and the smell of the barn fill my head; along with recollections of poker rides, and play days, and simple sun dappled trails either shared with good friends or savored on a solitary ride. Until August of this year I thought all this was something of my past, something I would never experience again. But then something came over me; I decided one day in late July that no matter what I would have another horse. So I started shopping.
I located several stables in the area, many of them over priced but a few were reasonable; and I started shopping for the animal that would become mine. I looked at about three horses before I met Leo. A five year old, recently gelded Mustang/Paint, Leo stands 15.3 hands with a short back, and stout legs; and I made up my mind that he was the one when I first laid eyes on him. Of course I could not ride him or do anything other than to pet him and look him over to make sure he was in good shape. My sister and my son were the guinea pigs who had to climb up onto any animal that I chose for them to try out. It was probably a waste of time for either of them to try Leo, because I had already determined that even if he were to have bucked them off, he was going home with me. The decision to buy a horse should be based on things such as breeding, training, and temperament; not on personality or looks. But sometimes that just doesn’t happen and thank goodness or I wouldn’t have Leo the clown of the barn. He is smart and funny and even though I may never be able to ride him; he is a good riding horse for my son and other members of the family. For me he is a cuddly teddy bear, who likes to give hugs and nibble on my coat sleeves, and he is always happy to see me.
I guess it should have stopped there, but I was determined to ride; so I hired a trainer for Leo handed his riding over to my son and I purchased Sugar. Sug is a Tennessee Walker mare 14yrs old and gaited. Being gaited means she has gaits that are so smooth that there is no sway or bump it is like gliding on ice. This is a horse that I should be able to ride (if I can get on). She is also a brood mare with Paint genes, so breeding her to the donkey will produce a nice gaited mule hopefully with color and the sale of that mule baby will bring enough money to pay for the board and feed for the other horses for a full year. Now Sugar is the most solid horse I’ve seen in many years. She has no spook, she doesn’t argue or get agitated, she just does what she’s told to do and likes to stay out of trouble. We say “There’s Sugar trying to be invisible again” whenever the other horses are acting up, Sug just gets out of the way and takes no part in the ruckus.
I have ridden Sugar a few times since I brought her home. It takes both my son and my nephew to lift me into the saddle while my daughter-in-law holds the headstall to make sure Sugar doesn’t move. I also need for Sug to get into a ditch or I have to have a bale of hay to stand on just to get my foot into the stirrup. Now Sugar isn’t tall she’s maybe 16 hands, but my leg likes to push down when I am asking it to lift up, and once the foot is in the stirrup I have to have the boys push and lift me into the saddle because that very same leg now refuses to push down and give me a lift. My very first ride was incredibly short it lasted about three minutes. I have never in my life been afraid of a horse. I’ve broke horses, ridden problem horses, been bucked off, fallen off, and even had horses fall over on me; but not once was I afraid until I climbed onto Sugar. The second my butt was in the saddle I was overwhelmed with terror; what if I fall off, or what if the motion of her walk or trot destroy what is left of my back? The fear was not really of the horse, but of the consequences of riding. But she waited patiently for me to gather my wits and ask her to do something. I finally got some guts and asked for a walk and we walked gently around the arena for a few minutes, then I started to feel more pain than I thought I could take and we stopped. I climbed down with less grace than a pig climbing over a fence; I threw my arms around Sugars neck and started crying because I was so happy that I had actually ridden a horse again; something I thought would never happen. I’ve ridden Sugar about a half a dozen times since then, never more than just a few minutes at a time.
