Four years since Cree left us to race across the sky.

Photo copyright Aji, 2021; all rights reserved.

It's impossible to believe that it's been four years since Cree left us to race across the sky. I took that photo when there was still a sliver hope, just. Deep down, I think all three of us knew already. And it would be only a few more hours, as it turned out.

And much as the image breaks my heart, the truth is that Cree had defied all the odds as it was. Wings rescued her, although he didn't know it then, from a place where they had absolutely no idea that she was laminitic, nor would they have had the faintest idea what to do for it (or have bothered). He thought he was getting a perfectly sound horse, and, in fact, she did okay for a while.

The laminitis made itself known soon enough. But in her case, it wasn't just laminitis; it became full-fledged founder. Climate change contributed to its worsening, and the acceleration thereof; foundered horses often develop Cushings (she did), and also experience high rates of colic, including weather-related ones (which she also did). But she was the matriarch of our then more substantial herd, and she was NOT ready to leave.

We went through so much with her: changes in diet, changes in meds, soaking, padding, wrapping, taping, clogging; on one memorable late afternoon in the middle of a blizzard, we backed her hind end into Wings's studio to do it. Her flares got longer and longer; her remissions shorter and shorter. And then, at the end of 2015, if memory serves, the news became very bad indeed: What had a been a partial rotation in her left front was now a full rotation in both front legs; her coffin bones had gone right through her soles.

Time was, that was a death sentence, and a pretty instant one, too. But we had had to learn more about this complex of equine conditions than most vets bother to know, and over the years, we had become fairly expert. Our vet had, too. And where everyone else assessed only one option, our vet was willing to work with us trying to rebuild her soles. 

It was a hell of a lot of work. Backbreaking work. But she had made it clear that she was not ready to go, and if she was willing to put in the work, so were we. And we helped her rebuild more than a solid inch of new sole on each front hoof. Nothing short of miraculous.

In the end, it wasn't the founder that did it. There is a cancer cluster in this area, one that affects both horses and dogs, and she was one of the casualties. What we did not know then was that a tumor was developing somewhere along her spine, impinging on the nerves in her hindquarters.

And in February of 2017, its development hit that point where it became irrecoverable.

She had no pain, as far as we could tell. It was probably mostly numbness. But we knew, at the moment that photo was taken, that the next time she went down, she would not get back up. It happened about 6:50 PM that night. 

Normally, I go out to the animals' resting places at the same time of day as they left us (sometimes, we both go). I take their spirits an offering: cedar, tobacco, a little water, sometimes a little food. I knew today that it would have to be early. On that night in 2017, the weather was unseasonably warm, and at 6:50 PM we were also sheltered inside the stall. Her resting place is in the south field, which today is beneath several inches of rapidly-icing snow in this bitter cold. I would never find it in the dark, and would not be able to withstand the cold anyway. I came too close to following her a few months later, and the cold affects me now in ways it never did then.

So tonight, I went out just before sundown. It was beautiful: clear and crisp and cold, bands of iridescent clouds trailing across the southwest sky. I took her a little hay with the rest at Wings's request. And SunDog, named for the light in the sky, came with me, as though he knew somehow; our wild boy trotted ahead, blazing a pawprint trail in the snow, then sat and waited patiently from three feet away.

Miskwaki missed her terribly. I think he still does. I know we do; she was, as I said earlier, the matriarch, the boss, the badass of the herd that no one dared defy too much. There's still a void, but at the same time, I see her in the stars, especially on these cold clear winter nights, without pain and running free, with her daughter, Shade, and with our wild mustang Ice.

We love you, Cree. Our hearts are up there with you now.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2021; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Hunter and Cree, our sweet girls, running with the moon and stars.

Photo copyright Wings, 2020;
all rights reserved.

Today is one of those markers that brings me such grief. Saturday, too, if my pain-fogged brain had only remembered exactly what it was that was nagging at me all day. I knew I was forgetting something important, but the pain would not let up, and I couldn't get my memory to break out of its vicious cycle. So for the second year in a row, I will mark Cree's resting place at the same time I do Hunter's.

Hunter was, in so many ways, my baby girl. The very first time I came here, she and BearGirl were off like a shot, running from the northeast field so fast they nearly levitated, racing to greet me. I parked and finally got my door open, and BearGirl planted herself in the opening to be adored, so Hunter promptly climbed in over the gas pedal and brake, under the steering wheel and also under my feet.

And she never let go.

