This Broken Body Rides Again!

The summer of 2012 was my summer of healing.  For the better part of a year I had been sidelined by riding injuries.  First a fractured vertebrae then a seriously fractured arm. 

When last I blogged I was given the word that my useless paralyzed arm was going to take up to a year to regain use of.   I think most of you know that I said “F&*# You” to that. 



Logan, the 4 year old OTTB therapy
horse. As part of my PT exercises
 I put a grooming mit on my
 paralyzed hand and rubbed him
all over his body.

I’ve been asked why I haven’t kept up with writing the chronicle of my recovery that I started with much one-handed-typing gusto last July.  I can’t count the times I sat down to start writing – but stopped after one sentence. 

I think what stopped me was the lack an inner fortitude to really get back on a horse.  Each time I went to the doctor I faithfully asked him when I could ride again.  He faithfully told me “not yet”.  And each time I breathed a huge sigh of relief, my racing heart would calm down and my stomach would quit flipping around.

Silly, silly…..stupid…I kept telling myself.   Even when the doctor revealed that he had “missed” an additional fracture in my humerus that took me back several steps in my Physical Therapy there was a teeny, tiny inner part of me that said “whew, I don’t have to face the demon saddle yet!”

In spite of the fear I was committed to getting back the use of my arm as fast as possible.  I figured I’d face the fear of the evil stirrup when the time really did come when the doctor said “yes”.

The hand therapy team I worked with are surely miracle workers.  That one year prognosis was given the first week of July.  By mid-August I had about 85% of the use back of my hand and arm.  One day I noticed I could use 1 finger to hold down the shift key while typing, then I could actually start using that finger to type a little.  I was now a one-handed + one-fingered typist.  Within a couple of weeks the other fingers joined up one by one.  I could now drive my car but because of that hidden fracture I couldn’t be weight bearing.

The doctor gave me a target date of September 12^th to get back on a horse. But by this time I was determined that I’d actually just sit on a horse for Red Rock Hounds’ annual showing at the Franktown Hunter Derby several days prior.  I knew I could do it.  But damn it, I was scared.

I picked Logan as my re-entry horse.  The youngest at four and greenest horse I have.  What, was I crazy?   But Logan is an old soul whom I completely trust.  After all, he was the horse who at three and barely off the track that I put my close friend Scout, a 50-something beginner, on to take on a 3-day hunting trip! 

Kristi McBain was tasked with getting Logan prepped for me.  Goodness knows what needed to be “prepped” because he couldn’t waste the energy to spook, buck or spin – or even break into a trot! 

The moment for me to swing a leg over a horse came when my bestest friend Sarah was here from Virginia to give me moral support.  I got on while Kristi patiently stood by his head in case he bolted.  Hahaha!  Then she walked me around the arena like a kid on a pony ride, me clutching his mane and barely able to open my eyes.  Soon she stepped away and the fear started to ease just a little.  I can’t remember if I even trotted that first day.  I think I did but the main thing is I survived and didn’t embarrass myself by wetting the saddle.  I got off and hugged and kissed Logan. I think I cried a little too but I’m not sure if they were tears of fear or happiness. Logan just wanted a cookie – he got a whole bunch!

The next step was to go to Red Rock and ride around the ranch for a couple of days before the Hunter Derby.   Where I got my inner courage I have no idea but while Sarah and I were on a ride I found myself wanting to trot, then canter slowly and then I looked over at Sarah and said “let’s go”!   She riding Devon and I riding Logan galloped down the dirt roads behind the ranch.  YES!!!  It felt so GREAT!  

But the next day my joy was swiftly dashed when Logan came out lame.  We had been battling a heel bruise all summer with him and it was nearly healed.  Until I galloped him down the hard dirt road.   Now that’s what I call stupid!  Poor Logan had another bruised heel and he was off duty for carrying me to the Hunter Derby. 

Preston begged me not to ride.  He knew my fear and he was afraid too.  And, probably really done with having an invalid wife for the better part of the past year.  He was over me being a princess and wanted me to start carrying my weight (no pun intended - the “Fracture 15" is whole other blog!) around the barn and ranch.  Can’t blame the guy!

But the customary Wagner determination won out and I decided to ride Devon at the Derby.   Devon can be pretty fiery but I knew him well and was pretty confident in the ride.

The demonstration ride went well as we galloped around the arena following Lynn and the hounds.  I did my traditional passing of the flask to the audience.  What fun – but it was over way too fast!

