Animals in the Classroom

       Good Morning,
       In the early days of my teaching career, (before allergies, lawsuits and parental complaints began to dominate school policies across the nation), my classroom was filled with a variety of co-teachers. They helped immensely with the task of teaching science, math, language and writing.  Their presence alone had a positive effect on attendance and empathy among the students.  
      When considering candidates for these co-teaching positions, my objective was to 'hire' those who were considered less cuddly with exteriors that might not appeal to the 'aw' factor immediately.  The goal was to allow the students to recognize beauty and goodness that might only exist deep within the being.  
       By the end of my first year of teaching, one iguana and two rats had taken up residence in the classroom.  Over the next several years, an additional iguana, hedgehogs and a Veiled Chameleon joined the force providing students up close and personal interactions with some of the most interesting and fascinating members of the animal kingdom.  To this day I am indebted to those wonderful creatures who encouraged the whole class to work together as a family unit through kindness and caring for others.  
      The students and I wait anxiously for the results of Spike and Rosemary's important lessons about mating  in today's excerpt from Finding My Way to Moose River Farm.

Rosemary is Gravid, (with eggs)!

In April, we began to notice that Rosemary’s body was becoming thick and inflexible.  She had a difficult time maneuvering around the classroom and on her leash.  She needed to rest frequently and appeared to have a difficult time finding a comfortable spot in which to do so.  As the weeks continued onward toward May and June, I began to worry that she was egg-bound, a condition in which the eggs literally become stuck in the iguana’s body, eventually causing the animal a painful death.  The decision was made to allow our local veterinarian, Dr. Meg Brooker, to x-ray Rosemary’s torso to see what was going on inside.  The resulting images shocked us!

Rosemary’s entire torso was packed with over sixty eggs, each just slightly smaller than a golf ball.  No wonder she could barely move.  According to Dr. Brooker, Rosemary, although uncomfortable, was perfectly healthy and just needed a couple more weeks until it was time to lay the eggs.  In the meantime, the students and I needed to prepare a place for her to lay her clutch.  We placed clean moist sand in the bottom of the cabinet that supported the large tank Rosemary and Spike were living in.  We hung a light inside to provide heat and waited with worry and anticipation for two more weeks.

Rosemary's entire torso was packed with over 60 eggs.  All of those 'cotton' balls are the eggs!

Rosemary's 'Mona Lisa smile' is one of her most beguiling features.  Spike, (behind Rosemary), was her companion for 14 years until he passed away in 2006.

         

Realizations

       Good Morning,
       My Dad was a complicated man who worked hard with one main objective; to educate his four children.  He was typical of fathers from an era when interacting with children was a mother's job which allowed him to remain emotionally out of reach from us.  My horse addiction appeared to be an irritation that he rarely discussed with me.  It wasn't until his sudden death of a heart attack at age 62 that I became aware of just how proud he was of his daughter the horse nut.  This realization allowed me to finally feel the love he rarely showed.  In today's excerpt from Finding My Way to Moose River Farm the inquiries of strangers still have a profound effect on me after almost twenty years. 

Realizations        

Over 300 people attended the memorial service later Friday afternoon.  My brother George’s beautiful eulogy provoked laughter as well as tears from the crowd.  The staggering number of mourners offered great comfort to my family as we bade farewell to this man who had given us so much while remaining at an emotionally safe distance.  
Sue and I stood next to each other in the receiving line for hours shaking many hands that belonged to people we had never met before.  We marveled at how each one, whether male or female, remembered our father warmly for his great sense of humor, kidding abilities and undying support for the Philadelphia Eagles. 

But what intrigued me the most was the number of people who looked from Sue to me and asked, “Now, which one of you is the horsewoman?” or “Which one of you has horses?” or “Which one of you rides horses?”  “Your Dad used to talk a lot about his daughter who loved horses.” 

Although he had rarely shown enthusiasm for horses with me, there were people he proudly chided to about his crazy kid who loved horses.  This realization had a profound effect, allowing me to accept my father with great adult wisdom.  He was a flawed man, inept at showing his children much in terms of an emotional connection.  But today I have no doubt that he loved us all.  

