(flowers outside my laundry room door)
It was just another cup of coffee, coverall, can of paint kind of day. I spent the morning on top of a ladder painstakingly working on the eaves above the front porch. The ones I did not paint last year when I did the entire rest of the house because of my resident bats. A fairly large colony lives in a small crevice between my eaves. When you look up from the porch floor you can usually see their tiny toes hanging out and hear their little chirps. You do not want to put your coffee cup on the table too close to the house as it could end up being sprinkled with bat guano. It’s not a real problem you just have to scoot it forward. They don’t have much range. Bats are sensitive little creatures who keep to themselves and do not care for paint fumes so I try to be accommodating as they are helpful little guys who eat mosquitoes by the thousands.
(one coat of white on the eaves - the black started- temp light)
Although there is no glory in painting eaves, they've got to be done, and everything was going according to schedule. If I kept up my current pace I would indeed be completely finished by dark. I was systematically going across the deck and working my way around. Of course, my arm was always above my head giving me an entirely new appreciation for the Sistine Chapel. These particular eves would require three coats. The first coat was sort of exciting as I could see a huge and immediate difference, but then as I watched the paint dry I could see it yellow and the color of the wood seep through. The second coat is harder to do emotionally. I put it on thick in hopes it will be enough knowing full well it won’t and ultimately I will have to do the entire ceiling for a third time.
This was my lot in life as the holiday weekend ticked by. Toby had flown in earlier in the week to close escrow on her farm in Courtenay on Vancouver Island. She said it would take her two days to finish packing and then she thought she might visit for a day or so and we’d still have a week or more to spend together. That was on Wednesday and five days later she is nowhere near done, so I have Dean who is having a grand old time playing with Henry.
(Dean and Henry way, way up in a pine tree)
(Dean and Henry)
(Dean and Henry painting my flower garden fence in their drawers)
(Miracle is getting cozy with Henry)
(Miracle tries one of Dean's Cool Ranch Doritos™- and likes them)
(Miracle's nose on right wondering I suppose what Irish might have to eat)
Today I told them was a workday because “a girl I know through a couple of my friends, Jackie and Gina, both know Rowan. She moved here from California with her daughter Pearl. They live in Everson a little town near Lynden.”
“Isn’t that where the Black Forest restaurant is?” Henry asked.
“Yes it is. I can’t believe you remember that. Anyway, they’re going to be coming by today. You guys can play with Pearl while Rowan and I make margaritas,” I explained as I outlined their chores. So they vacuumed the house, loaded the dishwasher did some laundry and were making themselves a well deserved lunch. Consequently, it was quiet outside while I worked with the exception of the cowbells jingle, jangling. Every once in awhile I’d look up to hear Nutsy, the woodpecker, rat-a-tat-tatting on the metal roof of the Kubota™ barn or to chat with Miracle as she tried to make friends with Irish. The geese were somewhere unseen only to be heard every once in a while as they scolded each other or ganged up on Luther. The goats sought refuge from the heat of the day under the house chewing their cud while the sheep decorated the lawn continuously mowing.
(Sheryl and Mildred grazing)
It was a picturesque day with a blue, blue sky and little white puffy clouds and green green grass. When I looked up I noticed that while all the sheep had their heads down only three of the four were eating. Apache was staring at the grass motionless while the others moved about. I watched him for a time and realized there was something seriously wrong. I called Andrea, the breeder I’d gotten him from and asked her what she thought. She suspected bloat, a gassy condition that can and is fatal much of the time in ruminants such as horses, cows, goats and sheep.
“Can you see him now?” She asked.
“No. Hold on a second, I’ll look out the door, I can’t find the cordless phone.” I said hurriedly as I set the phone down and ran out the door where Henry and Dean were keeping an eye on Apache.
“Henry, where’s Apache?” I asked.
“He’s right over there around the corner.”
“How is he, Andrea wants to know if his left side is distended.”
“Well, I don’t know what distended means, but he’s vomiting green frothy stuff. Look it’s falling out of his mouth,” Henry answered worriedly. I ran back in the house and relayed the information.
“OK well, it sounds like frothy bloat. Are they on a new pasture?” Andrea wondered.
“Well, they are, but I did it gradually and the others are all fine.” Hoping I hadn’t made some fatal error in judgment.
“You can have just one who for whatever reason just bloats. Take a syringe. Do you have a large syringe?”
“Yes.” I answered meekly.
“Mix a cup of water, vegetable oil and three tablespoons of baking soda. When you have most of it down him then put a stick in his mouth cross ways like a bridle, so he bites on it. This will help him begin to burp.”
“Got it,” I said as I obediently began mixing up the concoction. Remembering the syringe was in the barn I grabbed the turkey baster instead and headed out the door. I held Apache as Henry shoved the mixture down our patient’s throat and Dean held the bowl full of “medication”. Successfully getting most of it down his throat I inserted the stick and allowed him to bite down on it several times before releasing him.
The three of us stood there watching. Apache scooted away from us as quickly as he could. Dazed and confused he was stumbling around trying to get his bearings when green frothy stuff started erupting out of his mouth again this time followed by blood.