It would seem that this is the end of the story, but no; two horses just aren’t enough. Soon after I bought Leo and Sugar the woman who owns the stables where I keep them came and told me about an orphaned mustang filly who was in need of rescuing. I agreed to take the filly and find her a home. She came on a Saturday, and I expected to go out to the barn to find an ugly little thing that I could feed up and adopt out, but to my surprise I found a beautiful little sorrel filly with a perfect mustang confirmation. Short back, thick neck, stout legs, big butt and beautiful head. At only 4 or 5 months old, she already had a flowing mane and long tail, and a intelligence in her eye that surpassed anything I had seen in a young horse. This little girl was completely wild, we could not even get our hands on her. But three days in the stall with lots of food and loving she came around quickly. Then we started taking her out to the round pen where my son and his wife worked with her teaching her how to lead, how to come to us instead of running away, even how to lunge. After a couple of weeks I decided that it was time to find her a real home, but we were already attached so it was difficult. I thought of my niece who had ridden barrel horses when she was young, and now as an adult was suffering with her own medical and physical ailments. If having these horses was helping me so much, I was sure that it would help her too. So I mentioned it to her husband, who immediately said he hated horses but if she wanted the filly she could have it. I gave the filly “Athena” to my niece who was happy to have her, but her husband is the one that was the big surprise; he fell in love with Athena at first sight and all of a sudden he not only didn’t hate horses he wanted more. So they now have Athena and Bella a thoroughbred mare.
Again it should end, but in November my sister had some horses brought in so she could try them out for her kids. One of those horses was a pale palomino Quarter-horse gelding who was nothing but a rack of bones. While my sister was contemplating a Morgan gelding and a Quarter/Arab mare, my son climbed up on this sack of bones and found that he is a well trained cow horse with a great attitude. I bought him, mostly to keep him from going back to the trader who starved him. His name is now Mister. We soon found that this guy was not just underfed he was starved; he went after food as though he hadn’t seen it in months. He also started displaying traits that I have only seen in abused animals. He is terrified of gloves, and is very head-shy. We have had him about three weeks now and have put at least a hundred pounds on him, he is getting used to gloves and the head-shy is giving way to trust. He comes from the same trader that I bought Sugar from who also came to us very skinny and unhealthy. I just can’t understand how people can be so cruel as to take a great animal like Sugar or Mister and mistreat them and neglect them so badly.
At the same time that we bought Mister, the woman who owns the barn where we stable bought a little Appaloosa mare from the auction. My nephew who does a lot of work at the barn started noticing this mare, and he developed a liking for her. She follows him around the pastures and watches every move he makes. So he bought her. So now I have three horses; Leo, Sugar, and Mister. My nephew has one horse, Shadow. My niece and her husband have two, Athena and Bella, and my sister has one the little Morgan gelding Stryder. In 4 months time my decision to buy one horse has blossomed into my family having seven horses.
This has had a tremendous effect on me and my family. First it has led to me losing forty pounds, I have at least another fifty pounds in order to get back to a healthy weight but that is ten pounds a month and is a great start. This weight loss has led to me feeling a lot better, eating better, and having more energy. Even though I have never ridden Leo or Mister and have only spent a total of about an hour on Sugar over the past four months; I AM HAPPY! I get to be with them, help to feed them (with lots of help from my family), brush them, talk to them, watch them and know they are mine. I have a reason to get out of bed every day, and to leave my house every day. I have chairs in the barn where I sit when I cannot stand or walk any longer (which doesn’t take long), and I am not able to do anything that requires any lifting or stooping or really any sort of real movement at all. But just being at the barn is enough to improve my health, improve how I deal with my pain, and has led to a great weight loss.
For my family it has brought us all together again. We don’t just sit in the house in our separate rooms meeting in the hall near the bathroom or bumping into each other in the kitchen. We meet at the barn and we talk and laugh and care for the horses. I watch as my family rides together and help each other with riding or training tips. Every single one of us is happier and healthier because of these horses. We did not have to hire a psychologist to deal with depression or family relations; we bought a horse. We did not have to join a gym to lose weight and build muscle; we bought a horse. We did not have to hire a nutritionist to help us cut out calories; we bought a horse (we no longer can afford food). I no longer wish this life was over; I bought a horse. My leg still doesn’t work, and I am still in pain….. But I Am Happy.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
It Was a Strange Morning
It was a strange morning; it started when I was chased from my bed and my room by a spider. The creepy thing was on the ceiling and he was racing to the spot directly above my head. I dove from under the sheet and grabbed up a shoe to use as a weapon, but found that I just didn’t have the courage to use it. The spider seeing my hesitation, hastily changed directions and again raced for the part of the ceiling above me; it was at this moment that I made what turned out to be a fortuitous decision to leave my room and spend the morning outside.
Once safely in the great wilderness of my roughly 120’ by 100’ back yard, I was able to release the weapon (shoe) that I had carried with me from my bedroom, and take in the scenery. What I saw made my heart leap in my chest.