        Promise, Dad and me

Hannah Says Goodbye

          Good Evening,

        With a few exceptions, most of the posts published so far on this blog have been stories that conclude with tidy happy endings.  This may indicate that life at Moose River Farm exists under nothing but sunny skies.  If there is one lesson that I have learned over and over again while living with animals, it is that life is the very best when there is a balance of highs and lows.  We tend to fear the inevitable sadness that living with a pet will bring when age, injury or illness prevent the animal from living a quality life.  Although I have lost count of the number of animals that I have bid farewell to, the event never gets easier.  Through experience I have become wise about the finality of death and reaffirm my philosophy of acceptance every time it arrives at Moose River Farm. 

Each loss reminds me how precious life is.  The most I can ask for is that the animal has lived a long happy life full of positive human interactions.  Striving for this every day enables me to accept the end when the time comes.  Then, I can manage my grief knowing that I gave this wonderful being the very best of me. 

In today’s excerpt from Finding My Way to Moose River Farm, our sixteen year old goat, Hannah, makes a point of saying goodbye just before she takes her last breath.

 Hannah Says Goodbye

After her, (brief), disappearance, Hannah began to age rapidly.  She spent more and more time standing quietly in the dark cool wash stall or feed room where she could catch a refreshing breeze through the open doors.  Sometimes she bleated softly to herself, perhaps due to pain.  Through it all she continued to eat and function normally.

In late June, Rod and I traveled to Alaska for a cruise with my family.  The animals faired well with Cindy as their caregiver in our absence.  After a week away we were eager to return to Moose River Farm.  The following account occurred on our first morning back in the barn.

When the phone rang I answered and became engaged with the caller.  Rod was fiddling with a stall door in need of an adjustment at the far end of the aisle and our boarder, Irene had just arrived in the barn to see, (her horse), Ben.  While continuing my conversation on the phone Hannah approached me and leaned her whole body against my leg.  Instinctively, I reached down to cup her head in my hand and scratch her chin for just a minute.  She bleated softly in reply as I stroked her face.  As my phone conversation continued, I paid no attention when Hannah gently pulled herself away from my grasp and walked into the feed room.  Within one minute the call ended and I went into the tack room to hang up the phone. 

“What’s wrong with Hannah?  Anne, I can’t get her up.  She’s not responding,” Irene called urgently as she desperately tried to pull Hannah to her feet. 

I rushed to help but it was perfectly clear that Hannah was gasping her last breath before her whole body went limp.  Irene then gently laid her on the concrete floor. 

My eyes filled with tears.

“There was no warning!  No sign!  Just a minute ago she was leaning on me,” I whimpered.  At Irene’s urging I dropped to the ground and put my hands on the dead goat.  I bent down to kiss her and whisper that I loved her, but it was too late.  She was dead.

Rod, drawn by the commotion in the feed room, approached the scene.  He had just witnessed Hannah pressing against me and at the time had signaled how sad she was with his expression.  We stared in disbelief at our beloved dead goat.

Looking back, I believe on the day she had disappeared, Hannah passed out in the woods and was too weak to rise when we called for her.  The vet assumed her heart had given out due to her advanced age which was four years longer than the average for an old goat.  And as for a sign of her pending death, I now believe that she waited for me to return home from vacation and that when she pressed against me and bleated softly in the moments before she died, she was in her own way, saying goodbye.

Our baby goats, Rachel and Hannah, (in Rod's arms) lived full long lives.  What more could we ask for?

A Tail at Two Borders

        Good Morning,
         Ten years ago I purchased a 2 year old Thoroughbred gelding from a Canadian horse farm.  The six hour round trip turned into a ten hour nightmare when we arrived at the U.S. Customs office, (in a blinding snowstorm), with paperwork that permitted the gelding to leave Canada but not enter the U.S.  Forced back into Canada, we traveled west and finally gained entry at Gouverneur, NY.  With paperwork that granted Easau permission to remain in the U.S. temporarily, we finally made it home late in the evening.  In today's excerpt from Finding My Way to Moose River Farm, Easau must return to Canada where a final inspection dots the i's and crosses the t's that enable him to stay in the U.S. for good!