She left us on this day in 2009, just after 4:30 in the afternoon, a whole city away, too far away for us to be there and so a weeping vet stood in for us, along with two or three vet techs, all holding her collectively with us on the phone, and all sobbing with us. She had developed immune-mediated thrombocytopenia and immune-mediated hemolytic anemia the summer before, a brutal one-two punch resulting from the same veterinary malpractice that took her sister from us in the fall of 2007. [Do not ever give your dogs Metacam. It killed both of our girls.] We saved her once, in the summer of 2008, but the second go-round was too much for her little body to fight, and so we had to do that hardest thing for her so that she wouldn't suffer anymore. And it broke us.

But she is still here with us, not merely her ashes, scattered in all of her favorite spots, but her beautiful sunny spirit. Sometimes I feel her here, contented now, as though she, too, is enjoying the house, enjoying the land again with her sisters and brothers now able to wander the space between the worlds and both sides of them at will. And I miss her every moment of every day.

Cree was more recent, three short years ago, and it was such an upheaval for the entire herd to lose their matriarch.

Photo copyright Aji, 2020;
all rights reserved.

That was the moment in which we all knew what was inevitable. We had been fighting to save her for a decade by then, for as long as she wanted to be saved, but she let us know that there would be no coming back this time. It was the day after Valentine's Day, a little after five-o'clock but nearly full dark in the stalls by the time the vet could get here. In her case, we had learned just before I captured that image that it was not the founder that was taking her, but a tumor we had known existed, having grown and shifted and suddenly pressing on her spine in a way that was irrecoverable.

And so our big girl left us, too, to run among the stars. For her, it was no doubt a gift in the same way that it was for Hunter: two active spirits forced to ground too long by pain, in Cree's case, unable for years to carry a rider any longer. But she was stubborn, and she wanted more time with us and the small herd she ran with an iron will, and so we trimmed and packed and clogged and taped and worked to rebuild her hooves in all kinds of weather, once even in the studio to keep clear of blizzard conditions, and we gave her two inches of new sole even after she'd rotated all the way through, and gave her two additional years of a happy life that no one else would try.

And with both of them, when they depended on us to do what they could not for themselves, we did it, weeping tears enough to fill the sky.

Now, when I look outside, I see them both with all their siblings with them on that side: on the earth, in the sun — Hunter and Cree, our sweet girls, running with the moon and stars. In a couple of hours, I'll take cedar and tobacco and water to the resting places, as we always do. We honor them as we would any family member; after all, these are the ones who give us everything, selflessly, and remembering them is the least we can do in return.

We love you, Hunter. We love you, Cree. You're never out of our hearts.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2020; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Cree, the Spirit Horse, One Year On

Photo copyright Aji, 2018; all rights reserved.

My guy. And our girl. One of my favorite shots, despite the inherent grief in it.

It's been a year already.

Cree has been a Spirit Horse, racing across the sky, for a year tonight. She has Ive with her now, and I have no doubt that they are running in ways they couldn't when they left this place. Cree's forefeet are healed and whole, no rotation, no pain.

I just came back from the field where her body lies. I put cedar and tobacco on her resting place, and I told her we love her, as I always do. 

She's in our hearts every day, and I think she knows that. I miss her terribly. the one saving grace is that she has no pain now. She has her brother now, too.

We love you, Cree.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2018; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Kindness from a stranger. Shares needed.

Mostly cut and paste tonight; yesterday and today have wiped us both out.

Briefly, for those wondering about Cree: Obviously, burial had to wait until today. The guy from the feed store down the road showed up around 10 AM or so; he has a backhoe with a front loader, and he had it loaded on a gigantic flatbed. He dug the grave out in the south field, not far from where little Animiikins is (a Pueblo puppy who left us not quite eight years ago, after only a 6-day stay, losing a battle with distemper). Cree will rest in the shadow of the bank of wild sunflowers that appeared from nowhere last year. 

The process with a horse is not an easy one; it requires chains, and dragging, and carrying her up in the air, and lowering her into the earth in all sorts of ways that could be undignified and horrifying. John made it seem both respectful and serene, and we buried her with everything she'll need, as we do with all of our animals. There are two apparently abandoned stray dogs, not much more than puppies, who've been coming over the last two weeks (they're mostly hanging out at the neighbor's), and the small one attended the burial, lying down a few feet away from me just as She-Wolf does. Just before we came inside for the evening, I noticed that he'd returned to the site, and last I looked, he was lying near her headstone, keeping watch over her as she makes her journey. 

Kindness from a stranger.

