Losing Trudy

We lost Trudy on Thursday, Nov. 12. She was beautiful a 12-year-old roan Appaloosa, the first horse of my dear friend Kathy. Trudy was a friendly, personality-plus equine, but she was also very competitive, like her owner. On a regular basis, Trudy and Kathy participated in – and won - a number of timed play-day activities that required speed and skill. Trudy was six years old when she fractured her leg while practicing pole bending. The accident occurred just two weeks before Trudy and Kathy were scheduled to compete in pole-bending and barrel racing events at the Appaloosa World Show.

Kathy heard the “popping sound” and immediately pulled Trudy to a stop; Trudy didn’t move and wouldn’t put any weight on her right front leg. She had suffered a length-wise fracture in the upper pastern bone, but there was no breaking of the skin and no follow-up infections. Her lower leg was set in a cast for several months, and fortunately, she didn’t develop fatal complications like the high-profile racehorse Barbaro did in 2007. Trudy ended up with slightly crooked leg, but she rehabilitated well and would snort and canter in the pasture like nothing was wrong. But she couldn’t be ridden any more.

In February 2006, Trudy had her first and only foal, a feisty bay baby with a white star on her forehead and a smattering of white spots on her rump. Kathy named the filly Sparkles (registered name: BrightSparkingFireball) and worked with her constantly to ensure good ground manners before she moved to her new home in Los Cerritos, near Los Angeles. Trudy was a good mom and very protective of Sparkles. But the weight gain during pregnancy wasn’t good for Trudy’s bad leg, and Kathy knew she could not have another foal.

Trudy went to live in a pasture with other horses in Krum, Texas, but recently, the owner of the property called to say Trudy was having some problems “eliminating.” As it turned out, Trudy had acquired an extremely rare disease called cauda equina neuritis. Basically, the disease paralyses the horse’s insides from the mid-section on down, and the horse can’t pee or poop. The vet said that in 27 years of practice Trudy’s was only the third case she’d seen. No one knows how horses get it or how to cure it. It is impossible to manage, and if ignored, it will lead to a painful death. The vet said the most humane thing would be to put Trudy down.

Ann, another of our riding buddies, and I spent some time with Kathy the morning of Nov. 12. I took about 50 photos of Kathy with Trudy. The picture on this page is one of them, and I PhotoShopped the furrowed brow off Kathy's face. What was so difficult was how beautiful and healthy the horse appeared. The disease was not causing her any problems that day, and she was cheerfully eating grass and carrots and checking bystanders for possible treats. An appointment to put her down was set for 4 p.m.

I was with both my cancer-stricken dogs when they were put down, a procedure that took probably two minutes and was strangely peaceful after the pain they had suffered. Putting down a horse is much more involved. Trudy first received a mild sedative and then two large injections of a Pepto-Bismol pink barbiturate-type liquid. Slowly, she sunk down to the ground, but she experienced labored breathing for almost 10 minutes until the vet administered a third dose. Trudy had already survived a broken leg, and she was a tough fighter till the end.

There is no way to make losing a pet (dog, cat, horse, parakeet or even an iguana, I suppose) less painful or traumatic. Later that evening Kathy and I met for Texas comfort food (margaritas and nachos). But our only real comfort was the knowledge that Trudy had a good, if too-short life, and was loved and cared for properly the entire time. Every horse should be as lucky as Trudy was.

The Bee Suit

I don't want to spoil any holiday surprizes, but this is my Christmas card photo for '09. I thought I was going to have to go with some dumb Barnes & Noble cards (something I am loath to do) 'cause I hadn't taken any interesting photos all year long. But then I was kinda tipsy at Target (don't ask) and bought a bee Halloween suit for my dog Bandit.

Bandit wore it for about 12 seconds (she was expert at shaking off the antenna) and so that was the end of that. But the next day, I got the bright idea to put Ditto, my youngest goatie, into it, set her up down at the bee yard and snap her photo real quick. With immense help from my visiting relatives (from Florida and Fort Worth ... I only have relatives in places that begin with an F), we got the shot. Poor Ditto was stung by a bee and ran off hollaring, her antenna flapping in the breeze. I gave her extra flax seed cookie for her sacrifice.

The Bees: Part I

The honey bee is marvelous insect that is crucial to the production of at least one-third of the world’s food supply, but honey bee populations are on the decline -- a problem referred to as colony collapse disorder (CCD). It is serious issue since an estimated 36 percent of all U.S. bee colonies have disappeared over the past several years.

Within 18 months of learning about CCD, I fulfilled a long-time dream of moving to a “ranchette” in Denton County, just north of Dallas. That meant I had space to help boost the honey bee population, and I decided to get a couple of hives.

It’s difficult to raise something you know zilch about. I can attest to that from my personal experience with pet rabbits that were seriously into filicide. To avoid disappointment, I went in search for serious beekeeping guidance. Although I have since met people who are successful self-taught beekeepers, I highly recommend finding a mentor, a class or a beekeeping organization to help you get started.

My first discovery was the Collin County Hobby Beekeepers' Association (CCHBA), the largest group of beekeepers in Texas. This is a growing organization of city, country and suburban dwellers who raise bees for fun and/or for profit. Members meet at 6:30 p.m. on the second Monday of each month at the Heard Natural Science Museum and Wildlife Sanctuary in McKinney. Get there early or risk standing for the entire meeting. Dues are cheap, $15 a year for a family, and information is bountiful.