As we galloped out I tried to hold Devon back with one hand while I was putting my flask in the pommel case on my saddle with the other. I was leaning up and over Devon’s neck trying to situate the flask when Devon sprung his head right into my face.

My lower face and nose hurt a little but not too much. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered something was missing – a front tooth!  As I continued galloping now attempting to fish the wayward tooth out of my mouth with my flask hand I burst out laughing. I galloped up to Preston turned to face him and presented him with the biggest smile.  His face went white and he nearly fell off Baxter.

Red Neck Fox Hunter

The rest of the day amidst jokes that I was going to start a Red Rock Hounds Redneck division, I could only laugh at myself. What else is a girl to do when she’s dressed in her finest formal hunt attire and attending a swanky  tent party with a missing front tooth? Fortunately, that tooth had had a root canal so there was no pain or blood. 

But behind the laughter I had a weird feeling – was this some sort of message?  C’mon my first outing and I break something else? 

I fought that feeling and rode as often as I could in our arena.  Some days there was hardly any fear, others I could barely break into a trot – and on some days I just walked with a hunk of mane in my hands.

OTTB Kindred giving me back my confidence

Ever so gradually I started doing a little more – even jumping tiny fences.  But even now the thought of jumping a coop in the hunt field make me want to vomit. 



Even the smallest of jumps still make
me nervous!

By Red Rock Opening Day I successfully led the Leisure Field of about 15 riders and continued to do so for several more weeks.   I switched between Kindred and Logan as my trusted partners.   Eventually a breakthrough came when I rode Kindred in MFH/Huntsman Lynn Lloyd’s  “pocket” one day in early November.  We galloped across rough country for several hours and that lovely horse gave me the confidence of a Grand Prix rider – minus the coops!

Logan and I at the Red Rock road trip in
McDermitt in November.  

Logan and Kindred – there’s no money in the world that could replace those two horses for me.  Logan has quickly learned to navigate sagebrush and is now galloping across any sort of terrain on the buckle.  Seriously, I bet I could drop the reins, hold a flask in one hand and a camera in the other and just gallop along on him.    I’m not quite ready to try that yet but check back in a few months and I might be there.  But those coops…..racing heart and gagging.  I have a ways to go with them!

I know someday there will be another fall.  It goes with riding horses. It comes to mind often as I’m galloping across the hunting terrain.   I frequently find myself grabbing the breast collar and hanging on to let Logan or Kindred, whomever I happen to be on that day, do their job of keeping me on their back and off the ground.  But instead of white-faced fear there’s a smile on my face.

That’s what it means to have a partner in your horse.  How lucky am I to have not one but two remarkable partners!   They are my heroes.

 

 

Look What I Can Do Today!

The surgery is over, I’ve recovered from the havocs of anesthesia and my arm is screwed and plated in place so it shouldn’t fall off anytime soon.  It was a helluva June! 

Now, as they say, the real work begins. Yesterday, I learned that my one-hooved/pawed/handed status will be part of my life for awhile.  Up to a year, the hand therapy experts say. I gulped as she gave me that prognosis. I felt my eyes start to tear up.  I was thinking 6 -8 weeks.  A year? Crap!  Well, that’s not exactly what I said.

Doing my hand exercises

She followed up with reassurances that she was super impressed with what I’ve been able to accomplish so far (pulling the lid off a half open can of cat food!) and all the “horse people” she’s worked with over the years have a special determination that speeds up progress.  Hooray for us horse-folks – we have guts!

After digesting that information and brushing the tears away we delved into the mechanics of what’s wrong with my arm.  There are multiple issues from my shoulder to my fingertips, many just resulting from the trauma to the arm and several weeks of immobilization.  Fairly typical for the type of fracture I had and routinely addressed with physical therapy.  But, noooo, I wouldn’t do something “routine”.  I have to be different!

When my arm fractured the radial nerve which runs from the shoulder to fingers was damaged.  This has left me with a condition called Radial Neuropathy and Palsy (ICD-9-CM code 354.3 or ICD-10-CM code 656.31).  In plain English it means my arm and hand is partially paralyzed with the hand and fingers most acutely affected.  For inquiring minds, here’s more information - Radial Nerve Dysfunction.

In terms of my life it means I can’t do things like two-handed keyboarding (yep, I’m typing this with one hand),  use my camera, drive, microchip a cat, saddle a horse (yet!), hold a brush to blow dry my hair, shave my left armpit, uncork a bottle of wine, hold the phone and write/type with the other or even take a shirt off that’s not stretchy or has buttons.  Well…..you get the idea.

