Happy Mother's Day!

Yesterday, my mom, sister and I went for a hike at Wilder Ranch. The trails wind around the cliffs overlooking the sea, offering gorgeous vistas that make your heart swell with excitement and the thrill of the open sea. Enjoy the sights yourself!

The ranch was a dairy in the 1800s

A beautiful sir

A gorgeous barn cat taking an afternoon nap

The Southern Pacific

The trail

Where Oholone people once gathered food

I thought the clouds resembled pyroclastic ash

The vast horizon

Wildflowers

Avast, matey! Thar be a pirate cove!

I was surprised by the clarity of the water

Someone ponders their existence

An ocean of another sort stretches out behind

Descending to the pirate cove

Gorgeous

It is said that the foam of the sea is dead mermaids

While my mom sets off to explore one cave, you can see a baby in the distance toddling out of another. The place is so beautifully wild. I felt like I was in the world of Sing Moonlight, and I wasn't alone. My mom kept saying "I feel like I'm in your book." :)

Moss growing on the side of the cave

Water dripping inside the cave

Alex looks out at adventure

Be this rope the vestige of a reckless lubber, or the last survivor of a squall?

The waterline was dotted with the bodies of sand crabs

All that's left are their shells

The appendage of a real crab. I'm afraid of them.

Water sculpture

A beautiful day

Below are pictures of the flowers growing in the garden by one of the ranch houses.

When we returned home, it was to discover that our father had cooked up a storm. Not only had he made French toast that morning, but he took it upon himself to make several delicious meals. Halibut with lemon and wine sauce, lobster tail for his mother, fettuccine alfredo, and artichokes, along with chicken nuggets for those in the family who aren't fond of fish. And for dessert, he made a flour-less chocolate cake with a raspberry sauce, and a pan of ranger bar cookies. Talk about the next Emeril Lagasse! And everything was absolutely delicious.

Not only is my dad a great cook, but it runs in the family. His grandpa was FDR's chef back when he was governor of New York!

Halibut

Cake

Soon-to be bar cookies

It was a lovely Mother's Day.

I'm glad to have something fun to post about after the sorrow of my last entry. And to those who don't know... remember the MFA exam I had to take in the midst of trying to spend every second that I could in the barn with Mickey? I had already decided that if I didn't pass, I would say "screw it, I don't need an MFA to write" and continue on my merry way. But then I found out that my professors were so impressed that they passed me with the highest marks they could give. I was in shock since I felt like my essays were barely adequate. I also received the good news that my thesis was approved. I'm heading in tomorrow to pick it up and look at the changes Graduate Studies & Research have requested, and hopefully pass my foreign language exam in Spanish. Hopefully.

Thank you so much to all who have offered their kind words and support during this difficult time, both here and on Facebook. It means a lot to all of us.

House of Mourning

I love you, Mickey boy

It's been a month since my last post, though it feels longer. Much longer. I've been avoiding updating for some time but have forced myself to do it. I've lived in a house of mourning.

For several days, Mickey's stall sat empty. Some of his fur that he shed was still fluttering about, getting plucked up by chickadees for their nests. His water bucket sat still and cool, as if waiting for him. The meal he never finished lined his trough. These were the hardest things to see. Remnants of daily life when he was gone.

Mickey was a true warrior. He fought to live until the very end. Over the two weeks that he had colic (which the vet thought must have set some kind of record) he had good times and he had bad times. When he was lying on the ground, twitching or trying to roll in pain despite being on Banamine (a powerful painkiller), the idea of putting him to sleep seemed reasonable. But then, an hour later, a half hour, or sometimes minutes, he'd get back up and start nosing his hay and playing the nipping game with Houdini, our other gelding. It was a decision that was nearly impossible to make.

Brothers

Enjoying the Afternoon

Taking a nap with Chee Chee's paws on his head

For many days, we hydrated him through his IV, gave him painkiller, watched for and warded off Laminitis, walked him to ease his cramps, grazed him to get his guts going, brushed him until he was sleek, which was no small feat considering what a woolly mammoth he became every winter. In the midst of all this, when all I wanted was to spend time with Mickey, I had to write my MFA Exam. I did what I could with the essays and sent them in, not having the energy to give a damn. My little brother also turned 21, so we did the best we could to celebrate under the circumstances. The vet tried a belly tap and flooding his intestines with a huge dose of IV saline to test for a rotting part of his gut: nothing. She pumped him with oils to help him pass a blockage: nothing. His colic was a mystery.