In my wonderful yard I have two Koi ponds; one is 3000 gallons and the other a measly 500 gallons. Well last night my son and nephew worked hard to catch the 15 fish and assorted frogs and tadpoles from the large pond and place them in the dinky little five hundred gallon puddle. This had to be done in order for us to drain and make repairs. Needless to say the large koi don’t care much for the small pond. When I relaxed enough to look at my ponds I noticed that all but one of the large koi were lined up at the edge of the pond as though they were watching something on the lawn; and they were.
There in the grass, about five feet from the water was the largest of my koi. Eighteen inches of black and gold lying there dry and looking for all the world like a mounted trophy on a field of green. I rushed to him and quickly snatched him from the lawn tossing him back into the water; thinking about the Oscar that was dry and stiff after spending hours on the carpet yet revived after being placed in water. The koi splashed into the pond and abruptly returned to the top on his side. I noticed that one gill was barely moving, so I leaned over the pond pulled him close to the edge and began resuscitation (no not mouth to mouth; Yuck!), by moving him back and forth and wiggling him just a bit. I figured a little motion to get the water moving through him couldn’t hurt.
It was while I was kneeling at the edge of the pond trying to get a dead fish to swim that I notice now all the koi were within inches of my hands all staring at their friend. I spent almost an hour trying to revive the koi. His gills began to move in a regular but weak fashion and his mouth began to do that gulping motion that they do. But every time I let go of him back onto his side he went. I didn’t know what I was going to do, I knew I couldn’t stay there all day to keep him upright; so I glanced around to see if there was something I could use to help. It was then that I noticed the waterfall was not running so much as trickling; 15 large koi and several frogs and tadpoles added to the five fish already in the pond naturally overloaded the pump.
I let go of my patient long enough to hurry into the house and wake my nephew, who came quickly to help. He cleaned the filter and soon the waterfall was flowing and with the addition of good clean oxygen to the water my patient recovered quickly. I was able after just a few more minutes to let go and he remained upright. It was then that the other koi surrounded him, each swimming close to his head and taking turns as though they were visiting a good friend in the hospital.
When the revived koi finally attempted to swim, the two next largest fish accompanied him; one on each side as though helping to support him in his first steps after such a dreadful accident. I spent the rest of the morning seated near the ponds watching, as the koi kept close watch on their friend. Not once through the morning was he left alone; there was at least one koi with him at all times. By mid-morning the revived koi was swimming without difficulty and traversing the small pond with the others following.
Not many of my fish have names. We have “Target” a white koi with a perfect orange circle on his side, and “lips” a white with orange lips. Then there is “Keiko” black and white marked just like an orca. Now we have “Lazarus”.
This afternoon when I finally returned to my bedroom, I found that spider exactly where I expected to find him; resting comfortably on my pillow. I screamed a little and pointed and Merlin my protector pounced with all of his 150 pounds of canine muscle onto the spider smashing him neatly into the pillow case. It’s time to buy a new pillow.
Once safely in the great wilderness of my roughly 120’ by 100’ back yard, I was able to release the weapon (shoe) that I had carried with me from my bedroom, and take in the scenery. What I saw made my heart leap in my chest.
In my wonderful yard I have two Koi ponds; one is 3000 gallons and the other a measly 500 gallons. Well last night my son and nephew worked hard to catch the 15 fish and assorted frogs and tadpoles from the large pond and place them in the dinky little five hundred gallon puddle. This had to be done in order for us to drain and make repairs. Needless to say the large koi don’t care much for the small pond. When I relaxed enough to look at my ponds I noticed that all but one of the large koi were lined up at the edge of the pond as though they were watching something on the lawn; and they were.
There in the grass, about five feet from the water was the largest of my koi. Eighteen inches of black and gold lying there dry and looking for all the world like a mounted trophy on a field of green. I rushed to him and quickly snatched him from the lawn tossing him back into the water; thinking about the Oscar that was dry and stiff after spending hours on the carpet yet revived after being placed in water. The koi splashed into the pond and abruptly returned to the top on his side. I noticed that one gill was barely moving, so I leaned over the pond pulled him close to the edge and began resuscitation (no not mouth to mouth; Yuck!), by moving him back and forth and wiggling him just a bit. I figured a little motion to get the water moving through him couldn’t hurt.
