The Andrea Effect

Everybody who knows me has accepted that things seem to happen to me.  I have been asked to write down these stories for years.  This entire blog is an attempt to recall as many of these occasions as possible in short entries.  I could write about car accidents, horse accidents, or that one time my house was struck by lightening and burned to the ground with all of my material possessions, but those seem too obvious. There was also the poo pit incident...but you can look in the travelingvettech.blogspot.com blog for that and my other Rwandan adventures. Sure, I could write an entire entry for each one of these incidents, but I would like to complete this blog before I am 90, or at the very least leave time for new stories as they occur.  Here are some slightly abbreviated versions of my friends' favorite "Andrea Effect" stories.  If I have missed one that you would love for me to retell, please let me know.  Always happy to oblige.

Weird things have always happened around me, to me, or because of me.  I used to think that I must somehow cause these situations...yet, some remain impossible to find causation.  I like to think that I am just super observant.  It is hard to deny that I am the common denominator in each of these stories.  Perhaps if everyone had more situational awareness, they would see all of these things happening around them as well. Some of these happenings are horrible, some are great strokes of luck, some are scary...yet all are funny (or at least character building) in the end.  I am known for being in the middle of a stressful situation and saying, well, at least this will make a good story later.  Life became much easier for me when I learned to laugh at myself- I strongly recommend learning this skill if you have not.  It has been the single most useful adult skill I have acquired.

Ready to load up!

A few weeks ago my friend Hannah and I decided to compete in a judged trail ride with her baby horse, Rigby, and Quinn (a 10 mile trail with "obstacles" every mile or so- some scary some technical- you are judged based on your communication with your horse to effectively complete said obstacle).  Hannah has a stronger truck than mine, and a brand spanking new trailer, so she generously offered to drive us the hour to the competition.  Hannah arrives, we load up all my gear, squeeze Quinn next to her horse and off we were!   We got about 3 miles from my place when we noticed the truck having some trouble.  Tried to ignore it for a few more miles, but of course realized that wouldn't work. (Strange, mechanical things do not seem to fix themselves- yet I will try to ignore every time.) We found a safe place to pull over to take a look.  I am unfortunately experienced in being broken down on the side of the road with a horse trailer, so I thought we could look for some obvious issues.  Unfortunately, everything obvious seemed fine.  We decided we should cut through the road we were on to get back to my place and we would just swap rigs and be on our way again.  Sounded like a great plan...until we needed to get up a slight hill.  The truck said no thank you and just quit.  Hannah was able to semi safely pull off into a grassy ditch.  At this point, the brakes on the trailer were smoking, although the emergency brake was not triggered.  I called everyone I knew in the area, hoping that someone could come get me, take me home to get my rig and then somehow, on this 2 lane road, we would have to unload and reload the horses and leave her rig.  Not one person was around to help.  I was about to hitchhike home, when I had a stroke of genius.  I suggested we simply unplug the electric on the trailer all together in case it was shorting out.  Bam! Success!  We were able to limp home.  I actually ran down the driveway to grab my keys and truck...anyone who knows me knows how I detest running. Not like a normal person dislikes it, I have a real hatred for the act.  I refuse to run unless whatever is chasing me is much larger than me. I am a fighter not a flighter. I yelled over my shoulder "Hey Hannah!  Look I am an athlete!"

Long day

Team Wholesale Eventing

 In record time we had hitched up my trailer, only to find the emergency brake on mine was snapped off (likely caught in a weed whacker). At least it was usable. Hannah's amazing off the track thoroughbred just reloaded like it was nothing and off we went!   We ended up having a fabulous (although long) day and both horses placed highly!  Turns out, Hannah's truck just had a clogged fuel filter, and the trailer problem remains a mystery...but all seems ok now.  No big deal, just another day...

My first truck and trailer breakdown happened on one of the hottest days in July a few years ago.  I had Quinn all tacked up in the trailer and Bax riding with me as we headed to my friend Colleen's barn nearby to go for a trail ride.  As I headed up a slight hill on a main highway, my truck just completely died.  I mean, no electric, no AC, nothing.  Fortunately I was right next to a huge turn lane and shoulder and was able to safely pull off.  I called for a tow truck and Colleen. Nobody driving by (even those with empty trailers exiting slowly on that ramp) stopped to ask if I needed help.  For the record, I have never passed a broken down horse trailer without checking.  Finally a police officer stopped.  He was able to put some cones up and give me a little more of a safe space while we waited.

Bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do?

Colleen was able to come with her truck.  I was really worried about Bax in the heat, so the police officer was kind enough to let Bax hang out in the cruiser.  The entire ordeal was worth it for that picture.  Meanwhile, the tow truck arrives.  The plan was to unload Quinn (on the side of a very busy highway) lead him down the exit ramp where he would wait with Colleen while we disconnected the trailer, got my truck towed, and pulled my friend's truck up to hitch up to my trailer. No big deal (major eye roll)  Meanwhile, her truck is a lot higher than mine, which led to some pretty athletic antics by the officer and tow truck guy, but we finally managed to get hooked up.  Quinn was a super star.  Ignored the traffic on the way out, and loaded up perfectly to go back home. I was pretty happy for all of our bombproof training when he was a baby at that moment.  Needless to say, our ride was postponed to another day.