But let’s talk about what I can do with one hand.  I can halter and lead a horse, keyboard with increasing speed, give a horse a bath, pill a cat  (I’m especially proud of this!) and pull weeds in the garden. Oh yeah, don’t worry, except for the armpit I can do all that stuff.  Personal hygiene as it is so politely called.

My right arm and hand isn’t completely useless.  Everyday I’m finding new things I can do.  Last week I couldn’t fold any laundry.  This week I can fold towels. I discovered last night that I can draw up a cat vaccine.  I can hold a teaser for the cats’ playtime although Stella gets feisty and can pull it out my hand.  I can carry a lightweight, empty feedbucket a few feet (definitely couldn’t do that last week).  I’ve started using my right arm to assist in pulling on my pants.  I  can even operate the page forward/backward buttons on my Kindle – woo-hoo!! And, I’m pretty darn proud at the gesture I was able to do to express my disagreement with that blasted one year timeline!

I have a plethora of exercises to do everyday between twice weekly therapy appointments.  I’ve been assured that the burning pain in my hand will decrease soon and functionality will continue to progress but the fingers are at the end of the line for regaining use. 

As I settle into my routine exercises of manually spreading the fingers apart on my right hand with my left or gripping a table top with my thumb and forefinger, I’ll have plenty of time to reflect what’s good in my life. 

I have a super supportive husband (if not sometimes a little pushy), an in-house advice nurse with my sister and an unlimited number of friends who are spoiling me rotten (can anyone say Princess?).  I’m blessed with a job that I’m able to perform perfectly well even with my limitations.  FieldHaven is a pretty awesome place to be “stuck” at!  And, I am surrounded by my kitties, my hound and my beautiful horses. Hey, this is starting to not sound so bad!

This morning I watched news reports of Aimee Copeland, the 24 year old Georgia woman with necrotizing fasciitis, leaving the hospital where she’s been for  two months for rehab. Aimee left behind both hands, both feet and a leg – all amputated to save her life.  Yet her dad said she “is very excited”.

Mmmmmm…….I think I’m a pretty lucky girl!  I will get to use my hand again some day. Unlike Aimee.  And it WILL be less than a year.  MUCH LESS.

A June To Forget

It was just after Memorial Day and the summer was really looking to be a spectacular.  I had just returned from a 3 week trip that stretched from Montana (fox-hunting), New Jersey (visiting mom) and New York state (a revitalizing week at Healing Spirits Herb Farm – I still need to blog about that magical place).  My garden planting was well under way in preparation for Classics, Cats and Cabernet and I had 5 fabulous horses to work with over the summer.  Preston and I were planning on doing some boating and a few other fun things through the summer.

Physically,  I was feeling better than I had in a long time.  The lumbar fracture that marred the hunt season was in the past and I rode in Montana full-gallop ahead.  Then after the life-altering visit to Healing Spirits (yes, I will write that blog soon) I was on top of the world.  Tons of energy and feeling like a 20 year old rider in the saddle.  Well, OK, I still wasn’t able to ride a course – or even 1 jump – without stirrups.  But I definitely was getting my riding mojo back.

Feeling great in the saddle
May 29

In fact, on the morning of May 30^th I posted this picture on Facebook that Preston took of me and Taylor the night before.  The comment I made was “Feels good to be back in shape and riding full steam ahead after a long 6+ months on layup!”

Jaxon and I about 4 steps before SPLAT!
May 30

That evening Preston was in the arena me setting fences and snapping a few pictures while I schooled Jaxon.  I had jumped about 3 warmup fences when about 3 steps after the jump just as we were turning left Jaxon stumbled and I flew off right.  I landed hard and it seemed at first that I just knocked the wind out of me.  As I regained my breath my arm felt weird.  I told Preston that I thought it was broke. At first he said no then he touched it.  Bones moved. Yep, broke. 

He asked me if I wanted ambulance or should he get the car.  The car of course.  After all, it’s just a fractured arm – not worthy of calling an ambulance.  However, while he was getting the car the pain started coming.  And, this overwhelming feeling that my arm would fall off if anyone touched me. 

By the time Preston came back with the car I said F$%^ the car, call an  ambulance.  And NOW! 