It was while I was kneeling at the edge of the pond trying to get a dead fish to swim that I notice now all the koi were within inches of my hands all staring at their friend. I spent almost an hour trying to revive the koi. His gills began to move in a regular but weak fashion and his mouth began to do that gulping motion that they do. But every time I let go of him back onto his side he went. I didn’t know what I was going to do, I knew I couldn’t stay there all day to keep him upright; so I glanced around to see if there was something I could use to help. It was then that I noticed the waterfall was not running so much as trickling; 15 large koi and several frogs and tadpoles added to the five fish already in the pond naturally overloaded the pump.
I let go of my patient long enough to hurry into the house and wake my nephew, who came quickly to help. He cleaned the filter and soon the waterfall was flowing and with the addition of good clean oxygen to the water my patient recovered quickly. I was able after just a few more minutes to let go and he remained upright. It was then that the other koi surrounded him, each swimming close to his head and taking turns as though they were visiting a good friend in the hospital.
When the revived koi finally attempted to swim, the two next largest fish accompanied him; one on each side as though helping to support him in his first steps after such a dreadful accident. I spent the rest of the morning seated near the ponds watching, as the koi kept close watch on their friend. Not once through the morning was he left alone; there was at least one koi with him at all times. By mid-morning the revived koi was swimming without difficulty and traversing the small pond with the others following.
Not many of my fish have names. We have “Target” a white koi with a perfect orange circle on his side, and “lips” a white with orange lips. Then there is “Keiko” black and white marked just like an orca. Now we have “Lazarus”.
This afternoon when I finally returned to my bedroom, I found that spider exactly where I expected to find him; resting comfortably on my pillow. I screamed a little and pointed and Merlin my protector pounced with all of his 150 pounds of canine muscle onto the spider smashing him neatly into the pillow case. It’s time to buy a new pillow.
Monday, March 23, 2009
I Want To Run
My life is lived in a series of short trips. A short trip from this chair to that chair, from the door to the car, from the car to the door..... Pain rules my life.
I want to run and play hide and go seek. I want to play tag. I just want to run. I want to ride a horse, own a horse; muck out the stalls, clean the hooves, carry sacks of grain and bales of hay. I want to fling a saddle over my shoulder and carry it to the barn, and throw it on the horses back. I want to put my foot in the stirrup and swing into that saddle, then I want to run....
I want to climb a tree, and a hill, and a mountain. I want to crawl under a fence or a log, or over a fence or a log. I want to wade in water with a mucky bottom that pulls at my feet. I want to slide down a muddy hill, and walk through tall wet grass.
I want to sit on the floor, and do summer-saults, and cartwheels. I want to lay on the ground and watch the stars or the clouds. I want to swing, and slide, and climb, and ride, and run....
I want to run and play hide and go seek. I want to play tag. I just want to run. I want to ride a horse, own a horse; muck out the stalls, clean the hooves, carry sacks of grain and bales of hay. I want to fling a saddle over my shoulder and carry it to the barn, and throw it on the horses back. I want to put my foot in the stirrup and swing into that saddle, then I want to run....
I want to climb a tree, and a hill, and a mountain. I want to crawl under a fence or a log, or over a fence or a log. I want to wade in water with a mucky bottom that pulls at my feet. I want to slide down a muddy hill, and walk through tall wet grass.
I want to sit on the floor, and do summer-saults, and cartwheels. I want to lay on the ground and watch the stars or the clouds. I want to swing, and slide, and climb, and ride, and run....
Five Days That Changed My Life
Things had changed drastically. I’d had a couple of surgeries and found myself permanently disabled with a secondary condition of chronic pain. For two years my doctors had added one narcotic on top of another in a vain attempt to control my pain; the entire time telling me that I would never recover, that my condition would only worsen. One day I complained that my medications were making it impossible to stay awake, so my doctor prescribed an amphetamine to help. My next appointment I told that doctor that I would not continue taking the “speed” because it made me not able to sleep. He didn’t even bother to ask what I wanted to do, he simply wrote another prescription; this one for valium. Well I just sat there for a minute, anger rising up from the pit of my stomach. Finally I calmly tore up the prescription he had written and told him “I am done”.