Go Quinn!

Lacy, New friend Krista, and I braved the rain

Just last week (one week after the Hannah incident) my friend Lacy and I decide to go do the next trail competition.  This time, she drove us from her farm.  As we turn off of interstate 81, we both see a gentleman sprinting across the road.  She noticed he dropped his cell phone.  Being a much nicer person than I am, Lacy insists we pick it up.  With rain falling, and semis honking at us, she does a rolling stop...I jump out, grab the phone and realize that Lacy has not stopped for me.  As I run (yet again) and somehow grab the truck handle, and pull myself in, I made the comment that the guy we were trying to help was probably running because he robbed someone.  We swing into the gas station we watched him go into.  Nowhere to be found.  We asked the cashiers if they saw someone matching that description.  Sure enough, yup, that was the guy that just robbed them.  Although I had many questions and would have liked to hang out to figure out the mystery, Lacy is always thinking.  Grabbed my arm said "Here is his phone, we gotta go!" and we hoofed it out of there as quickly as possible.  Again, we had a great day with Quinn doing very well!

Not from that evening, but typical for these two

Not all of my "only you" stories are horse based.  I was housesitting for my friend Jenny the same week that my job position had changed and I was to be on the road cold calling all day everyday.  I was a bit nervous about this new routine and went to be early so that I could ensure a good night's sleep.  At 1am, I was awoken by two drooling shaking dogs making the "SPCA faces" at me.  Then I heard it.  The unmistakable beep of a low battery in a smoke detector.  Somehow in my sleepy haze, I managed to find 9 volt batteries.  Now the trick became to find the right detector.  I had somehow never noticed before, but this house must have had 97 smoke and CO2 detectors.  I literally had to grab a stool and stand under several groups of them before I found the culprit.  I then managed to somehow not fall off the stool and replaced the battery.  It was now 2am, and I could not go back to sleep.  Fine, I can accept that it was bad luck, bad timing etc.  I got through my work day and came home exhausted.  As I got into bed I joked with my friend that it better not happen again.  Guess what woke me up at 1am?  In my deepest sleepiest state...the dogs once again came to get me.  At least this time I knew where the batteries were.  Grabbed one and a stool and off I went for the hunt.  I wish I had taken a picture from the stool. I looked over and these 2 large tough dogs (Bax and Bella) sharing this tiny piece of rug and staring at me while shaking uncontrollably.  Both sad and ridiculous.  As I tried to get the cover off of the smoke detector that I eventually identified, the old battery fell out and cracked me in the forehead.  Yay.  Now a bruise on my face to go with my new job.  After that housesitting job was done, I came home and was so excited to get some rest.  Guess what I heard?  Yup.  The smoke detector, not in my apartment, but in the hayloft next to my bedroom door ( I live above a barn in a really lovely apartment, but the other half is still used as a working hayloft).  I went to see if I could change the battery, but nope, it was about 30 feet high in the rafters. Had to wait for my landlords the next morning.  Bax was one unhappy pup all night.

Jenny gets a free pass for the smoke detectors in her house as she has had to be my hero on more than one occasion.  I cannot count the times she helped jump start my truck.  One time her hubby came and found that my battery cable had disconnected itself somehow? Anyways, I specialize in mechanical issues.

The ole Tahoe- broken again

 One of my fav pics of Jenny and I having a drama free adventure

Two years ago, I began apartment shopping. I made an appointment to meet with an agent not far from where I was currently living.  I woke up super early to go meet her.  I arrived a few minutes early, before the leasing office opened so I wandered around.  I quickly decided this was likely not going to be somewhere I wanted to live, but thought I owed this woman the decency of hanging around until she showed up.  30 minutes past when she was due to meet me, she still had not shown up.  As I finally decide to leave, I find the only road in and out of the neighborhood completed blocked off.  The agent who was supposed to meet me had somehow managed to take a super wide slow turn even wider, and hit a power line.  She was carted off in an ambulance with minor injuries, but the power line was across the road.  I was stuck.  They said it would be hours before traffic could come through.  Of course.  So, who do I call?  Jenny of course!  Where am I she asks?  Oh I don't know! As she is trying to explain to me how to use the GPS app on my phone (I am technologically a bit behind the times) she finally gave up and somehow still managed to find me based on my giving her some vague landmarks.  Always an adventure when you hang out with me!

Thanks Coco

One time I was sitting at my friend Wendy's pool, catching up, relaxing, and getting some sun when one of her dogs came over to be pet.  Coco sweetly rested her chin on my stomach.  I was petting her, when she suddenly raised her head and puked all over me.  Once again, who does that happen to?