My friend Peri was there by then.  I remember them both asking me if they could take off my helmet.  I said no, because I thought my arm would fall off if they did.  F#$^, just get the ambulance.

My in-agony language was colorful.  F#$&, it hurts.  F#$&, where’s the ambulance.  F$%* it hurts.

I laid there by myself for several minutes as Preston put Jaxon away and Peri went off to get some F%^&ing ice that I thought would make the F$%ing pain go away.

Finally, the ambulance did arrive and the crew was wonderful.  They got me up, took my helmet off after convincing me my arm wouldn’t fall off and settled me in the ambulance.  The EMT started an IV as we headed down Virginiatown. I felt every little bump in the road.  “Oucch”, “darn that hurt”, “Crap”.  She told me I could use better words and she wouldn’t be offended.  I giggled a little as the morphine and versed started to work. I uttered not one more F%&.

Ouch!

I don’t remember a whole lot about the rest of that night but Preston and Peri could probably give you a few laughs.  They kept me well sedated – so much so that I started to forget to breath regularly. 

About 6 hours and a huge immobilizer on my arm later, I slightly remember turning around and looking around the room we had occupied.  Arena sand was everywhere!  And, I still had my boots, half-chaps and spurs on.  Just like a real cowgirl.  But no helmet.

By the time I got to surgery it was 2 weeks later on June 13.  Just 3 days before our annual fundraiser. I told the surgeon that I had about 400 of my closest cat-loving friends coming to my house on Saturday and I would love it if we could do the surgery sooner.  He was unfazed by that fact and, no, that was the soonest.

I spent a pampered 2 ½  days in the hospital with wonderful nursing care and plenty of sleep – lots of sleep.

Doc was supposed to come by Friday morning to discharge me.  Nursing staff started trying to reach him at lunchtime.  They were finally able to get him to return their page at 9:45. PM.  My sister picked me up at 10:30 pm and I arrived home at 11pm, only 15 hours before CC & C was to begin.

Forgetting all about the arm and focusing on the kitties

God Bless everyone who made the event go off successfully.  It was 104 degrees but the guests came and they spent money.  They dressed me up like a 3-legged cat, gave me my allottment of pain meds and sent me into the crowd.  I don’t remember a whole lot of the day except that I was all over the property talking to people.  I don’t know what I said but it appeared a good time was had by all.  And, $42,000 was raised for the kitties.

The rest of June I pretty much spent sleeping and working.  Oh yeah, and eating.  I kept telling myself that my body needed lots of nutrients to heal.  Is that true?

I’m done with June.  Bring on July!

Tally Slo – The Leisure Field Debuts at Ridgecrest Joint Meet

Great ideas are sometimes borne out of desperation.

In my case, the desperation was to get back on a horse after a lumbar fracture at the beginning
of the hunt season. Having already sat out much of the season, I just couldn’t see myself not riding at the annual joint meet in Ridgecrest, CA. Hounds and members of Red Rock Hounds, Kingsbury Harriers, Santa Ynez Hounds, Grand Canyon Hounds, Paradise Valley Beagles, as well as members of several eastern hunts all come together for three days of hunting, eating, drinking and mingling with great friends and fantastic animals.

Riding was definitely not on my list of “can do” activities but give me a quiet horse and a promise to only walk then no harm can be done, right?

Normally, I ride in First Field and love nothing more than to gallop fast behind the pack so this idea of walking was a tremendous compromise. But at least I'd be on a horse.

The concept of leading a field of others who may not want to run, gallop or navigate steep ravines and rocky mountains started to formulate. In fact, I have three friends who wanted to try hunting but were apprehensive about riding fast and furious. Two of the three had actually joined Red Rock Hounds for the 2011-12 season but hadn’t yet ventured out to the hunt field. The timing was right for the opportunity to introduce them to the excitement of following the hounds.

The Ridgecrest fixtures are ideal to start out in fox hunting. The country has terrific footing, gentle terrain with wide open spaces and the weather is usually very non-January-like. It couldn’t be better to introduce my friends to the excitement of riding to the hounds. And, maybe some others would want to join us.

Red Rock MFH, Lynn Lloyd gave me her blessing to add a field for people who wanted to join the hunt but at a slower pace. A much slower pace. In fact, at a leisurely pace.

The inaugural outing of the Leisure Field was at the Robbers Roost fixture in Ridgecrest. To minimize the mayhem surrounding the first day of a large joint meet we waited to mount up until the dual packs of Red Rock and Santa Ynez, along with riders from all the hunts, had ridden off in search of the elusive coyote trail.