“Maybe we should look at your anti-depressant medication, which one are you taking” is what he said as he picked up my chart to scan through the long list. As he stared at my chart I stood up from the chair and started for the door. I told him “I guess you didn’t hear me, I said I’m done”. He being a great advocate for the pharmaceutical companies decided that more medications would solve all my problems. He felt that I just didn’t understand; so he had to explain it all to me again. He stood blocking the door and told me once again that as soon as they got the right combination of meds, my pain would ease up. And he continued, to explain again that I had to accept the fact that I am disabled, and always would be.
Now, I have spent twenty years watching chronic pain patients have their medications increase with no relief for their pain; just a decrease in their ability to think, to do, to live. I was not prepared to give up my life to narcotics. I told this to the doctor, then said “your fired” and walked out. When I got home, I flushed all my pills down the toilet, and burned the pain patches. At first the rebound pain was excruciating, but after a few days it eased up and I found that I had no more pain than I did while on the meds. A few days later I had a minor heart attack; because I didn’t stop my medications properly. Weak and sick and in pain I spent the next month in bed; then one morning I made a decision. I packed my car trunk with some camping supplies; grabbed my dog, my shotgun, and my cane and drove east.
My favorite place in the world is in Eastern Oregon. It is a mountain; well a hill with mountain in the name, and on this hill runs Little Fish Creek. After you leave the main highway it’s about 20 miles to Wildcat, then another 20 or 25 miles on dirt roads and what might pass as deer trails to my favorite spot. This is a small oasis on a high desert hill, pine trees and grass with a nice portion of Little Fish creek running right through it. Here the creek has a small waterfall that fills a deep pool, and then runs through shallow rapids. The sound of water rippling around ancient stone and swishing through lush mosses is a comforting sound.
It’s a small hike from the dirt road, but I managed to get the sleeping bag, shotgun and my dog to the edge of the creek. I laid out my bag, laid down and fell asleep. I woke in the middle of the night and above me I saw so many stars. My dog who had lain next to me through the hours that I slept, looked at me as though he was making sure I was ok; then laid his head on my legs and went back to sleep. I continued to stare at those beautiful stars until the sun poked up over the pine trees. I got up and struggled to get the tent and the rest of the supplies. I was so weak and in so much pain it took me most of the day to get the camp set up.
I never bothered to put my sleeping bag in the tent. I slept every night at the edge of the creek, so close I could reach out and let my hand drift in the water. I didn’t just sleep at night; I slept for a couple of days too. When I was awake, I ate a little, fed my dog and let him run around, but he was reluctant to stray more than a few feet from me. He watched me all the time, I think he was worried. I walked just a tiny bit, but enough to see some wildlife. I watched antelope come to drink at the creek, and a porcupine with pups waddled around scratching at a log until she noticed me; she hissed a bit and gave a little clucky sound then waddled away, quickly vanishing in the brush. A magpie came and tormented Merlin (my dog) for a morning; and even as this magpie tried so hard to get Merlin to chase him, my dog refused to leave my side. His loyalty is amazing.
One night I woke to Merlin growling; he is a Great Dane so his growl is deep and rumbles the ground, you can feel his growl vibrating in your chest. I sat up and put my hand on the shotgun. But it was just some cattle walking through; this is free range cattle country and being mid-summer, I watched to make sure there was no bull with these cows. (These cows helped to make a later camping trip an event to remember and one I think I will enjoy telling at another time.) The cows passed through, leaving a pie or two behind; and I laid there again staring at the stars. For five days and nights I slept next to that creek, even one day when it rained I stayed near the creek, the tent serving as nothing more than a storage area for my clothes and food.
During this time, my pain did not ease; but I was able to deal with it. My weakness and that sick feeling that follows a cardiac event, let up; I gained some strength and a little energy. Each day I was able to walk a little better, a little farther. Then something terrible happened Merlin ate the last of his dog food; it was time to go home. It was physically easier to strike camp, than it had been to set camp. But emotionally and spiritually, it was horrible I actually cried as I packed the trunk. I sat for an hour or so, on a log with my feet in the water; delaying my departure from this my favorite place. But finally the sun began to set and I had to drive away.