Cheech watches us with Mickey. The Commie slinks by in the background. The vet kept watching him and saying "...That is a really strange cat." She agreed that he was a communist.

But when she pulled out hard stool in a rectal exam and saw how dark it was, she knew that there wasn't much more reason to have hope. The poops were literally like rocks, smelled like booze (fermenting) and the dark substance coating them was more than likely intestinal blood. We'll never know what exactly was killing him, but it was likely a lipoma: a tumor constricting his intestines, blocking the passage of poop.

Poor Mickey watching the vet warily

There is an equine surgical center an hour or two away, but unfortunately, Mickey wasn't a surgical candidate because of his bad heart murmur. In fact, the first vet who came out to treat him heard his heart and panicked, thinking we should put him down right then and there because he was suffering from heart failure. She said it was the worst heart she'd ever heard. I'm sure she's great at what she does, but she was only a few years older than me, so I kept thinking, "okay, but how many bad hearts have you heard?" It turned out that my mistrust in her prognosis was well-placed, for when our regular vet made it out to see him, she didn't think that his heart was an issue and said it sounded the same as it always has.

After we saw the hard stool, she reminded us that we had to look at the whole picture. While there were times when he was alert, pain-free, and content, there were plenty where he was roiling in pain, and there was nothing we could do to fix him. That made the decision a little easier to make, but no easier to bear.

Saying goodbye to Houdini and Sparrow

I am so grateful for those extra 10 days that we had with Mickey since my last post. But as my mom wisely observed, "It'll never be enough time." While he was sick, I woke up every morning, ate breakfast, and went straight to the barn to simply sit beside him. Nothing else mattered. I could hardly stand to watch TV at night, for it felt like I lived in a different world than everyone else who was not looking loss in the eye.

On that last day, he wasn't eating much aside from the fresh grass (thank goodness he got sick in the spring!) and carrots, so I spoiled him by feeding him a whole bag.

Grazing at his favorite patch of grass

Enjoying a carrot

The sun was out and I like to think he had a pleasant last day. He got to graze, eat treats, be brushed, feel the sun, and play with Houdini a little. The night before, I sat with him in his stall, watching as he gazed, transfixed, at some deer grazing in the distance. The birds were singing as they sought roosts for the night, the insects were chirping, and all was peaceful. I will treasure that time with him forever.

Watching the deer

I'll always remember his silhouette

This is very difficult for me to write, which is why I have been avoiding it for so long. My eyes are pooling with tears. I will love and miss him forever. He was my big brother. One of my earliest memories is of walking down to the barn to meet him when I was five, and being too short to see over the stall door. He has taught me so much, and we have shared so many adventures. He gave the best hugs in the world. When I wrapped my arms around him, I was filled with a deep sense of peace, as if my soul were soothed.

I don't think you ever really get over the loss of a horse. My mare Maya died when I was thirteen, and I still weep for her. The bond we share with every animal has a unique nature. That which you share with a horse is the most spiritual. It is a bond of pure trust and affection. When you ride, you trust the horse with your life, as the horse trusts you, for you are his herd leader, his Itancan and he is your imitator, your Waunca. On his back, you are literally spine to spine. You become one. Where you look, he looks. You give direction with the slightest pressure in your knee or heel or brush of the reins upon his neck. When deer and other wildlife see you, the see you as one animal and they only smell the horse. You are free to re-enter nature as an herbivore, not a predator, and observe life without the fear of man. That bond, that unity of spirit, that oneness is beautiful, emboldening, and one of the greatest pleasures and sources of pride in my life. The pain of it being ripped away is terrible.

Since I cut some of his hair to keep, I gave him some of mine

Those who have never bonded with a horse will find it difficult to understand the pain. Losing any animal is awful, but there is a sense of a sundered spirit with the loss of a horse.

Unfortunately, Mickey wasn't our only loss. Clara, Alex's beloved guinea pig and my "little piggy sister" or "grandchild," passed away on a Wednesday night after our frantic attempts to save her amidst caring for Mickey. She was nearly seven, however, which is the full lifespan of a guinea pig. The following Wednesday, Mickey was put down. He was at least thirty, which is old age for a horse. Watching him fall after the vet injected him with poison was one of the most horrible things I've ever witnessed. The following Wednesday, the third in a row, my cat Junior, or "June June" was unable to eat and bleeding a little from her mouth. We took her to the vet and he said that she had a tumor in her throat that was so large that if they removed it, she wouldn't have enough tongue to eat. She left this world peacefully and didn't leave my arms from the vet clinic until I laid her in the ground amidst spring flowers.