Our Leisure Field of about ten embarked on our journey at a decidedly un-brisk pace. Best described as an ambling walk, we had only gone several yards when we had our first viewing – a very fast jackrabbit!

Tally-Slo!

Because I knew we’d be traveling long distances over unfamiliar hunt country I brought along my GPS BackTrack D-Tour to track our distance, elevation and, most importantly, to find our way back to the fixture. Our sauntering pace gave us opportunity to discuss hunting protocol, etiquette and principals to help our rookie hunt enthusiasts become knowledgeable about their new activity. We had some great conversations but I did inform everyone that once they graduated to First or Second Fields their chatting ways would be silenced in respect of the hounds and huntsmen.

Our first check occurred when my field mentioned the need for a break. A quick glance at my GPS declared we had gone about 569 yards – yes, perfect timing for check. We were met by the “Whoopie Wagon”, piloted by Ron Crossley, completely stocked with water, power bars and courage-inducing liquids for flask refills. Ron also provided horse holding and mounting assistance for riders who had a need to take a walk behind a bush.

After re-mounting, we continued our journey to the top of Robbers’ Roost – 2.1 miles from the fixture where, of course, we had another check!

Scout Valentine, an apprentice falconer and wildlife expert riding in the Leisure Field, treated the field to an enlightening mini-lecture on the birds and wildlife indigenous to Robbers’ Roost, a nesting ground for birds of prey.

As we descended Robbers' Roost we used our GPS to point us in the right direction for the fixture. Of course, we could see the horse trailers way off in the distance but it was more fun to use the GPS. Frankly, we didn't need our eyesight or techie tools to find our way back. As soon as we turned towards the fixture our field hunters accelerated from their sluggish, dawdling pace to a brisk march. Where does their inner GPS come from?

The Leisure Field arrived back at the fixture after a two hour hunt where we viewed four or more jackrabbits, a burrowing owl and numerous birds. We observed several dens, nests and tracks of the wildlife that call Robbers’ Roost home. We even came back with a partial jawbone from a bobcat. While we didn’t view a coyote that day we surely did see plenty of evidence of the clever animals’ existence.

During the three days of the joint meet the Leisure Field gained popularity. Not limited to riders that were new to hunting, we were joined by others that desired a quiet day or had horses being introduced to hunting or were fractious in First or Second Fields. This enjoyable, non-fearful introduction to fox-hunting proved addictive to my three rookie friends. At the close of the meet one of the new-but-not-yet-hunted members had purchased a new horse, the other is contemplating a new mount or some hunt training for her current one and the non-member is now a member of Red Rock Hounds.

What started out as a lark and in my own self-interest to getting back in the saddle may well have started a new idea for introducing and recruiting new participants to the joys of riding to the hounds. Several members of other hunts mentioned they wanted to take the idea of a Leisure Field to their hunt management to consider the idea.

A Leisure Field, or whatever you chose to label it, is an idea for every hunt in need of new members to consider. We have all been new to fox hunting at some point and could've benefitted from a mentoring program to learn all about our new pursuit. Experienced members may have had a horse that needs a gentle introduction to their job of field hunter or, like myself, have an injury where we’ve been banned from the saddle by our medical providers but in need a “hunting fix”. I truly had a delightful time teaching my rookie field members and encouraging them to join us in following the hounds in the future.

Fox Hunting has so many misconceptions. We’re thought of as crazy, running fast, jumping high and traversing through all sorts of treacherous country on a horse that can jump anything. So maybe the “crazy” and “run fast” part is true for some of us. If you want to jump then, yes, your horse would best have that skill. Yet, following the hounds CAN be for the faint of heart! As evidenced by the debut of the Leisure Field we can engage new membership for a whole faction of horse, nature and hound-loving people by offering an introduction that is not overwhelming (ie, frightening!). The Leisure Field is also a superb way to introduce a green horse to the hounds and the hunt or to re-introduce a seasoned horse who is unfit or returning to work after an injury layup.

It just makes so much sense! Too bad I had to break my back to think of it!

It’ll be several more weeks until I can ride again (yes, Ridgecrest was strictly in violation of doctor’s recommendations) but once I’m back in the saddle for good it’ll be even more weeks until I can move back up to First Field. You can be sure during that time I’ll be leading out the Leisure Field every chance I can.