“Mom! He’s vomiting blood!” Henry shrieked.
“Lots of it!” Dean yelled. Not knowing what else to do I called Andrea back again. She said it probably was frothy bloat and that he was probably not going to make it. I hung up. I knew vomiting blood was never good but I wasn’t giving up.
“Henry, I’m going to call Kulshan, but I have to tell you, Andrea said it’s a strong possibility Apache’s not going to make it. You have to be prepared." I knew he was upset, near tears, but I turned my back and went into the house to call the vet. I would have to deal with him later. After twelve years of Cancer with my mother I know there is always time to get upset. Now was the time for saving the sheep if I could. I called Kulshan and left a message for the on call large animal doctor. After I hung up I dialed Lisa.
“Can I call you back? I’m on the phone with Annie.” She asked naively.
“NO! I’m sorry. You can’t call me back. I’m having a sheep emergency. Apache’s vomiting blood,” I blurted. “I can’t stay on the phone I have Kulshan calling me back."
“I’ll get my keys and I’ll walk out the door,” She responded without hesitation. I knew she’d come if she could; we were always a team in a crisis. We’d had a lot of practice.
Almost immediately Dr. Potts from Kulshan returned my call. He was a kind understanding man who helped me through the entire assessment process. I described the chain of events that had led to my call and then he began asking me questions.
“Do you have any Rhododendron?’
“No. I removed all Rhododendron.”
“Do you have Oleander?”
“No.” I said remembering Henry being on the heart monitor at one year and ten days of age from putting Oleander in his mouth. “I don’t have any Oleander or Azaleas.”
“OK, Do you have any dog or cat food he could have gotten into? Are there any rotting weeds or hay?” He asked patiently.
“Well, I did pull some weeds and they’re in a pile from my flower garden, but they’re only a couple days old and not rotting yet. And no, I feed all the house animals inside.”
“Good.” he said, “That’s the best and safest way to do it.” I felt twinge of pride. I was doing something right despite this catastrophe that was almost certainly my fault somehow. “I’d like you to go to the barn and check on a few things and call me back. I’d like you to take his rectal. The temperature on a sheep on a hot day like today should, is he shorn?”
“Yes just last week,” I answered mater-of-factly.
“Then his temperature should be I’m hoping for below 103 degrees. I want you to use your finger but don’t hurt his eye and determine if he’s blind. Feel just past his last rib before his hip on the left side to determine if it’s bloat.”
“I’m sorry, but what would it feel like?”
“Well, if there is normal roughage in there you’ll feel harder clumps. If it’s bloat you’ll feel it to be like a balloon. After you do all that, call me and we’ll see if you need to bring him in.”
Henry, Dean and I herded the sheep in the barn and began our exam on Apache.
“It doesn’t look big and distended to me.” Henry said using his new word.
“To me either.” I concurred. Using a cotton ball, instead of my finger, and throwing it up in the air as I’d seen my sister do in a neurology class I tried to determine if Apache tracked the movement with his eyes rather than just felt the movement.
“I can’t tell can you?” I solicited Henry’s opinion.
“No. I can’t.” He said just as worried as I was. We let him up and watched him walk across the barn. He was stumbling like a drunk, but negotiated the silver hay bucket with out too much trouble as he crossed the barn. So we thought he could see, but then wondered if just knew where it was and could sense it. I called Dr. Potts.
“I can’t find my thermometer so my sister is stopping at Walgreens™ and buying one so I don’t know his temperature yet, but he isn’t distended, he feels normal. He acts drunk and spacey.”
“Well, there is a bacteria they can get from rotting food that causes them to have a condition we call star gazing.”
“I did see a bad bale of hay in the barn. Truthfully, he could have gotten some of it without me noticing it. I just don’t know. I wouldn’t rule it out.”
“Hmm. Give him some hay and see if he’ll eat. Call me back when you know his temperature.” Dr. Potts instructed. I went back to the barn and fed the hay. Apache ate immediately while the others did not.
“They’re probably full because they’ve been grazing.” Henry theorized. “Mom, if Apache dies where will we bury him?” Henry said softly.
“Near the goslings.” I replied.
“How will we dig such a big hole?’ He wondered pragmatically.
“With the tractor.” I answered.He sat silently for a while and then not wanting to dwell on the topic, he and Dean went to the gate to wait for Lisa while I sat and waited with the sheep. Angus immediately sat down and began chewing his cud followed by Sheryl. Mildred stood looking at me wide-eyed wondering I’m sure what I was doing sitting in her stall. Apache sat down struggling to keep his eyes open then just giving in putting his head down on the floor. Moments later the cavalry rode up in the form of my sister and Phoebe. Ponytailed, with her baseball hat on Lisa wore a stethoscope around her neck. Her very presence calmed me. Without wasting time she tore open the thermometer and inserted it while I held Apache.
“A hundred and one, a hundred and one point five, a hundred and two, a hundred and ooops he’s pooping. We’ll have to go again, but that’s a good sign, no blockage.”
“Something’s happening in there. He peed too.” I grasped for the positive.