Moon, the adorable colt

Recently, a longtime friend, Debbie, whom I had not seen in awhile called and asked if I would come hold two miniature horses for their shots.  Debbie had injured her shoulder and was unable to do it alone.  I popped right over, no problem.  What Debbie failed to tell me what that these miniature horses were only a year old, and had been shipped from England and then in quarantine for 30 days, and were thoroughly traumatized and scared.  45 minutes later, we finally have them both caught.  To give you the full picture, these horses weigh about 20 lbs less than me, and are the same height as my dog.  Watching them run and buck and try to escape capture may have been one of the more entertaining ways I have spent a morning.  The vet comes in and explains that we will just get them into a corner of a stall and lean on them a little, like a large dog.  We did the little colt first, no problem.  Then it was Comet's turn.  She had other ideas.  I am not quite certain I have seen anything more adorable than a teeny weeny horse rearing and bucking.  Poor thing was so upset, and as we talked softly to her, and tried to calm her, she somehow started running backwards and in a circle.  I can't really describe what happened, and could not recreate it in a million years, but, well, somehow I ended up "riding" her- backwards.  She slipped between my thighs.  My feet were firmly on the ground, so my weight was not on her, but she immediately calmed down.  Apparently my huge thighs were comforting.  All three of us were laughing until there were tears.  Of course I insisted we take a picture or there was not a chance anyone would believe this happened.

Riding Comet

I will end this entry here, although I think I have enough material to go on for days.  To fill in those who are not up to date, life has changed a lot for me in the last five months.  I was laid off from a job that I loved and have had to learn to relax and enjoy life.  I have been fortunate enough to be able to take this time as a real brain break and enjoy the little things in life.  As I work through figuring out what I want to do when I grow up, (open to suggestions!)  I continue to accidentally create more blog fodder. This has come with its own set of Andrea adventures.  In addition to the stories above, I blew out a tire 1 week after the lay off, then lost an entire flock of chickens to a fox, and adopted a new flock including a ridiculous attack rooster...and so much more!  Stay tuned...

There is a chicken in my tub and other tales from the coop...

Although I have been an animal lover since birth, birds were never my favorites.  I did not understand their body language and was confused by their flapping wings, sharp beaks, and vicious talons. Those who know me love to tell stories about be running away from Gus the Goose as a teenager, or hitting the floor when a visiting parrot made a sudden move, and panicking on bird day during vet tech school.  Clearly, I have (mostly) gotten past this, and now my ladies (and one gentleman) are now among my most fascinating pets.  I use the word "pets" rather than "farm animals" on purpose.  Farm animals have a use, a specific value, and earn their keep.  Mine will never earn what I have put into them, but I adore them all the same.

I am coming up on over 17 years as a vet tech (weird, bc I swear I am 23) and I have seen more gruesome and disgusting injuries than most people care to think about.  I have worked in most specialties, including critical care/ER and have seen it all.  My coworkers will tell you that I, like all of them, can handle the worst open fracture, or the dog infested with maggots without hesitation.  I

can get an IV in a seizing patient, draw blood on a tiny kitten, induce vomiting in a dog that ate something toxic, and calculate drug dosages in my head.  Yet, we all have our kryptonite.  Mine happens to be anything eye ball related.  I do not know when this started, or if I was born with it, but the thought of anything happening to an eye is almost unbearable to me.
Over the years, both on the farm and at work, I have had to deal with many scratched corneas, glaucoma patients, and other optical injuries I wish I could forget. Mostly, it is the impalement injuries and pressure checks that I try to steer clear of...oh and the proptosed eyes.  Nope.  No thank you.   (*Proptosed eye- eyeball that has mostly left the head it is supposed to be in.  Usually still connected by various vessels. Creepy when it is still looking around.  Otherwise known as a quick way to get Andrea out of the room. )  I have some great pictures of this, but my father reads this blog, and I have promised nothing too gory. I certainly did not get my strong stomach from him.
Life Tip: If you ever want my dad to butt out of a conversation, start talking about something bloody...works every time. You can thank him for the lack of really good pictures in these stories.

Back to the chickens.  I had finally decided I really wanted to be semi self sufficient.  I had the big garden and mostly fed myself from that all summer and the next logical step seemed to be chickens.  I finally convinced my landlords at the time to allow me to put a small flock on their property.  Previous post has the story of Quinn "assisting" me with that first coop.  I wish I had videos of all of the times I had to catch chickens when I still was not comfortable around them.  I would be a viral hit for sure.  I have split pants, slipped and fallen into "mud", and one time took a dive into a duck pond. Generally, my language during these trysts would make a sailor blush.  Humility is not something I struggle with.  I learned long ago to laugh first, then make sure all of my pieces and parts are working. It is fairly tough to embarrass me these days.

Of course, it was not long until one came up  injured.  So, now there I was, still unsure about how to catch these mini dinosaurs, and I have one with a swollen closed eye.  Great. Somehow, I managed to get this hen into a carrier and into work with me.   My coworkers were used to seeing all dogs and cats, with the occasional guinea pig so they were delighted to have something new to play with.  We diagnosed the injury, which was pretty severe.  I found myself medicating this wild creature's eye many times per day trying to save it.  Unfortunately, in this case, she did lose use of that eye, but went on for another happy year as my favorite (until a hawk snagged her while out free ranging.)  Many lessons learned.  First one is to never have a favorite, as they are the first to get snagged by a predator or disease.  Second is to never name them.  Same reason.