And, even after I'm back up in First Field I’ll happily be the Leisure Field Master occasionally to introduce newcomers to the fun world of Red Rock Hounds. Besides, I like those frequent checks with the Whoopie Wagon!

Tally-Slo!

Photos and Videos:

Pictures from the Leisure Field: http://fieldhaven.phanfare.com/5441275

(photos courtesy of Scout Valentine, Shawn Lloyd and Joy Smith)

Video of our recap of Day 1 at Friday Night's Dinner: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLJGR1PDoF4&feature=share

Video by Shawn Lloyd: : http://vimeo.com/35175130

The Blue Dot - A FieldHaven Miracle Story

The Blue Dot at 12 o'clock.

Sounds like it should be part of a nursery rhyme.

In the world of shelters and veterinarians the Blue Dot at 12 o'clock means a negative result on the Feline Leukemia blood test. Many a sigh of relief is heard over the Blue Dot at 12 o'clock because it means a sick cat or kitten doesn't have the dread disease and a healthy-looking one does not have Feline Leukemia lurking about, ready to attack the feline immune system.

The Blue Dot at 12 o'clock make all of us happy at FieldHaven.

The Blue Dot at 3 o'clock is a heart breaker.

When we see the Blue Dot at 3 o'clock it means the cat is positive for the Feline Leukemia (FeLV) . Cats and kittens stricken with FeLV have a very high mortality rate. Especially kittens.

There is a slight chance that cats or kittens with a positive FeLV blood test may fight off the virus. It's not common but it does happen. If you remember my beloved Louise. She was FeLV+ when she was a kitten but she was one of the lucky ones who fought off the disease.

Kittens that are positive for FeLV may look and act very healthy but their prognosis for either fighting off the virus or for living a very long life is pretty dismal. It is a common practice for shelters to euthanize cats and kittens that test positive.

Usually when FieldHaven accepts cats or kittens from other shelters they are tested before the transfer takes place.

Here's where the first part of the miracle in this story starts. Through a miscommunication, 3 4-week old kittens that we transferred from a nearby shelter in late May did not get tested.

That oversight ended up saving 3 little lives.

When we did our intake we blood tested each kitten. The disheartening result was a Blue Dot at 3 o'clock for each kitten. And, as if to emphasize the result it was a very strong positive.

Our first reaction was that we should euthanize the kittens. After all, they were extremeley young and their outlook for a living even a few more weeks was not good.

Three of us looked at each other and offered to take the kittens to their sad fate. But then we looked at them. The image of those 3 tiny lives tumbling about as they played with each other is frozen in my mind.

In the next moment, as if we were all of one mind, we made the decision to give these beautiful little creatures as much love as we could for as long as they remained happy and well.

We set up a place for them in our Isolation Room filled with fluffy beds, toys and yummy food. An X-pen was set up outside and volunteers were encouraged to take them out to play in the grass and sunshine.

We hoped for a foster home for the triplets but it's understandable that someone wouldn't want to take them home knowing they probably wouldn't live long. It takes a special person to provide "hospice" care for kittens.

A foster home turned up in in the unlikeliest of people. My sister Jann had recently lost her beloved Roontay to liver cancer and she was taking the loss hard. When I heard she wanted to foster the kittens, I admit I was very against it. How could she take on these little heartbreakers when she was already deep in grief?

As Jann setup a kitten's dream room filled with climbers and every toy a kitty has ever wished for, the kittens were showered with love by Jann and other volunteers. As they grew they started playing in the flower gardens by the barn. To them it was deep dark forest and they spent hours playing hide and seek amongst the bushes and flowers. They did gymanastic demonstrations in the grass and tantalized Tamra the hound. Happy, happy kittens!

And healthy too! They grew and grew, never had a so much as a sniffle. Who would know that a killer disease lurked in the blood of each of them.

But we've seen this before. The kittens act healthy and we think this is the time they fight off the disease. And it does happen, but I have never seen it happen with kittens who reacted so strongly to the test. They are the ones that are persistently positive and then one day they become sick.......

We didn't want to do another test because we didn't want to be saddened by the reality of another positive test.

But last week we knew it was time to do it. I was driving on my way to the mountains when I got a call from FieldHaven.

It was a Blue Dot at 12 o'clock!!!!

Miracles like this for Dannigan, Tavic and Zuma are made possible by all of our volunteers, supporters and donors. Because it is with all of your help we are able to share this story of a FieldHaven Miracle. Thanks to all of you ......and to Jann for believing.....