“Maybe we should look at your anti-depressant medication, which one are you taking” is what he said as he picked up my chart to scan through the long list. As he stared at my chart I stood up from the chair and started for the door. I told him “I guess you didn’t hear me, I said I’m done”. He being a great advocate for the pharmaceutical companies decided that more medications would solve all my problems. He felt that I just didn’t understand; so he had to explain it all to me again. He stood blocking the door and told me once again that as soon as they got the right combination of meds, my pain would ease up. And he continued, to explain again that I had to accept the fact that I am disabled, and always would be.
Now, I have spent twenty years watching chronic pain patients have their medications increase with no relief for their pain; just a decrease in their ability to think, to do, to live. I was not prepared to give up my life to narcotics. I told this to the doctor, then said “your fired” and walked out. When I got home, I flushed all my pills down the toilet, and burned the pain patches. At first the rebound pain was excruciating, but after a few days it eased up and I found that I had no more pain than I did while on the meds. A few days later I had a minor heart attack; because I didn’t stop my medications properly. Weak and sick and in pain I spent the next month in bed; then one morning I made a decision. I packed my car trunk with some camping supplies; grabbed my dog, my shotgun, and my cane and drove east.
My favorite place in the world is in Eastern Oregon. It is a mountain; well a hill with mountain in the name, and on this hill runs Little Fish Creek. After you leave the main highway it’s about 20 miles to Wildcat, then another 20 or 25 miles on dirt roads and what might pass as deer trails to my favorite spot. This is a small oasis on a high desert hill, pine trees and grass with a nice portion of Little Fish creek running right through it. Here the creek has a small waterfall that fills a deep pool, and then runs through shallow rapids. The sound of water rippling around ancient stone and swishing through lush mosses is a comforting sound.
It’s a small hike from the dirt road, but I managed to get the sleeping bag, shotgun and my dog to the edge of the creek. I laid out my bag, laid down and fell asleep. I woke in the middle of the night and above me I saw so many stars. My dog who had lain next to me through the hours that I slept, looked at me as though he was making sure I was ok; then laid his head on my legs and went back to sleep. I continued to stare at those beautiful stars until the sun poked up over the pine trees. I got up and struggled to get the tent and the rest of the supplies. I was so weak and in so much pain it took me most of the day to get the camp set up.
I never bothered to put my sleeping bag in the tent. I slept every night at the edge of the creek, so close I could reach out and let my hand drift in the water. I didn’t just sleep at night; I slept for a couple of days too. When I was awake, I ate a little, fed my dog and let him run around, but he was reluctant to stray more than a few feet from me. He watched me all the time, I think he was worried. I walked just a tiny bit, but enough to see some wildlife. I watched antelope come to drink at the creek, and a porcupine with pups waddled around scratching at a log until she noticed me; she hissed a bit and gave a little clucky sound then waddled away, quickly vanishing in the brush. A magpie came and tormented Merlin (my dog) for a morning; and even as this magpie tried so hard to get Merlin to chase him, my dog refused to leave my side. His loyalty is amazing.
One night I woke to Merlin growling; he is a Great Dane so his growl is deep and rumbles the ground, you can feel his growl vibrating in your chest. I sat up and put my hand on the shotgun. But it was just some cattle walking through; this is free range cattle country and being mid-summer, I watched to make sure there was no bull with these cows. (These cows helped to make a later camping trip an event to remember and one I think I will enjoy telling at another time.) The cows passed through, leaving a pie or two behind; and I laid there again staring at the stars. For five days and nights I slept next to that creek, even one day when it rained I stayed near the creek, the tent serving as nothing more than a storage area for my clothes and food.
During this time, my pain did not ease; but I was able to deal with it. My weakness and that sick feeling that follows a cardiac event, let up; I gained some strength and a little energy. Each day I was able to walk a little better, a little farther. Then something terrible happened Merlin ate the last of his dog food; it was time to go home. It was physically easier to strike camp, than it had been to set camp. But emotionally and spiritually, it was horrible I actually cried as I packed the trunk. I sat for an hour or so, on a log with my feet in the water; delaying my departure from this my favorite place. But finally the sun began to set and I had to drive away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)