Ice Storms

Male Bullock's Oriole, May 24, 2014
Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

You can see from the shadows in the photo above how brilliantly sunny it was this morning.

We're now under a severe weather advisory until 9:00 PM, and the rain is coming down so hard that it's pooling right on the ground. We managed to get muck duty finished just as the storm was hitting.

Climate change. The same climate change that is partly responsible for Ice's condition.

We managed to get Ice out to walk and forage for grass a couple of times today before the weather hit. Still no real progress yet where it's most needed. He's off the IVs for today to give him a bit of a break, but he's on antibiotics now — plus probiotics, plus Banamine, plus ground flaxseed powder, plus aloe vera juice. Medicating him is a nightmare. After watching him fling the three of us around yesterday, Wings and I decided to try hobbling him today. All was going great until some idiots up the road decided to pick THAT FRICKING MOMENT to haul two horses past in a trailer . . . and, of course, all of ours started making noise. So Ice joined in, and tried to move to see what was going on . . . and discovered that he was hobbled. And promptly panicked. And damn near pulled both my arms out of their sockets trying to restrain him so that Wings didn't get stomped.

Hobbles off, then. We have a hitching post in the middle of the larger pen, so I brought him up to it and we tied him up. Of course, I brought him up on the wrong side, the one with the IV implanted, natch.

Start over. Bring him around, tie him up on the other side. I crank on the rope as ballast while Wings tries to jam the syringe in fast enough to get the meds into him.

And it works.

So. We have a new method. I have also promised him that when he takes his meds without trying to kill us mow us down as he makes his escape, I will promptly take him out for a walk so that he can graze. 

I think he's starting to get it now. I took him up to the north pasture, which is almost entirely grass (v. alfalfa), and every few bites, he'd stop, look up at me, bring his head straight up to mine, and stare at me until I put my forehead against his. It sounded like "Thank you" to me. And when I checked on him at the beginning of the storm, every time the wind kicked up or the thunder rolled, he leaned his head against my back to try to hide. He's standing there now, calmly enough, if not exactly happy about it. 

Now, I just need to find a way to erode that mass in his gut and get it to move on out.

Because every day it remains, it takes a little more of his life. He's still running out of time. I've got to find a way to claw it back for him.