Homer (AKA Jacquo-Baire) Home At Last

I recently recieved a letter from FieldHaven adopters, Brian and Kimberly Davy. It made my day. No, let me correct that - it made my week! Thank you, Brian and Kimberly for seeing who Jacquo-Baire really was; a wonderful companion who may not be the handsomest dude on the block but a fabulous friend. I really can't add anything more - Brian says it all below......

Homer, AKA: Jacquo-Baire came to us when Field Haven called my wife and advised they had an adult cat that fit the type of lifestyle we had described for our new addition. I had fallen for the large grey boy called Major and I will say my first impressions of Jacquo-Baire were none too positive. His rough exterior was of immediate concern, torn ears, lopped off tail, tufts of hair and hide loose on his backside, and what appeared to be a couple of behavioral ticks that were of concern. One of the most compelling reasons I immediately adopted him was that he appeared to be one of the least likely to be adopted. His fur was full of the tufts of hair he pulled loose by his own claws attempting to twist around and clean the bottom half of his back, his eyes were nearly pure orange and his coat is all black………………….he is a Halloween Cat, thus part of his name…………………as an indoor only cat in our home he would not be victimized by some holiday pranksters or superstitious foolishness. He also exhibited his claws at all times, front and back, like an old grizzle bear………………….thus the second half of his name………………….he became Jacquo-Baire!

Adoptive parents need to understand that an Adult cat will never truly reveal themselves in a store adoption center environment, there are too many noises, smells, new people, sights and sounds that are all unfamiliar and intimidating to all but the most outgoing cat personalities. Jacquo-Baire was no exception, all but the smallest of hints were all he was going to show us but the reasons to bring him home were larger than any concerns I would have about his personality or appearance. So home he came. We began to get acquainted with each other and as the layers of the onion were peeled back, so to speak, what we found was pure kitty love and more of it than we have ever seen in any of the cats we have had over the years.

We have two cats that are a very affectionate pair and we cannot bring other cats into this environment for fear of losing the wonderful nature of this existing relationship. We had attempted to introduce a feral cat that had adopted us into our home after she was run over by a car, hoping that we could give her a better life than dodging cars in the mean streets of Lincoln. The resulting mayhem showed us that it just wouldn’t work. Jacquo-Baire was to have a companion when we moved my office temporarily to Susanville.

After becoming acquainted with Jacquo-Baire, his little loving heart was all I could see. He was quick to abandon his quirks, adopted Betty Boop, his new feral roommate, and is by my side at all times while in Susanville. He is the quintessential cuddle bug, anxiously awaiting my return to Cabin and lavishes me with doting attention and affection while I am there. His little crippled, cropped off tail is his first line of offense. If I come to Cabin and do not immediately saturate him with lovings, I will feel an insistent tap on the leg from Jacquo-Baire. He wants to greet me by loving the brim of my hat and would soak up all the lovings I can give him……………..non stop. His routines revolve around my schedule but the time I can devote to him are never enough. He knows that when I clean his potty box and pack my duffel he is going to be a couple if not several days without seeing me. He does not try to hide his disappointment and leaving him behind always feels a bit cruel but I know he has a much better life with me than without because at all times I yearn to spend just a little more time with him than I can, he is fed the best and healthiest diet and has the best Vet and medical treatment I can give him. He will never want for anything but to see me more and I the same with him.

I could go on and on about the loving relationship Jacquo-Baire and I have developed, but what I really want to share is not just the relationship and bond we have formed but the love that was found in a place where it may have not been expected. I had thought years ago about purchasing a cat for about 800 dollars, a Bengal, but I would not have known from the onset what personality I would have found in that animal. I could not have ever expected to find such a diamond in the rough as what I found with Jacquo-Baire, a rough looking GentleCat that could win over a Feral stray ruffian and me to the point that all I can say is: “Adopt your next pet…………..Give them a chance to become part of your family. Spay and neuter because there are just too many little lives lost to euthanasia (Execution) in shelters across this country………………ADOPT, ADOPT, ADOPT.” As was so eloquently stated in a movie I saw one time, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know just what you’re going to get”. Adopting Jacquo-Baire was the best thing I ever did, and the best thing Field Haven ever did was to rescue him from euthanasia at the Placer County Animal Shelter. What was lost is now found and although we cannot write the ending…………….Jacquo-Baire, AKA Homer, will enjoy the longest life possible, full of love and joy………………….But it is I that have received the gift!