As to the rest of it, please just share links:

• Shares of our YouCaring page via the widgets provided, especially the widget code, which has once again been moved back to the purple box at the lower right-hand side of the page, that produces the image shown just above.
• Shares of Wings's site; sales also fund the construction (indeed, they are the baseline for it). Testimonials help.
• I've added Lowe's gift cards to our Amazon wishlist. We're having to spring for lumber, lath, and plaster material locally. The rest of what makes it habitable — flooring, paint, appliances, etc. — are coming from Lowe's, which is giving us the best selection and price, and therefore best bang for our buck, but it's still a lot. A LOT. And so one of the best, most immediate ways to help at this point is with Lowe's gift cards. I have three separate denominations posted on the wishlist, but cards in any amount whatsoever are useful; they all go into the same pool.

Still, before you share our links, please go share Laura's. Lin's spirit is where the water meets the light, but Laura will still need our help for a while. Please T/R/share/donate to her fund if you can. Especially that last. It's needed.

In the meantime, please also take a moment to share the links above.

Thanks, everyone.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2017; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner. 

Cree is on her way across the sky.

Photo copyright Aji, 2017; all rights reserved.

I took that photo with Wings's cell phone about 1:00 this afternoon.

It breaks my heart, and yet I love it so. I love them so.

At about 6:50 PM tonight, Cree began her journey across the sky, the newest Spirit Horse.

Given her circumstances, she far outlived what would have been her normal life expectancy. She was only about 20, but she was severely laminitic, and I know that the only reason she survived (and thrived) this long is because Wings bought her from her last owner some 15 years or so ago. The last nine or ten years have been exceedingly difficult for all of us, as she went suddenly from the occasional short-term flare easily treated with a little Bute to a flare that lasted the better part of a year, and then became a pitched battle for her, and for us.

Back then, no one knew how to handle it. So we buckled down and did the work ourselves, figuring out what standard treatments actually exacerbated her condition, learning to buck the conventional wisdom all along the way to help her get comfortable and heal. But time does its work, and just over a year ago, we thought the terrible day had come on New Year's Eve. The horse vet looked at her two days later, and told us there was an outside chance, but it was just that, and if it didn't work, there was nothing else to do.

Her coffin bones had rotated through her soles.

But she didn't want to go, and so we put in the work, and within four months or so, she'd built up more than inch of brand-new sole and begun to reverse the rotation a bit. It was nothing short of miraculous, and a testament to her own strength of will that she cooperated with us all along the way, determined to stick around for a while.

Three weeks or so ago, we had cause for concern again. She simply wasn't herself, and we know her well enough to recognize it. We thought, at the time, that it was related to the founder — thanks to the chaotic climate-change-induced weather patterns, she was flaring again (which is the norm), but as she limped to the water trough, her hindquarters buckled briefly.

We told ourselves it was the pain in her forefeet. Her hind legs have been doing more than double duty for years, and she had some of the most developed quads I've ever seen on a horse.

The vet came out the next day, and she rebounded immediately with a change in meds, so we thought it was a one-off.

Yesterday evening, just before dark, I saw her come out from under the overhang, sail past ice, and practically skate in a half-circle to return to the other trough. She looked like the Cree I knew from more than a decade ago: no limp, withers and neck relaxed, head held high. Happy. I sent the vet a note about it this morning.

Mid-morning, and Wings called me outside. She'd nearly fallen. She clearly had severe ataxia, although only in her hindquarters; think along the lines of the gait of person with severe Parkinsonism. We called the vet, who was off and out of touch, but Cree was one of her first patients years ago, and she called right back and came out to see her.

It wasn't good news, but there was a shot with a large dose of IV Banamine. The motor skills and sensitivity testing we did clearly showed CNS involvement, and probably lumbar-sacral involvement at a separate level, too. There was an outside possibility of a parasite as culprit, and we'd planned to have the labs drawn tomorrow, but the more likely explanation was a tumor or lesion somewhere along the spine or elsewhere. She was alert, engaged, in no pain, and happy, but the vet warned us that if she went down, she would not be able to get back up, and we would know that it was time.

She ate, and happily, this evening. Just as Wings was coming indoors, she turned to go back into the stall, and collapsed. He came ad got me; I went and sat in the dirt and sawdust with her while he called the vet, and she came out in the dark. The temperature was exactly freezing, the stars brilliant, and about 6:50 PM, we let her spirit go to begin her journey. Tomorrow, we'll be calling a guy up the road who has the equipment to take care of her final resting place.

Tonight, Wings's beautiful paint girl is the newest Spirit Horse, racing across the Milky Way, the bridge to other world.

We love you, Cree. We'll see you every night, glowing as you make your journey across the western sky. 



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2017; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Of Horses and Homes

Photo copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved.