Bum soaking

Swollen bum

After that first farm, I moved to a suburb, and moved Quinn and the ladies to a friend's place.  She already had a flock, and we just mixed them all in happily.  Then one day, I noticed a swelling on one's hind end.  I was still relatively new to this chicken thing, and wasn't sure what it was.  Dr. Google was not super helpful, but between other chicken farmers and some veterinarian friends, I managed to learn how to check for a stuck egg (again, I will spare you the details, but it was fairly unpleasant for both me and the poor hen) and feel for other issues.  I did a lot of soaking the poor girl in disinfecting solutions and giving her extra vitamins and made her a special little house.  In the end, I never figured out what it was, but she did just fine...until, you guessed it, at some point a predator got her as well.  Are you seeing a theme?

What I should have worn checking for an egg
(actually me from another adventure)

Happy little quarantine

So, after a few years of handling these feathered friends, just as I think I have a handle on all of their common ailments, something new comes up.  There was my vet's poor duck.  This duck was a victim of- say it with me now- a predator attack.  She decided we would try to repair the injuries, although they were great.  This vet also trusted me with anesthesia for this duck.  I had never intubated an avian, nor run anesthesia, but she walked me through it all. I was fairly proud of my intubation, and of her surgical skills.  Unfortunately, the anesthesia or trauma, or all of the above was too much for this little one, but again, new skills obtained.

Bandaging Skills

After removing one part of the infection.
I did wear gloves and proper protection during the procedure.

A couple of years ago, I decided to help foster/adopt some chickens that had been severely neglected.  One came with a badly infected claw.  I had not yet had to deal with "bumblefoot" but had read a lot about it.  I did what I could at home to remove the infection, and wrapped the claw.  It was clearly not improving, so I ended up taking her into the vet.  The vet did a more extensive surgery, and i brought her home, but in the end it turned out this entire flock had a terrible bacterial infection was too much for her body to handle.  She at least passed loved, fed, and warm.  Again, sad, but farmer life must go on, and now I learned how to treat a normal bumblefoot if caught early.  I have now successfully treated several birds with this.

Pre-bleaching of my kitchen

some of the fluid removed

Just recently, a friend came over to loan me some antibiotics for a very sick chicken with a respiratory infection, but she also brought along one of hers.  I immediately thought this hen was doomed before I even looked at her because she had a name and was her kid's favorite.  That is a recipe for disaster.  "Pocket" had been off her feed, not laying eggs, and generally looked like death warmed over.  She felt like she was filled with fluid in her lower abdomen.  This is tricky because chickens do not have diaphragms separating their chest cavity from the abdomen, which means, this fluid could be walled off or could be interfering with lungs/heart.  Her breathing was labored and I was not sure what I could offer.  We discussed all of the things that it could be, parasites, infection, stuck egg, cancer, etc.  None of these diseases have great outcomes.  We figured, what the heck, lets give her a chance.  I checked for a stuck egg, nothing there.  She then had a very sick looking bowel movement (on my kitchen floor, because where else would one treat a sick chicken?) We gave her antibiotics (dose by a veterinarian) and decided that the least we could do was to remove some of the fluid from her abdomen to make her more comfortable, although this is generally a very temporary solution as whatever caused the fluid to begin with was not being treated.

Pocket today!

Birds are incredibly delicate.  Sometimes I feel like you look at one sideways and they fall over dead. Yet sometimes...they are tough as nails. We drained some fluid ( not the entire amount, as the large fluid loss could have caused her to go into shock) gave her some meds, vitamins, and some love and hoped for a painless passing.

What is the old saying about not counting your chickens before they are hatched?  Well, apparently, you also should not count your dead chickens before they are dead.  I am happy to report that not only is Pocket still with her family, she is thriving and laying eggs 6 months later!!

My sick baby

Handsome man

Oh, and that very ill hen I was treating?  6 months later "she" is a "he" and loving his life!



That brings us to the chicken in the tub.  The day before Thanksgiving, the weather was absolutely beautiful, although a bit windy.  I was home all day and decided to let the ladies (and gentleman) out for a a bit to forage and play.  I happen to be outside when I heard the crows start cawing loudly.  I did not know what was happening, but looked at my faithful dog, Baxter, and just said get it!  We both went running towards the chickens who were by this time screaming.  I rounded the hill just in time to see Bax with a mouthful of hawk tail feathers!  All the hens had scattered into the woods, but I knew someone had been dropped by the hawk. I began to search, when my tiny little rescue red hen came over to me and flopped on my foot.  Poor thing had been snagged and Baxter had saved her.  Do not ask me how this 10 year old mutt who has never been trained to protect a flock, knew what to do, but I am grateful he did.  I quickly brought little red (no that is not her name, it is simply a description...remember naming is an indirect cause of death) into my apartment, conveniently located above the barn.

Right after attack

Guardian Angel

At first glance, she appeared to just be in shock, with perhaps a bad headache, as one of her eyes was closed tightly. That is the thing about feathers is that they can hide a lot.  As I began to do a full examination, I could see the extent of her injuries.  It was a bit more than a headache.  For the sake of everyone's stomachs, I will not post the pictures, but poor thing was clearly grabbed by talons and then had all of her flight feathers on one wing yanked out.  Basically, she had some punctures, some de-gloving injuries and a head tilt, which I am assuming was a concussion.  I got out the medical kit and went to work cleaning her wounds and applying ointments.  I made her a bed of towels and hand fed her water, vitamins and left her extra treats, like spinach, strawberries and mealworms, to try and boost her body as much as possible. I left her in there with the lights off so she could feel safe and rest. Baxter kept a careful eye on her as I was getting her set up.  He seemed quite concerned.