A Tail at Two Borders

        Despite my fatigue, I did not sleep well that night.  Easau was only allowed to be here for thirty days.  I had visions of the Federal authorities coming to confiscate him or of having to return him to Canada and go through the paperwork process all over again to have him imported.  I need not have worried because within twenty-four hours a new plan was in place.  After several phone calls on Monday, many of which were met with shoulder shrugs from government employees who did not know what the correct importation procedure was, I called the Federal veterinarian at the Alexandria Bay importation station. 

      He explained the importation process to me assuring me that after scheduling an appointment with him, Easau would become a permanent U.S. citizen.  The following Monday I was on my way back to Gouverneur with Easau to cross the border into Canada.  I then traveled west for about 50 miles to re-enter the U.S. and meet with the Federal veterinarian at the Alexandria Bay importation station.  All went according to plan although, I could not help feeling a bit of anxiety when it came time to approach the Customs buildings on either side of the border.  The original incident had caught me off guard and I was sure another glitch would surface despite assurances from an authority that this was all going to work out favorably. 

      The importation station was another world!  Many prefabricated buildings sat on the perimeter of a large parking lot that accommodated tractor trailers full of cattle and other livestock.  There were trucks full of inanimate objects as well.  All were waiting for various inspectors to provide them with the appropriate paperwork to admit them into the U.S.  Easau waited patiently as an entire tractor trailer load of cattle was escorted into a special barn where the vet examined each one individually and provided it with appropriate papers.  This time another friend accompanied me.  She and I chatted casually while we waited.

      When our turn finally came it consisted of three steps.  First, the vet and I filled out various forms in his office that he keyboarded into his computer.  Next, I wrote a check for twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents.  Finally, the vet accompanied me to the trailer where Easau, munching hay contentedly, stood quietly for the examination.  This exam consisted of the vet eyeing the horse briefly and then glancing at the Canadian paperwork.  That was it.  We were on our way.  The ride home was uneventful and once again, Easau arrived home after a long day spent standing on the trailer.  This time however, he was a U.S. citizen.  That night I slept well through vivid dreams of Easau and me beginning our training together.

Eastern Salute, (Easau), safe and legal in the U.S. after receiving his 'green card'.

        

Welcome Huxley

Good evening,
Rod and I started our marriage with 2 Dachshunds and a husky who all lived well into their teens.  The last years of their lives were difficult because they all seemed to get old at the same time.  Eventually, caring for them made it hard to remember the good times when they were able bodied and accompanied us just about everywhere we went.  After the last one from this 'first generation' was euthanized, I spent a whole 'dogless' winter pretty certain that the numbness in my heart meant that we were finished with dog ownership for good.  Thank heavens for time, fate and Dachshund puppies.  In this excerpt from Finding My Way to Moose River Farm a tiny newcomer brings me back to my senses.

Welcome Huxley

“Let’s go and just have a look,” she, (Michele), suggested.  “And bring your checkbook…just in case.”

I loved him immediately.  The heat from his tiny black body warmed my palm as he lounged like a lump of coal in it.  His soft brown eyes looked right into mine causing me to melt.  It was the beginning of my recovery.  With youthful innocence he showed me that life moved forward and memories simply bookmarked the past. 

Grief overwhelmed me in that moment.  I wept for all three of our wonderful dogs who I had loved dearly for so long.  How had I lived without a dog all winter?  Why did I think I should deprive myself of the incredible privilege that living with dogs provides?  What I deemed freedom had simply been grief. 

“You have big shoes to fill,” I told him through my tears.  “There were others before you who fulfilled so many promises in their lifetime.  I hope I can love you as much as I loved them.”

Michele drove the whole way back to Old Forge which gave me three hours to stare at the new puppy in my arms.  By the time we arrived home I had memorized him from head to toe.  Rod was anxiously waiting in the driveway when we arrived home late in the afternoon.  He eagerly took our new baby into his arms so that they too could get acquainted. 

With the arrival of Huxley, our next generation of dogs begins.