So, I've basically been up since just after 2 AM. For the second day in a row. Day 2 of a migraine, too. Actually, it's the fourth of five days with little to no sleep, and I seem to be fighting a bug, too. So needless to say, this day started off just wonderfully, thanks.

At morning prayers, I was startled by a bird alighting in the cedar tree next to me, practically close enough to touch. It darted around, murmuring softly, then stopped to look directly at me. I finally realized it was there with its mate. at first, I thought they were bluebirds, from what little I could see in the branches, coupled with the sounds.

Robins.

About as skittish as bluebirds. And the bluebirds did show up, a small and anxious flock of four to six, a few hours later. They are entirely out of season, five months later than usual; the robins are a couple of months early (although even they mostly show up late in summer and depart fairly soon).

Considering when this occurred, I took it all as a good sign.

Today was Cree's check-up, and her first X-rays since January 7th. We were hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, praying for a miracle.

We got a better one than we ever could've hoped.

Is this week done yet?

Photo copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved.

Welp, it all just keeps going.

Last week, it was the frozen pipes and the washer out of commission for over a week. One messy job and most of a day later, and we got the septic line clear of ice. It took eight days, a new drain pump, and ~$300 to get the washer operable again.

And then there was Cree.

She's been doing remarkably well, especially given that a week ago we had a low of minus-thirty-four, with a sixty-degree temperature swing in less than twelve hours. This week? Damn near sixty above, and the land is three inches of mud. Do you know how hard it is to walk in three inches of mud? It's much more laborious than three feet of snow.

Of course, after I checked on her late yesterday afternoon, and the clog was secure, she managed sometime just before nightfall to get it off. So guess what the first order of business was this morning?

We've gotten pretty good at it, as a team. And it is a team effort; you need two people, no question. But even with practice, it's still a long-ass job. Hard on the back and knees and hands, too.

That's her hoof - the one with the coffin bone very nearly through the sole. It's still slightly soft — but given the degree of damage, and the fact that she was clogless all night in this mess (stall is mostly dry, but still), that image up there is encouraging. The amount of it that has hardened gives me hope. So does the fact that she was comfortable enough putting weight on it to permit Wings to trim her back hooves, at long last; she had snowshoes back there. We're waiting for the ground to dry so we can have the vet get more X-rays.

But I have not been able to get out of here for a single errand all week. Wings has, but that's because he's had no choice (doctor's appointment; med screw-ups; dead phone and subsequent problems thanks to the provider's network being down). Oh, and the hack attempts, etc. We're both beat, and no end in sight.

And I dunno why I care whether the week is done or not; after all, for us the weekends are just more work days.

I need a vacation (yeah, that's never gonna happen). Failing that, I need a drink. I think there's a half-open bottle of red around here somewhere . . . . 

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Setbacks

Photo copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved.

Is Mercury still retrograde? 'Cause I've about had enough of this ish.

Today was clog-change day for Cree. She's been doing well: relatively mobile; getting accustomed to the oddness of the clog and its small central "heel"; putting weight on the foot semi-regularly; not rocking back on her hind end; eyes clear and body language relatively free of pain.

But . . . .

Two Grand In Two Weeks

Photo copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved.

So I've been utterly unavailable for just about anything for the last couple of weeks. There are reasons for that.

With my particular complex of autoimmune conditions, I have only so many resources at my disposal. Around here, there are things that absolutely have to get done, no matter the circumstances. Pile enough of those on top of each other, and I have nothing left over for basic social engagement. For people who don't deal with these kinds of things, I realize that it's essentially impossible to understand how it is that I can write, but can't exchange basic conversation. The latter is much, much harder than the former, and infinitely more draining. Times like this? I ain't got it. And I've quit putting myself through the torture of trying to force-fake it.

Just so people understand the kind of thing that pushes me to this point, here's the deal: I've said that, since the first of the year, it seems that we've done nothing but shovel snow, shovel horseshit, and treat Cree's near-deadly case of founder. That's accurate as far as it goes, but it's not all of it. The rest is over the jump; proceed at own risk.

For Cree

photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

This is Cree in better times. Now she needs help.

i'm ordering more of the practical items (supplements, etc.) that she needs right now, but it's very much touch and go. She had a flare this bad back in late December that we thought had resolved — until this last week's extreme weather.  She hasn't had another one this bad for such an extended period in probably six or seven years.

There comes a point where she can't be put through this kind of pain any longer. I don't want to think we've reached that point yet, but things are not good.

Beyond what we're already doing, it comes down to Spirit. So whatever you got in the way of prayers, good vibes, good thoughts, anything else — Cree needs 'em. 

Now.

Thanks.