Tub Chicken

I was not sure she would make it through the night.  She was only interested in drinking if I helped her and had no interest in food. She seemed to be resting comfortably overnight.  I remember thinking how fragile this little creature seemed.  By morning,  I was shocked to see how much she had improved!  Perhaps these little mini dinosaurs are tougher than I give them credit for!  Her eyes were open and she was interested in eating a little!  By day 3, little red seemed to be a little too comfortable inside. I have a friend who always says the crazy cat lady is overdone and I should be the crazy chicken lady and start moving them inside.  As I took a picture to send him, I realized, oh no! It is happening! She went back outside within the hour.  I am happy to report, she is still doing just fine almost 3 months later!

Tub Chicken Today!

If chickens are not your "thing" don't worry, I have plenty of of human, dog, and horse medical cases coming your way soon!

I want to note that I am a licensed veterinary technician. I went to school and have spent close to 2 decades in practice to learn the physiology of many different species as well as how to treat many illnesses and injuries. Although I do perform most of my critter's care alone, I do so under advisement from a veterinarian and I do NOT recommend you attempt to treat any animals without consulting a veterinarian.  Making up drug doses and using Dr. Google is not only unwise, it is flat out dangerous. 

The Circle of Life and Hard Life Lessons

Growing up in suburbia, most families probably feel it is best to shield their children from any sadness, as my parents did.  Farm kids grow up learning the circle of life first hand, no matter how young or how traumatizing it may be.  I was fortunate to have what I consider a healthy mix of both.

To make a (really) long story (semi) short, Coco and Midnight, my first pets, actually became the first to show teach me many lessons.  They started out as class pets (gerbils) in my 2nd grade classroom.  At the end of the year, every child who could, was to bring a note from their parents saying they could have them.  These would be placed in a raffle with one winner.  I remember a knock down drag out argument between the Brownstein Family's 2 most stubborn members- me and Dad.  He put his foot down and said no.  Unfortunately for him, I learned to use a trick the next morning that served me well over the next decade.  No, I did not forge a signature, I was much more manipulative than that.  I waited until he left super early for work then I went to work on Mom. Side note, this is also how I got my first horse. 

I think I have mentioned before that I was a, um, well, difficult child (especially in the mornings) and  my mother give in rather quickly to my tantrum that particular morning, writing the note to shut me up and saying " Oh what are the odds of you actually winning? Alan will never know!"  Let's just say nobody ever challenges the odds anymore when it comes to me.  That is how the "sisters" Coco and Midnight came to live in my room.  

Early one morning, my mother awoke to my asking her what C and M were doing. Were the fighting? Wrestling? There we had my first lesson... In fact, it turned out that Coco, was indeed not Midnight's sister, but male.  6 weeks later, I woke up to little squeals, and then a really loud squeal...I learned lessons 2 &3 quickly.  Mating- Weird but ok. Birth- not pretty, but cool. Death by one's own parents- traumatizing. I can still see that image clearly in my mind's eye to this day.  Much to all the parents dismay, C & M managed to fill my friends homes with their offspring for years to come!  When Coco passed, i buried her in the yard.  When Midnight passed days later, I learned that you should mark graves clearly, as I dug up the first one while burying the second...and the next day I learned that you should dig graves deeper than 6 inches, or the neighbor's cat will dig them up and leave them for you.

My next memory was in high school, when one of the hens at the farm I rode at had passed away.  I called up to the owners and asked what I should do.  I was told in a very matter of fact tone  "Well, pick it up and put it in the manure pile!"  I tried to hide my horror at this suggestion.  I had brought a friend with me to the barn that day.  She always knew the right thing to say, and announced "May we have a moment of silence for the chicken?"  We could not contain our laughter.  It was at that moment I learned perhaps the most important life lesson so far.  You have to be able to laugh at some things, otherwise they are too hard to bear.  This lesson has served me well in all areas.

 On the advice of my farm family, I decided to become a vet tech and was entered into an entirely different world.  Thanks to this farm family (who are still my close friends,) I was more prepared than most to enter the veterinary field.  I will never forget my first day.  A vet, who later became a close friend, asked me to hold this old sickly looking cat.  I thought she was just giving it an injection.  She thought that I had heard the conversation preceding this action.  I held her gently and pet her head, as the vet humanely and quietly ended this cat's misery from some disease she had been suffering with a long time.  As I felt her go limp, I looked up in shock and asked if she had meant to kill her.  More lessons learned for all of us in the room...

Over the next 16+ years I have become the holder of hands and an impromptu therapist for those losing their loved ones, and occasionally, I am the deliverer of the peace for these animals.  I have never enjoyed the process, but take comfort that I have helped to end one's suffering as peacefully as possible.  

