The first day back on the farm, Cole was allowed to run free. He came back from his romp completely lame on his right side. Who knows what Genius did to two legs within 30 minutes. Most likely he struck them both on logs while at Mach 2.
Dr. P and I agreed that a conservative (and less expensive) treatment should be tried first. Cole didn't run for a week, but he wasn't improving. So, we had a nice long visit with his regular vet this past week. Try half a day. I can count on one hand how many times I've left Cole in someone else's care. I simply don't do it. But, Cole wouldn't have benefitted from my state of panic, so I left him with Dr. Moore at Thornton Animal Hospital.
Socrates is one of my favorite philosophers. He taught to "seek truth. Question everything". It's my motto. But, Dr. Moore holds demi-god status with me for what he's done for Cole over the years, so he could tell me the moon is made of Swiss cheese and I'd consider myself enlightened.
While Cole was getting X-rayed, I chose to emote at the car wash for an hour, then at the grocery store. Cole has swelling, possible calcification of his back knee. Hopefully reversible, perhaps not. The front wrist may have a mass beneath the tendon. The mention of a tumor is what sent my breakfast to tickle my tonsils. He's already had 3 removed a couple years ago.
For now, Cole will be under house arrest. No running, period.
In two weeks, we'll return for more X-rays and a more definitive prognosis. Best case scenario, we'll be back to running together in a couple months. Worst case, for the remaining 14 states of our quest, we'll walk, bike (he can ride in the wagon) or kayak. He's irreplaceable, will not be left behind -- ever. So, people can quit suggesting that I get a younger dog (you'll only be rewarded with a lump of coal in your stockings if you persist).
After the backbreaking work of building feeding lanes, the oxen think it's time to go back to the drawing board.
One of their wide butts knocked down a few internal partitions. I'll need a couple weeks to address the design problems as I'm trying to let some torn abdominal muscles mend. It appears my glory days are over. Hauling around logs has caused a previously benign umbilical hernia to bloom to the size of a marshmallow. Very painful marshmallow. As it refused to be coaxed to return from whence it came and being that my budget only allows one Smith clan member, at a time, to be under doctor's supervision, I went to Mrs. C. She's in her late 80's and is a lexicon of common sense wisdom. Back in the day, she cured her daughter of abdominal pains that had lasted for months and that the doctors couldn't resolve. She dewormed her with horse paste. Brilliant woman.
Her 95 cent solution: a big washer. I taped it down with Gorilla Tape and within a day my marshmallow was becoming a cherry. Day 2, it was gone. Now, I can feel the cleft left by my overexertion is larger than before -- it's an interesting sensation to tickle your own intestines!
Kinda gross, I know. But now that I've delved into 'gross', let me continue a bit.
Correction to the previous post where I proudly displayed my crow pie. It was actually raven pie, which explains why there was more breast meat than a dove! Duh.
So, there isn't a murder of crows stealing our pecans, it is a conspiracy of ravens dwindling the harvest.
In the Ukraine, crow is a heritage dish. Not gross. Think carefully where eggs come from, that milk is medically called a secretion and forgive my ancestors for eating escargots (snails, which are bugs, and yes, that is borderline gross). My definition of disgustingly gross is margarine, high fructose corn syrup and food dyes.
Still on the food topic, our first hard frost had me scrambling to bring in produce from the garden.
Second harvest of heirloom sweet potatoes.
Mucho basil. Perfect for pesto. Who said too many chefs in the kitchen ruin the roux?
Indentured servitude -- guaranteed here at the farm! Dad's been put back to work picking pecans too. I am ashamed to have cause him a sore back from being stooped over for hours. Sorry, Dad and Merry Christmas!
With the pecan harvester, no stooping and worker productivity increases!
Cold weather means that I need to come up with a better way to keep the chickens warm. Swaddling the coop in a tarp is time consuming and provides the oxen with a giant piñata to beat with their horns.
Maybe I could knit 9 little vests for the hens. If only they made something easy like Cole's jacket.
Time to start supplementing the oxen with alfalfa cubes and 14% feed. Handy to still have the seats out of the Hyundai!
900 lbs of feed, exceeding the total 800 lb cargo capacity of the car. Oops. Where is that farm hand of mine (Dad)? In Florida, playing golf this week...I guess I need to unload the car by myself before I can go back to work this weekend.
But, there is one weekend I will have off, by hook or by crook. In December, I'm signed up for an advanced tactical shooting class and a low light/no light class. Imagine a bunch of folks with live rounds and little red lasers everywhere. Cool! I've waited over a year to be free for this class. I'm beyond excited: 12 hours at the range. Bliss.