Our animal cemetery is getting full.

And while I think of it, here's a tip directed at no one in particular, but based on how I have felt these past few weeks. If you are fortunate enough to have never lost a beloved animal, much less a human you were close with, don't offer the grieving advice. Don't try to give pep talks or say "I know how you feel" or "this will pass," because, frankly, one of the emotions of grief is anger, and saying things like that might make someone want to punch you in the face. Especially when they know you've never been through a death.

Losing three animal siblings has been very hard. I'm so lucky to have my family, and that we all have our health. In a way, knowing that so many of my loved ones have gone before me has made me see death with more comfort than in the past. If there's the chance that I'll see them again, then I'll be all right.

And on the subject of the Other Side... I think the dove "Jesus" was more than a dove.

We tried to find her home by putting up signs and placing an ad in the paper. At least two people offered to adopt her (we took it to a local who raises them and she said it was a female, however she pointed out how drastically different it looked compared to her birds, which was odd) but no one claimed her. When the ad in the paper was going to end, I intended to set her free and see if she would fly home.

The evening that Mickey was put to sleep, we were all gathered at the barn, weeping and hugging his body. My dad went up to the house for a minute and heard a commotion. He looked out at the rock wall where we had been placing the dove's cage so that she could watch the other birds at the bird feeder, and she wasn't there. The cage was on the ground, open, and the neighbor's puppies were up the hillside. Maybe they pushed it, but the spring latch to the door would be next to impossible for a dog to open. Thumbs do have their advantages. We've tried to get the cage to spring open on its own by dropping it to no avail.

The white dove appeared on Easter, the first day we knew Mickey was sick. She left ten days later, shortly after (or during, for all we know) his death. And she hasn't returned. Given that she'd been hanging out at the bird feeder on Easter before we found her in Mickey's stall, you'd think she'd return for a meal or two. The vet heard the story and thought it was as strange as we did.

Most cultures view birds as messengers of the gods, or embodiments of visiting spirits. We wondered if she could have been Maya or Misty (Mickey's old friend who died a few years ago) or even our grandma come to guide his spirit. When we were in the vet's office with Junior, my mom told the story to the receptionist. She said her friend, who was an Indian (I don't know what nation), had told her that in her culture, it is believed that white doves come to guide the spirits of the dying. While we were in with Junior, the receptionist called her friend to double-check, and wound up crying on the phone. She had the story right.

It could easily be explained, but it also makes you wonder. Maybe enough people have observed these things that over the centuries, and the beliefs that birds are messengers/guides has stuck for a reason. Maybe it's true.

The other part of the puzzle that made me wonder was Junior. As the runt, I used to have to pull other kittens away from teats so that she could nurse. My older brother often picked on her just because she was "my" cat. She also had an independent spirit by nature and spent most of her time hunting. Because of the time I spent with her, she always let me pet her more than other people. But recently, she would even take a swipe at me when I'd stop petting her, like she would do to everyone else. Holding her was almost always out of the question (unless you wanted to have scars).

Yet in that hospital room, she turned sweet as can be. She rubbed on everything and everyone, let me hold her, and even snuggled against me, sitting in my lap. Never in her life had she been so affectionate. Twice she looked me in the eye for an extended period of time, and Alex said she looked her in the eye, too. Junior normally would never hold still long enough to look at our faces. My grandma loved cats, and I started to wonder if she was there, calming her, looking through her eyes at her granddaughters. I hope that's true, because the idea of grandma taking care of June June feels right. They'll take care of each other.

On top of all this loss and graduation stress, I headed to Las Vegas to accept my screenwriting awards. I'll post more about that later. We left the day after Mickey died and came back three days later.

That evening, I wandered into Mickey's empty stall and headed down to the corner where he always loved to lie in the sun. He had the sweetest scent I've ever smelled on a horse, and suddenly I was overwhelmed by it. I thought there must be some of his fur on the ground, but didn't look, and took in several wonderful breaths, smelling him. Then the breeze blew and the scent was gone. When I looked, there was no fur, no hair, and I realized it had been too strong for that, anyway. It was as if my nose had been buried against his mane.

I love and miss you, too, my sweet brother.

Sick Horses, Jesus, and Bureaucrats

Easter cheesecake!

Alex takes a bite of a See's Scotchmallow egg

Happy Easter!

It was quite an eventful day for us, though not in the most pleasant sense. The morning was slow and started off with one of my professors paying a visit, of all things, to sign my thesis form. After we hunted for eggs and found our Easter baskets, of course, and breakfasted on coffee cake. It was a rainy day and when my mom went down to feed the horses, she discovered that Mickey wouldn't get up. That's never a good sign, especially for him since he loves food so much.