I have also participated in hunting, although never the one to shoot, witnessed a slaughter house in a third world country, as well as responded to national disasters in a veterinary capacity. I have sat by a gravely injured deer until someone arrived to end her suffering. I have seen enough death to last me several lifetimes.  I have seen the great lengths some people go to save strangers from one millisecond of pain, and others who wouldn't so much as slow their car to avoid a squirrel.  I have learned to compartmentalize and handle these situations which makes me excellent at my job, but sometimes I wonder if it makes me slightly less human.  Then a situation always strikes home to remind me.

Aldie Mountain

Gusman

I had one year that was especially difficult, and there is no way for me to joke about it (sorry.)  I lost my horse, Aldie Mountain, to complications from old age.  This was terribly sad, but not tragic as she and I had been through a lot and she was quite old at that stage.  That was January.  In March, my first dog, and the best friend I could have asked for, showed some strange signs, and tests revealed he had an aggressive brain tumor.  He was gone 4 days after his first symptom.  Always trying to look for the lesson, I learned that no matter how difficult it is to lose someone so close to you so suddenly, it                                                  really is so much easier knowing that Gus did not suffer long.  

This brings me to my adult adventure into independent farming.  Growing up, I had a strong dislike of birds of all kinds.  From being chased by an angry goose, to pecked at by broody hens, I just did not understand or care for them.  I could not predict their actions by their body language like I could for a horse or a dog.  There is another long story as to how it came to be that I am now a chicken herder, but that is for another day-all you need to know for this is that I have a flock and I adore them.  I thought chickens would be easy, build a little home for them, and get some eggs.  Turns out, they really are easy, but they really need a secure coop.  Given my lack of carpentry skills, I have learned this the hard way. 

Pre-pancaking chicken

The first flock

The first hen I lost was not to the usual predators we see around here, but rather by Quinn the Destroyer (see previous post.)  I had the coop in the middle of a field where Quinn was.  Quinn clearly smelled the chicken feed (everything is Quinn feed to him) and he broke down a wall to get in.  I got home and went to lift the wall and found my first fatality.  One chicken pancake.  I cried.  

Not long after, a raccoon broke in and just mutilated and killed everyone.  I called my boyfriend at the time, crying.  His response was that I should not have farm animals if I was going to cry every time one died.  I should have known the relationship was doomed then.  I also did not want to hunt the raccoon, because what it she had babies? Circle of life is tough for me.  Although I cry, I have learned to clean up the parts and pieces and move on.  Even though I am not much of a crier normally, it is totally ok and normal to cry when something sad happens!

Stan the Duck

After several shanty-town enclosures, and after losing several flocks of hens (only after I had had them long enough to really get attached) and a brief stint in ducks... I finally have a coop in place that so far (knock on wood) has been a secure lodging for the ladies.  Of course, then I let them free range and a visiting dog killed five.  That same day, I was out with the dog, and he caught a groundhog and killed it in front of me.  Some days I feel like I should just not have gotten out of bed, but we grieve for the lost and do for the living, so I rebuilt.  Again.  

Ursula the Spider

Now I am living on an amazing farm, but have to deal with more of this circle of life stuff everyday.  This week alone, I have stressed over several things.  First, I have this giant yellow spider that I have been watching for a month above my box garden on the deck.  Now I read that she will soon lay her egg pouch and then die.  All of my "Charolette's Web" memories come flooding back.  Great, now I have to look over this egg pouch all winter and have avoided picking my peppers for weeks.  I am agonizing over having to kill the mice are were threatening to take over the apartment and not pay their share of the rent.  I finally started doing it, and the snap traps worked as they should, killing them quickly.  Sad but I could deal. I have had one (I hope) mouse that continued to eat the bait, set off the trap but not get caught.  I assume this is the mouse that ate my vitamins, making him a teenage mutant ninja magical mouse. Until this morning.

Try to picture this whole scene without crying from laughing.  I undressed, getting ready to shower.  I look over and realize a mouse was caught.  Thinking it was dead, I grabbed a plastic bag and went to scoop it up...only, it looked right at me and began to struggle.  Quick! Think!  Help this poor thing!  I knew it could not be saved, but wanted to end things as quickly as possible.  I was in an almost panic state to make this happen fast.  I ran out onto my deck (yup, still naked...good thing no neighbors) and found the closest heavy item and ended Fievel's existence.  I feel like a horrible brute, but it had to happen.  I imagine I will have nightmares for weeks.  Meanwhile, mice have literally run over my dog's paw and he couldn't care less.  Perhaps it is time for a kitty.

Oh and if you want something else to have nightmares about, look up parasitic wasp eggs on a hornworm.  My garden has been so fun.  Insert eye roll here. 

Have I mentioned I struggle with the circle of life?

On (or under) a roll

This past winter, I ended up as the sole boarder at a lovely self-care barn in beautiful Loudoun County.  The independence and control I had being alone was great, but the workload was intense, especially since I had taken on 2 foster mules that were essentially untouchable.  One of the more tedious tasks involved picking up and unloading a 1,000lb round bale of hay every week for my hungry hippos.