In January 2008, I discovered that CCHBA sponsors an annual five-session workshop (one half-Saturday per month from January through May) called “Mastering the Art of Beekeeping.” Unfortunately, the 2008 class had already started, and I had to wait a year for the next one.

The workshop is conducted by John Talbert, veteran Collin County beekeeper and retired Raytheon engineer. The owner of Sabine Creek Honey Farm in Josephine, Texas, Talbert began beekeeping in 1985 and been very active, serving a president of CCHBA, president of the Texas Beekeepers Association and a member of the Board of Directors for the American Beekeeping Federation. I paid $135 to attend Talbert’s 2009 workshop and left south Denton County at 6 a.m. on Jan. 24 to attend the first session.

With no offense community residents, Josephine, Texas, is in “no damn where,” and it took me a full two hours to drive there. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself until I learned that another couple had traveled all the way from Abilene for the class. Apparently, reliable beekeeping information is not easy to come by no matter where you live in Texas.

The first class covered beekeeping basics: bees, woodenware and personal protective gear.

You know that old saying “I was behind the door when they handed out the brains.” Well, I was sick at home when they handed out the beehive-making kits at the second class, and I strongly advise anyone who registers for Talbert’s workshop to attend every session. Putting together my two bee hives was enough to make me jump off a bridge … or get a divorce since it was my tolerant husband who actually managed the project, muttering constantly about the lack of detailed instruction. When he had finished – and created two beautiful bee hives – someone asked him if he had used glue as well as nails. Of course, he didn’t use glue since none came in the kit and nothing about glue was mentioned in the “how to” instructions. He was not happy.

The third class was in March and involved returning the completed bee hives, now painted a heat-reflective color such as white or silver, to the Josephine honey farm. One of my classmates painted her two hives different shades of lavender. I have no idea whether that will impact the amount of honey her bees produce, but they were definitely festive.

The fourth class was held at the end of April and involved driving my two bee hives home in my Jeep. Please come back soon to read Part 2: The Bees Homecoming.

Bike your way to a smoothie

The Spouse and I have a Vita-Mix, which has the same horsepower as a golf cart, according to the promotional material. I always thought that was pretty funny, and then I saw this -- a blender that is powered by your own stationary bike. I wonder if you can put it on a real bike, pedal to work and then have your soy smoothie when you get there.

These things are not cheap: $249. But they are cool and don't use any electricity. It's availiable from www.peddlerswagon.com, an online store that sells all kinds of back-to-the-land merchandise.

Homegrown revolution

My Master Gardener friend Marty (better known as "The Other Martha") sent me this video trailer about a family in the middle of LA that produces 6,000 pounds of food each year on 1/10th of an acre right next to a freeway (I do wonder about the car exhaust issue .... but apparently they are doing just fine). It is inspiring. Makes me think I can do better than one cantaloupe a year.

http://homegrownrevolution.com/trailer

The $600 cantaloupe

There is a book called The $64 Tomato by a writer named William Alexander. I haven’t read it, though reviews claim it is quite witty. I am very happy for Mr. Alexander since he only spent $64 to grow a tomato. I figure the single cantaloupe we retrieved from our garden this year cost about $600.

The Spouse can usually be found in front of the TV, in a movie theatre or behind the pages of a book. But this past spring, he busted his butt to make us a lovely veggie garden consisting of four raised beds (he made the wooden frames himself) bordered with Austin stone “bricks” in a gravel-covered area of our yard. He even had to figure out how to mow down a small hill, build a retaining wall and install a drain to make this work. After hauling in a huge load of expensive dirt (which turned out to have zero nutrients), we planted tomatoes, herbs, flowers, watermelons, cantaloupes and squash.

Thanks to no nutrients, we had leggy plants with no fruit. Forget tomatoes, most herbs, squash and the lettuce (which was planted too late anyway). The eggplants never reared their purple heads, and the tomatillos fizzled instead of sizzled. Somehow the basil survived, and we’ve used it to top a few pizzas. And then there were the cantaloupes.

For some reason we had five lovely cantaloupes that became ripe at different times. Fortunately, we got one off the vine before rats or bunnies actually burrowed giant holes through the remaining fruit. Now we are composting away to build up the lousy soil we bought (although not as lousy as the soil in our yard) and hoping for a slightly more abundant winter garden.

Meanwhile, Mary, my city-dwelling Master Gardener friend, has turned her zero-lot-line yard into a veggie garden and harvests about 100 tons of produce a year. There is something to be said for having a green thumb. Can you order one from Burpee?

Finding my final lifestyle...

After spending years trying on different lifestyles, I have finally found the ideal one here at Pigs Fly Ranch in North Texas. I have been a career woman, a drug store cowboy's wife, an executive's spouse, a social butterfly, a Californian (oh...please...stop), a hostess/party-goer and now a writer/horsewoman/goat owner. This last role is the best.

Here on 4.5 acres of red clay, I enjoy the company of nine pygmy goats, two adorable dogs and a pair of badly behaved cats, plus one husband who is slowly getting used to walking where there is no concrete. I have become a Master Gardener with various raised beds and a beekeeper with two buzzing hives. The Spouse has discovered an interest in native plants, drought-resistant grasses and rain water harvesting. We probably bore some of our friends, but we are more in touch with the environment and with ourselves.

A lot of people dream of escaping the city for the country life, but today’s economy is not making that transition easy. I have carried the country dream with me for decades and only made it a reality in 2007. My advice: hang in there. You can make it happen. And it will be worth the wait.