We knew he had colic and set about doing what we could to help him. For those that don't know, a horse's stomach is a one-way street. When they get any sort of blockage or intestinal problem, they can't throw up and can quickly get so ill that they will die. When I was 13 I lost one of the greatest friends of my life, my horse Maya, to sand colic (a sand impaction in her gut). The only way to treat colic without the help of a vet is to walk the horse in an attempt to get their guts going.

We walked Mickey lots, and he grazed on the fresh grass every once in a while, which was a good sign. We listened to his heart to make sure it wasn't beating too quickly (a sign of a more serious type of colic) and while it was normal, his heart murmur was frighteningly loud. To compare, I listened to our other horses' hearts, and while I was doing so, Mickey did a huge fart and a poop, which was great because it meant that he wasn't completely blocked.

Black the Communist watches us care for Mickey

We put a rain coat on him for the night and hoped that he'd get better, but he didn't. I had to head in to school to turn in my thesis, so I wasn't there while the vet came, but Alex took these pictures. Mickey was severely dehydrated and that might be what caused the colic in the first place. Sometimes horses won't drink when it's cold out, and it's been unusually cold lately. The vet hooked Mickey up to an IV and gave him three huge bags full of liquids. He started to perk up and ever since he has been doing his best to get better, but he's not back to his old self yet, which has me worried. When he's all better I won't mind looking at these pictures, but for now they're a painful reminder of the discomfort of my friend.

Mickey's catheter for the IV and any medicine

The gallons of saline

Enjoying some grass. We left the catheter in because we had to give him two more bags of saline today and might have to give him another tomorrow.

Chee Chee and Black watch all the goings on

The peacock struts his stuff for Orangie and Bathilda Junior, the hens, while a grossly fascinated Houdini watches

Mickey is making a fashion statement by wearing my mom's tanktop on his neck to keep his catheter covered up

Commie says hi!

I've grown up with Mickey -- he's like my big brother. A part of my soul is in him and a part of his is in me. Which is why the thought of losing him is almost unbearable, but I know it will happen someday. I just hope that someday is far, far away.

On the bus ride to campus yesterday I was finding it hard to keep my mask in place and not cry. I was so worried over Mickey. Memories of Maya kept flooding me, for there was a point where she pooped and we thought she was better and that she would make it, then she died. It was several years before I even rode Mickey again after losing Maya.

Getting my thesis formed signed involved SNAFU after SNAFU that if I shared here, I would sound rather preposterous. Literally everything I did engendered some sort of unforeseen complication. It got to the point where I was ready for something to go wrong at every turn.

One of my professors was down the coast at the time and we'd arranged (and cleared with Graduate Studies) to have her sign and fax my form to me at the university. I waited outside the English Department Office for them to open after lunch, and when they did (10 mins late) the woman who "helped" me smelled of cigarettes and was so disrespectful and absolutely vile that I'm considering filing a complaint against her with the organization that polices state employees.

After first berating me for the audacity to suggest that an office admin would be willing to help me send a quick fax to a colleague, she proceeded to tell me how a signed fax would never be accepted in the first place, and I had to spell out my situation for her and even hand over the e-mail from Graduate Studies to prove that I wasn't a moron. She read every word of the e-mail then handed it back saying "I don't know why they would do that" then snatched the fax from me and sent it, claiming "I have things to do, I can't sit around and wait for your fax to be returned." I wasn't under the impression that short, overweight, dyed-blondes with too much make-up needed to sit beside fax machines for them to work, but whatever.

As I gave her the fax number I almost started crying. Not because she was succeeding in her quest to belittle me and make me feel as guilty as possible, but because all I wanted to do was get home to my sick horse and do what I could to help him, and here was this petty person lecturing me and taking up both of our time. In fact, in the time she took to lecture me, she could have sent and received the fax.

I offered several times to take my business elsewhere but she insisted that she would do it, then continued to complain. I've seen that personality before. The type of person who will assist you but not before making you feel as small and guilty as possible. What a sad life. I apologized for imposing on her and she snapped "It's fine" as she walked away. She was the hyperbole of the bureaucrat.

In the end, she sent the fax then sat in her office for the rest of the time I was there. I picked up the received fax myself, and when my professor called to make sure I received it, I warned her that she might get a complaint because the staff wasn't happy that I asked to use their fax machine. My professor asked who complained then went on a short tirade of what I should tell her -- that my teacher had requested it and that if she had any problem with it, she should talk to my teacher and not me.