Thelma and Louise

Now, the previous boarders had built this covered platform that I assume was created for hay storage.  This clever area kept the hay off of the ground and dry, therefore wasting very little.  In theory this was fantastic.  In practice, however, it did not always work out the way it should have.  It was built on a bit on an angle, and basically you could only unload rolling downhill.  Depending on how I angled things, how the wind was blowing, and if I stuck my tongue out to just the right degree, things could go perfectly, or horribly.  More than once, I heaved too hard and the entire bale unrolled and it would go soaring down the hill.  A complete waste of money, time, and effort.  Needless to say, I needed to come up with a better plan.  Enter, Jake.

At the time of this incident, Jake and I barely knew each other. Just from asking for help with the occasional feedings and making small talk at the barn etc. I am fairly certain I had hidden how much of a mess I really was up to this point (he may tell you otherwise.) Jake was kind enough to meet me at the barn one very muddy morning to help me unload the bale.  The thought was that if someone pushed back on the bale as it was coming down from the truck bed, it wouldn't break through the boards and roll down the hill.  I had been successful in this maneuver previously.

So, I woke up super early to pick up the bale so that I could be on a conference call for work at 8am.  In my rush, I did not line up the truck perfectly, nor had I learned to remove my tailgate completely at this point (again, lesson learned the hard way) so that the tailgate was not flush with the boards but rather propped up on them creating a bit of an incline for me to push the bale over.  Rather than correcting my position, I thought I could just push the bale over the hump and Jake would be able to catch on the other side.

I begin to push and realize there is just no way.  I am not tall enough for my feet to push on the cab of the truck to give a real good heave ho, so I decided to swap places with Jake.

Jake began to push the half ton roll of dead grass towards me, and I began to slip...one foot, then the other.  Both feet just went out and I was flat on my back in the mud in an instant.  My train of  thought went something like this: "oh sh*&!, I am falling, oh no, its falling too...oh my god I think it is going to crush me, oh crap, I am rolling in sh%, oh my god I am alive!" As Jake would later tell me, I was not merely thinking these thoughts, I was screaming them.

Quinn did not mind his hay being spread out for him

As one thousand pounds rolled over me, and down the hill, there was silence.  Anyone who knows me knows that I laugh immediately in awful situations, but this time, I just did not know how Jake would react and I was immediately embarrassed.  His face was priceless.  Clearly, he also did not know how to react in this situation.   He finally managed to ask if I was ok...we both just burst out laughing.  I just could not believe that not only had I survived (mostly in tact...bruised back and twisted knee were minor considering) but the ridiculousness of the situation was beginning to sink in.  I then realized I was soaking wet and freezing cold and needed to get on my call.  As always, I am up for making people laugh, so I made Jake take a picture before I sent him on his way with a great story to tell his coworkers that day.

The photo does not do it justice, as my shirt had gone up and pants down in this debacle, but I thought I should keep the pic G-rated...you can imagine what was happening underneath was way worse than what was on my clothes....also, it was about 35 degrees out...which is fortunate.  If it was frozen, I may have truly been smashed rather than pushed into mud.

Survived!

I was pretty convinced that Jake was never going to want to spend any time with me again after that spectacle, but being the awesome guy that he is, he apparently also saw the humor in it and we have become great friends since then.  It helps that now he has allowed me to see some of his classic goofs as well...sometimes it is just nice to know you are not the only mess out there...hilarity loves company!  I still think he has a long way to go before he can call himself as much of a mess as I am, but I encourage him to continue trying!

I made my phone call on time, and managed to send this pic to my bosses asking them to guess how I spent my morning....oh and did I mention I had our fancy work party to get ready for that night?

What? I can't maintain classy for long...

Cleaned up, and only slightly broken...but in true Andrea Fashion, had to ditch the heels for fuzzy boots by the end of the night

Quinn the Destroyer, an Introduction.

Love at First Sight

Quinn plays a very large (figuratively and literally) role in many of my adventures so it would be impossible to encompass the entirety of our relationship in just one post.  In fact, I could probably fill an entire book with just stories of him.  This is just a (not so) brief introduction to QTD (Quinn the Destroyer) also known as QTTS (Quinn the Turtle Slayer-that will be another story all together) and the most fitting, Quinnycakes.

When I was beginning to think about having another horse, I had some hesitations.  I'd had heartbreak with my previous horse, and had taken a couple of years off of riding.

My childhood trainer and lifelong friend Lindsay, had suggested I take a road trip to look at some horses in central Virginia. She knew my requirements.  Quiet, self sufficient if I was too busy with work to ride often, and large enough to always make me feel small and have potential to be what we in the biz call a "husband horse."  I was still unsure if I was ready but began to check out the website.  I soon came across a horse at that farm named Tacoma. Less than a week later, on a cold day in early 2007, I met my soulmate of a horse. He was a year and a half old.  It was love at first nuzzle.

Smooches

Quinn was  PMU throw away foal.  (I recommend searching that term if you are not familiar with it, as I am sticking with the lighthearted theme with my blog). He fit the bill in every way.  (side note, I now have the husband horse 10 years later and no husband...but that would be an entirely different novel). Plus he had the added bonus of tolerating nose smooches and cuddling. It didn't hurt that he was and is the most adorable horse I have ever laid eyes on.  Do not begin argue this point with me, I am a mother, he will always be the best in my eyes.