Brian Davy

2 Angels Named Jen

The horses were fed, the kitties tucked in for the night and FieldHaven volunteers had gone home to dinner on the early September evening when I went to close the back gate before going to my own dinner. In the dusk I saw a flash of a small cat in the bushes by the back gate. Taking a second look I thought I recognized our neighbor's Manx tabby. As I crept closer I realized it really was a kitten and I swore under my breath; some flipping idiot had dumped a kitten in our driveway!

For the next half hour I tried to round up the kitten but he took me on a tour through our arena, the neighbor's yard and the horse turnout then up the bushy tree by the arena. Far up the tree. And, by now it was really dark. I ran to the barn to grab a flashlight and thought what a fine time it was for no one to be around; no Preston, no Jann, no volunteers, not even a stray neighbor driving down Ironwood Lane to help me capture this wayward kitty! And, no cell phone in my back pocket to call anyone. Just me, a flashlight and little tabby barely visable as he teetered in the leaves at the top of the trees.

A big sigh of relief as I saw lights turn down Ironwood then my prayers were answered as the car turned into FieldHaven's driveway. Then out of the car popped our very own FieldHaven angel, Jen Paul! I don't remember why Jen showed up at that moment but I do know she was guided to us.

With Jen holding the ladder steady for me (I really don't do ladders well!) and shining the flashlight up the tree I managed to scoop the kitten into a very large carrier along with a few leaves and branches.

We took the carrier to the Cat Trailer. As I donned the leather gloves to reach into the carrier to pick up what we were sure was a feral fighting machine I looked at the scared tabby cowering inthe back corner and just didn't see "feral" in his eyes. Taking a chance I reached in pet his head. I was rewarded with a purr.

As Jen and I gathered the little guy into our arms I started looking him over using the "nose to tail" method. Or in his case, nose to rear since he had no tail. It was all looking good until I got to the rear. Beneath the fur I found an open wound. As I examined the wound I saq creepy crawling creatures. It was totally crawing with maggots! In fact, there were several wounds with the same disgusting infestation. Icccckkkkkk!!

Jen and I worked on those wounds for an hour; flushing, flushing, flushing until the last ghastly worm was dispatched. Our little rescue purred the whole time.

We tucked him into a condo with a soft bed and warm food. I dubbed him "RiceCake" and told Jen I was going up to my house and make some rice for dinner. Blllllecchhh!

Not everyone appreciated my twisted sense of humor but I kind of liked the name RiceCake!

We were soon to discover that RC had Manx Syndrome, a genetic defect in some Manx cats that causes severe bowel and bladder issues. HotRod, FieldHaven's resident Manx also has this syndrome which requires her bladder to be expressed twice each day.

FieldHaven volunteer Jen Rosenbrook met RC and instantly fell head over heels in love. Well, who couldn't love those big brown eyes! At first we made Jen promise that she would only foster RC after he had surgery to relieve some of the symptoms. She assured us it would only be during his recovery. We should've known he'd never be coming back to FieldHaven when she expressed her repulsion at my quirky name of RiceCake and changed it to Darby.

Jen kept us all going with the foster ruse for nearly a year when she firmly announced she was going to adopt Darby. Of course, we were all thrilled! Jen was the second angel named "Jen" that came into Darby's life and, without a doubt, his most important one.

Health problems have been Darby's worst enemy since he first arrived at FieldHaven but with Jen's unrelenting love and the amazing skill of Dr. E and the staff at Banfield Darby thrived. His bright brown eyes captivated Jen as she showered him with her love and attention.

Cats with Darby's condition have a very short life expectancy and Darby, unfortunatley, didn't break any survival records. Earlier this week Darby went to the Rainbow Bridge while Jen cradled him in her arms.

But Darby did break records for the amount of living and love he gave to Jen during his 2 and a half short years with her. No kitty has recieved more love or given more love. What more could we hope for when these beautiful but broken little creatures come to our doorstep? I think God truly sends them to us to give them a very full life overflowing with love. Darby and others like him have a short life but one that is stuffed to the brim with happiness.

Thank you Jen Rosenbrook. One more little angel kitty is at the Rainbow Bridge patiently waiting for the day you meet again. And, Jen Paul, for appearing out of nowhere that September evening. Because surely little Darby would not have survived very long on his own.

Rest Peacefully Little Darby. (You'll always be "RiceCake" to me)