Friends and Blessings

        Good evening,
        Animals may be the main focus at Moose River Farm, but sharing them with people enhances the interactions with them that much more.  Although many are involved with the goings on at the farm, particularly through my riding lesson program, two women stand out as my faithful 'bookends'.  Michele and Jean have been at my side and around the barn for more than 22 years.  Their loyalty has supported me through many highs and lows.  They have seen me at my best, worst and every emotion in between. They forgive my imperfections and continue to stand by at the ready with a word, an ear or a hand.  
        Their devotion to the horses and me, (and all the other animals) is evident from their presence during a barn crisis.  Michele was at my side the day Windy, (our twenty seven year old gelding), was put down.  Through a duet of sobs and sniffles we sent him to find Spy, his companion of 18 years who had pre-deceased him.
        After a long day in the car we arrived home to a barn full of pestering flies and an anxious horse who had worked himself into a case of colic, (belly ache).  After a quick check on things at home, Jean returned to the barn with a deep line of worry across her brow.  She stayed late into the evening to assist with walking Easau for long stretches of time in an attempt to relieve his discomfort. 
        To these two friends I am eternally grateful.  In today's excerpt from Finding My Way to Moose River Farm, they are at it again, providing encouragement and support when I need it the most. 

Moving to Moose River Farm

Despite all of Rod’s long hours clearing the ring, grading the space and erecting the fence, it wasn’t good enough.  It wasn’t smooth enough and it certainly wasn’t safe enough to ride let alone give lessons in.  Woodcraft was due to open in three days and already four riders had signed up to participate, (in lessons).  The next day, Michele and I were headed to Philadelphia to collect Amy’s horse, Welby and bring them both back for a summer of riding, riding and riding.  I had also arranged to borrow a gelding I knew well from Morrisville College to use as a lesson horse.  And yet the perfect riding ring was back in Inlet.  Had I dared to dream too big?  Did I want too much?  What was I to do now?

Giving in to defeat, we abandoned our workout in the ring and exited to walk out on the trails.  Once we were out in the woods among the balsams and breezy maples my head began to clear.  Jean riding Windy and Michele riding Spy walked on either side of me as two wise women not willing to give up hope that Moose River Farm was going to be wonderful for people and horses.  Every new change has hiccups but every problem is solvable if one gives herself time to think it through. 

“It needs time to settle,” Michele assured me. 

“But, what about next week when lessons begin?  Its not going to settle that quickly and it could be quite dangerous for the horses and therefore, the riders.”  I replied increasing my own level of anxiety as it occurred to me what this all meant. 

“Maybe there’s a machine that can press all that loose footing so it is level with the rest,” Jean offered.

“Billy Martin has a compactor that he uses to firm up driveways and walkways before they are blacktopped,” Michele remembered referring to a local excavator who was also a good friend of her husband Scott.  “Maybe he can come and work on it before next week.”

“It’s worth a call,” agreed Jean. 

                                      Jean, Michele and me

Remembering Barbaro

        Good Evening,

        The Kentucky Derby is less than three weeks away which means that Louisville is gearing up for the annual 'greatest two minutes in sports'.  I am excited for Michael Matz who trains Union Rags, an early favorite headed for the big race.  Of course I can't help but remember 2006, when Michael arrived at Churchill Downs with the favorite to win; a huge bay colt named Barbaro.  If you follow horse racing, you will remember that Barbaro won the Derby but broke down just two weeks later in the Preakness.  With true Thoroughbred heart, Barbaro appeared to be winning in the recovery of his injury.  Unfortunately, he was euthanized eight months later when his house of cards was toppled by laminitis.  

        My sixth graders at the time, (today's current senior class), were captivated by everything about Barbaro from before his big Derby win and beyond the Preakness tragedy.  As a result of reaching out to Barbaro and his 'connections' after the injury, the students were included in an HBO Documentary about Barbaro's life.  This video segment from the film, shows how the power of children's words and pictures provide great comfort for Barbaro's owners, giving them a reason to smile.   

       Enjoy!  

from HBO Sport's Barbaro