My dear friends, the Martins, were kind enough to allow me to board The Mighty Quinn (as he was now known) at their home.  I believe they regretted that decision almost immediately.  Quinn was as advertised, quiet and sweet.  However, he also possessed some qualities we were not prepared for.  The ability to eat anything that fit in his mouth, the strength of a freight train, in addition to the mischievousness of a kitten, toddler, and naughty pony all rolled into one to name a few of his bonus qualities.  Picture a 1200 lb kitten set loose in your yard.

There were many mornings that I received calls about Quinn standing in the water trough..again...or that Quinn had broken the fence...again...basically, the Martins were saints for putting up with us.  I helped as much as possible ( I was working overnights in a veterinary ER) around the barn to try to balance it out, but not sure that I could ever repay their kindness.  On the plus side, Mr. Martin seemed to thoroughly enjoy QTD's (now the nickname came into play) playful nature and helped to train him to have his hooves picked up and be handled regularly.   One of the funniest stories from that barn was when we decided that maybe an electric fence would hold the big man.  I missed it, but apparently QTD walked right up to the electric and promptly tried to take a bite.  Who knew a draft horse could jump three feet straight in the air?  I am only sorry nobody caught a video of that.  Good news is, he learned to respect electricity!

Once we eventually relieved the Martin family of the Quinn burden in the winter of 2008, we began to share various barns with dear friend Marilynn all over beautiful hunt country Virginia.  This is where the legend of QTD really began.

Now, QTD has been responsible for many a tack room break-ins, but these two in particular stand out.  One day, I was dealing with saying goodbye to my elderly mare (and first horse) Aldie Mountain, so Marilynn was keeping tabs on the big man for me.  I received a call that she had become concerned because she did not see Quinn in the field.  As Marilynn looked around the field, she noticed some buckets outside that had previously been in the tack room. The tack room door was closed tight. This particular tack room had an extremely heavy door that was not easy for us to open.  It also had a plywood floor.  It was also about a quarter of the size of a stall with no windows.  When the door was shut, it was pitch black.

Marilynn eventually opened the door to put the buckets away, and was shocked to be greeted by the business end of one large black and white horse.  To this day, I have no idea how he managed to open the door, but remain in awe of the fact that once the door blew shut, he clearly was unfazed.  He was calmly munching on a bar of glycerine soap when he was interrupted.  I am not entirely sure how Marilynn managed to get him out, as his, um, plus sized rear was blocking the entryway, but she did. By the time I arrived, Marilynn had begun cleanup but it looked like a tornado had come through.  Saddles pulled off the racks and chewed on, bridles, martingales and other various tack strewn about, grooming tools everywhere and all covered in a thick layer of fresh steaming manure.

Somehow the floor held him and other than hours of clean up, no permanent damage was done.  I was, however, disturbed by the base of a broken lightbulb I found. No glass.  I wanted to hang a sign on his stall that said "Hi my name is Quinn and I eat lightbulbs."  Somehow, Marilynn did not kick us out and we began to develop the Quinn-proofing techniques that I still use today.

Gracie, momma dog (now owned by a dear friend, Shawn)

Fast forward to Snowmaggedon 2009.  By this time, we had moved to another barn and Marilynn was living close by.  I was concerned leaving her to care for the horses alone is what was supposed to be a massive snow storm.  I had been fostering a momma dog and her 2 puppies, limiting my ability to be at the barn for long hours. As luck would have it, the rescue had found a new foster for mom and homes for the pups and I was able to hand them off just as the snow began to fall.

foster puppies!

 I somehow made the hour drive through pretty rough road conditions safely, but in my excitement to be there, I misjudged the driveway border hidden under the snow, and managed to park over a stone wall and destroyed something expensive under my Tahoe ( I cannot remember what now, just that it cost me a paycheck to repair.)  QTD and I are soul mates, remember?

Marilynn, her wonderful husband Adam and I entertained ourselves in the snow and prepared the barn for the impending storm.  We thought.

Dogs helping or hurting Marilynn?

We woke early to go check on the barn.  The walk proved to be quite the workout itself!  Once we managed to make it through the winter wonderland and to the barn, we quickly noticed that Quinn did not greet us as he normally would.  Then we saw that the barn doors had been opened somehow.  ( I cannot imagine who would ever do that...)

Gerry and Bax helping with clean up

The scene we came upon in the feed and adjoining tack room was reminiscent of the disaster zones I have worked in. I could have easily been convinced that a bomb had been detonated.  Doors were off their hinges, empty feed and supplement bags had been shredded and strewn about as if put in a giant blender with the lid off. Neatly coiled hoses had been unraveled, blankets were sprawled out everywhere, and, as usual, everything was covered in a nice stinking layer of watery manure (a result of eating half a bag of feed and an entire bag of flax meal).

Marilynn surveying the damage

Trapped

As my brain was trying to interpret what my eyes were seeing, I finally noticed that the perpetrator was caught in the act.  Literally.  You know who had knocked down a ladder and gotten his giant tree trunk of a leg stuck in the rungs.  I, being the ever caring mother, decided to take a photo before releasing                                                           him from his self imposed restraints.  I suppose he did not want me to be bored during the snow storm.  He is so thoughtful. Nothing quite like scrubbing floors in below freezing weather.  Unconditional love...sometimes it is a one way street...