“Good. OK a hundred and two a hundred and two point five, six, seven, eight and nine.” The thermometer beeped. “Well, it’s under a hundred and three.” She said hopefully. “I brought my Pugh sheep book.” She said as she listened to his stomachs, took his heart rate and in general checked all his clinical signs.
(Lisa's tools)
“I thought you would.”
“I actually had it in the car just in case.” It occurred to me how thoughtful that was for her to carry around a book about sheep and goats so she’d be prepared if I needed her.
Lisa called Dr. Potts and they began their discussion using much medical terms he hadn’t used with me. He wanted her to check for any strabismus, which I learned, is a fixation of the pupil. “In Siamese cats it often presents as cross-eyed.” Lisa explained. We checked. She felt his eyesight was sufficient, she agreed there was no bloat and in general thought he was goofy and we were going to have to take him in. Lisa called Chris while I put a tarp and a furniture blanket in the back of the van and loaded up.
(Me and Apache - not our best day)
“Rowan! I’ve got to call Rowan, she and Pearl are coming over.” I said frantically looking for her phone number to let her know we wouldn’t be here.
“You had plans?” Lisa said looking at how I was dressed and covered in paint.
“Yes. Rowan was just going to swing by for a chat and a margarita to mark the day. She lives in Everson.” I said with the mutual understanding that her living in out in the county completely forgave my appearance.
(Phoebe, Apache & Dean en route)
(Kulshan in Lynden - where Irish recovered last July)
Dr. Potts drove up just as we did. There was another doctor already there. “Hi, I’m Amber” she said smiling. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better.” I smiled shaking her outstretched hand. I was relived she didn't have a limp fish handshake as I was about to entrust her with my little lamb.
(Apache gets check out)
“Well, let’s see what we can do.” She said and with that, Lisa, Dr. Potts and Amber began discussing, theorizing and talking in medical shorthand. While I listened garnering what I could from the conversation. They’d ask me a question and I’d see sideways glances I knew meant something, but wasn’t sure what.
It turned out he was anemic and the diagnosis was a suspected large parasite burden. “I think Apache here has a belly full of worms. Eighty percent of your parasites will be in twenty percent of your herd.” Amber explained. “I’ll check the fecal sample which will take a while longer, but I’m sure it’s going to come out high. But with some de-worming he should be fine. The good news is we can fix it.” She was the nicest, kindest person, so helpful and considerate, she made the experience a lot easier.
(Me with paint in my hair, Apache, Phoebe, Henry & Dean wait)
We talked a while longer, and then Lisa and Phoebe headed home. On our way back through Everson I thought of Rowan and Pearl and our dashed plans. I wondered where they lived. It must be near here. Trying to drive as steadily as I could so Apache wouldn’t fall I checked my rear view mirror I and saw flashing lights. Hoping the K9 unit was on its way to an emergency I pulled over. It seems highway 9 drops from 50 miles an hour to 35 for a brief stint and I was doing 45 a steady. I got a ticket. I had no idea how I was going to tell Tom.
While I was pulled over Amber called. “You got a ticket? No! So many of our veterinarians have gotten tickets there. They just sit and wait. You should fight it. Really. Anyway yep, the fecal came back and it’s way high. I stopped counting. Worm everyone in your barn once but worm Apache three days in a row. Keep them all in so you can clean up all the poop and remove it. In fact, you should pick up all the goat and sheep poop in your yard for the last two weeks.”
“What? Do you know how much that is? It’s everywhere. In little holes, clumps of grass everywhere.”
“It would be worth it.” She said before going to a barbecue at Dr. Potts’ house.
I drove home thinking of how my two hundred dollar vet bill just got a lot more expensive. I’d go to court like she suggested. It’s all I could do now. We got home and Alexis helped me de-worm everyone before closing up the barn for the night. Tired, I looked at the paint container with the brushes still in it sitting on the ladder. I'd barely gotten started. Grabbing the bucket I went in and began rinsing the brushes. I had one more call to make.
“Hey Andrea, it’s Denise again. I just wanted to let you know what happened to Apache.” I said as I loosened the stiffened hairs of the brushes and I went on to explain what had happened.
“Well, I’m so relieved. After I spoke with you I thought that if he died, I’d try and meet you in Ellensburg and give you another lamb. I know how much he means to the kids.”
“That is so sweet of you. Thankfully, it’s not necessary today was a win.” I said tears coming to my eyes at how thoughtful a gesture that was.
“Yes it was.”
“The day didn’t go exactly as planned, but I thought the money I spent on vet bills I was going to have to spend on euthanasia so I consider myself lucky. Everyone’s alive.
“I think that’s it.” She agreed. “On a farm death is just another part of life and if you think you’re in charge the animals and the elements will let you know otherwise. You do what they tell you to do.”
“And they’re awfully bossy. Did I tell you the vet wanted me to pick up two weeks of goat and sheep poop?” I said amused
“You’re kidding!” Andrea laughed uproariously. “She was kidding wasn’t she? She had to be."
“No. She was completely serious. Can you imagine?” I said incredulously sharing a conspiratal farm girl laugh releasing the tension of the day.
“Well, she may treat them, but she never owned ‘em that’s impossible. You’d never be able to find them all.” She laughed again.
“I know.I know.” I agreed.