Once I had the fax I stopped by Graduate Studies to double-check that they would accept it, and the woman who helped me there was very polite and kind and laughed when I said that a woman in the English office thought the signature wouldn't be accepted, because my e-mail giving me permission was from the thesis coordinator herself, who is far above any office employees. "Someone's power tripping!" she said when I made a brief comment about what I had to go through just to get the fax!

Anyway, after many miscommunications, bureaucrats, names on a page and editing of my manuscript, my thesis is turned in! I await Graduate Studies' requests, and will take my MFA exam this coming weekend, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Oh, and on Easter, when we went into Mickey's stall to check on him, Alex pointed with wide eyes, too shocked to speak. I stepped into the stall and followed her gaze. A pristine white dove was nestled by Mickey's feeder. When I went to pick it up, it flew away a little bit, out into the rain, yet clearly didn't have the strength to fly very far. Since it was Easter, I immediately shouted "Wait, Jesus come back!" I had to chase Jesus a bit, but eventually caught him/her and tucked it into my raincoat.

Jesus, our guest

Jesus took shelter in our barn from a storm, but he clearly belongs to someone. Today we took Comanche out on a walk with us as we posted "Found White Dove" signs up. Hopefully someone with information will call soon, because Jesus isn't fond of our dogs, who are very fond of him. Chee keeps pawing at the cage and wagging his tail, enjoying the reaction of the bird running around. We've since covered Jesus' cage up so that he can get some peace and quiet.

Comanche watches Jesus

Tracie -- Yeah, he scares me, too. I think he looks like an Ewok. And thanks for your encouragement!

the other amanda -- There's a chance that Winnie the Pooh chair is still out there! ;)

Mackenzie's Momma -- No worries, sweetie. I'm glad you took the time to stop by again but am sorry to hear of the stress lately. How's your grandma doing? Yes, he is a Persian, and thank you for your support! :)

Strange Junk

We've been getting some lovely April showers of late, and they are most welcomed. Here are some more flower pictures after a rain.





I also recently made a chocolate truffle torte. It's similar to a flour-less cake, except that it has a roasted pecan Graham cracker crust. This time, I added my own touch by making it with 60% cacao instead of semi sweet chocolate, and man... was there a difference. I probably gained a few pounds by eating a slice every night, but it's so good it should be illegal. Like, seriously. It's probably the best chocolate dessert I've ever had. And hey, the dark chocolate makes it good for you!

Heaven

While visiting our cousins in suburbia, we once more chanced upon the phenomena of the week when people throw out all their junk onto the streets for everyone else and the garbage trucks. Since this phenomena is a novelty to us, we were quick to make the rounds, dragging our cousins along with us. Alex found a shopping cart that someone was trying to get rid of and practiced for her life as a homeless woman.

We passed by this lemon tree -- proof that the soil of the Silicon Valley still is intensely fertile (though covered in cement). The lemon in the center was at least the size of a grapefruit!

This is my aunt's cat, Forrest. He was, literally, stoned by that catnip mouse.

Alex is doing the Mighty Boosh skit of Old Gregg for the talent show and we picked up this little delight to play "Curly Jefferson."

At least an hour later, Forrest still hadn't moved

Out of all the items to put on the curb, a Kleenex box? Really? Why? Because it had a hole in it? Seriously???

I've never seen such a chair. I am as intrigued as I am disturbed.

So the other day I got the pleasant surprise that my thesis was due to Graduate Studies and Research by Monday. It would have been nice to a) have known that ahead of time and b) have had my professors at least tell me if they were approving my thesis, much less read their comments. As such, I've spent the last few days editing my book and scrambling to get everything together, on top of studying for my MFA exams next weekend, planning that trip to Vegas, and writing a script for a manager. And this is my semester "off"!

Anyway, yesterday, as I edited, I noticed two deer outside my window and decided to film them. While Johnny Cash played there was a surprise ending.

Tracie -- Whoa, thanks for the link, that's cool! And my interest in Egypt began just slightly before Stargate. I'd been studying Ancient Egypt in school in 6th grade and loving it, then for a reward, our class got to watch the Stargate movie (well, part of it) and I was in love and awe.

Hammy -- That's a great point about people being charged for animal cruelty but not child abuse. Wow. But doesn't that ring true so often? I think people would be more willing to donate money to an organization with an ad featuring wounded dogs than an ad showing starving children. We live in strange times.