Official Penis Holder

Dear Friends -

Many of you comment on how fun you think my job is - Oh, you are so lucky to work with horses all day! That must be so interesting! What a great job for you!

Most of this is true. However, there is some penis involved. Recently one of the doctors had to freeze a growth off a horse's you-know-what. He told me it was my job to hold the you-know-what so the horse couldn't suck it back in his body and away from our gloved hands.

I tied a piece of gauze around the penis, then held on for dear life. That thing was surprisingly strong! I sort of had a hard time holding it even though the horse was heavily sedated. I did my job though - and held on to that penis until the doctor was finished.

My mom would be so proud.

I called the Police

One night I arrive at Kooky's house. She leaves the front door unlocked so I push through the door and head straight to the barn with the dogs close behind. I immediately notice something is not right when I walk through the double doors.

The door to the feed room is open, brooms and pitch forks are on the ground, halters are moved - it’s very messy. Definitely NOT how I left it that morning. Kooky keeps a strict routine, I follow it and now I can tell when something is out of place. Never thought I’d be singing the praises of that military drill sergeant!

I semi-freak out and run inside. Then I realize the patio door that leads to her bedroom isn’t locked. The intruder could be in the house! I know they aren’t in the barn, Dingbat would have killed them by now. The dogs - they are old and would let anyone in. Dingbat is the real watch dog of the bunch.

Time to dial 311 AKA: the police non-emergency number. I want them to come search the house before I can feel comfortable again. They arrive after a long while. I was supposed to wait out front but I got bored and went back to the barn to do chores. Apparently, I’m not scared anymore. The police boys arrive and get to searching the house. They sound a little freaked out when I tell them the dogs are of Doberman and Chow origin. Not to worry police boys- these doggies are old and not so limber.

They search the house, backyard and barn. Nothing. I can tell they think I am stupid. They kind of nod there heads and uh huh me a bunch, but I know how I left the barn. And I didn’t leave it messy. Believe me police boys – someone was in here. I bet Dingbat scared them away. Alas, he is good for something!

Meanwhile, I tried getting Kooky on the phone several times. She was skiing in Vail and probably didn’t have cell phone service. I left her a couple messages telling her I called the police. Finally she called me back and said don’t worry, the dogs will attack anyone who comes in the house. Interesting – they didn’t seem inclined to attack the two police boys! Nice try Kooky, they are quite friendly. And old. She did tell me that she had some trouble with the neighborhood boys a few months ago. They kept swooping in and stealing things. Maybe they stopped by for another shopping trip?

Luckily, the police didn't find anyone and I was able to finish my night of pet sitting. I slept with the hall lights on - and allowed the "watch dog" doberman to hang out in my room.

I always get tricked into pet sitting!

The ladies at work hooked me up with my first pet sitting job. They called me one afternoon and said there was a woman, with a nice (i.e. expensive) horse in her backyard, who needed a pet sitter. They made it sound like it was the greatest idea ever. I could earn some extra cash and get out of the parentals house a few nights a week. I said yes before I knew all the facts.

Turns out, pet sitting lady is a little kooky. I'm going to post something I wrote about six months ago, when I first started pet sitting for her. I would like to preface this with the fact that now I absolutely love her and she pays me lots of money and provides me with great stories for my friends and family.

* Names are changed. I'm tricky.

The horse I’m taking care of is Dingbat (FYI - I put his real name into the Thesaurus and that was the first word that came up). The biggest horse I’ve ever handled. And quite possibly, to borrow a word from the book of Dad, the surliest horse I’ve ever dealt with. He pins his ears and swings his massive head in circles every time I get near him. His mom swears it’s all talk, but the people at the vet tell a different story. One doctor said he’s libel to kill me. Another girl said Dr. X refuses to treat him because he’s so ill behaved. However, Dr. X is the one who hooked me up with the job so I’m thinking she has confidence in my ability to survive the weekend.

Dingbat is a grand prix jumper. A clubbed foot has forced him into retirement but he’s still treated like a neurotic athlete. His routine is more precise than a military schedule. No wonder he’s so kooky – he’s made that way!

Each morning he leaves his stall and stands in the cross ties. At this point I am allowed to take off the THREE blankets he wears at night to brush his coat. I guess his coat is too beautiful to see the light of day because he wears two blankets outside during the day. It’s mid 60’s in the desert right now. I am also allowed to roll up his slinky and brush his mane. After his grooming session I am then required to clean his stall. A dish washing glove is provided to HAND PICK the poop from his stall. Yes, she expects me to pick up single balls of shit.

Next, I have to push all the shavings up around the edge of the stall. Not an easy task as there is easily two feet of shavings in the stall. Not one fleck can be left in the middle.

Now, time to prepare morning meal. Two generous scoops of Equine Adult and two flakes Alfalfa. Easy enough but placement is key. The food must go on a mat outside in the arena. Grain on the left, hay on the right. And don’t even think of putting the food on the mat until it is swept clean. A bucket of water is then placed above and to the right of the mat. But not just any water, perfectly temped (made up word) water. Not-too-hot, not-too-cold or he won’t drink it. Another bucket of water is also required. Half full of the same not-too-hot not-too-cold water. This bucket lives in a different location, about 20 paces east of the food and previous mentioned water bucket.

Now it’s time to dress Dingbat for the day. He wears his slinky, a light sheet and a turnout blanket. Once he’s dressed he can go outside to play. But my job isn’t finished. I have to turn the radio on, sweep the aisle way and take the dirty bedding out to the dumpster. All this takes forever and it’s only the morning routine!

Nighttime is a little different. I first have to rake all the shavings down into the middle of the stall, leaving about a foot and a half clearance at the front of the stall for who knows what. Then I prepare Dingbat’s evening meal. Two generous scoops Equine adult, one scoop wheat bran, a half a scoop rice bran, a cup of flaxseed that I prepared the night before and a hefty drizzle of molasses. She mixes with her hand but I mix with the scoop. Sorry Dingbat, not getting my hands dirty to make your dinner. That 20 pound mixture is hung at head level in his stall. Dingbat’s food can’t touch the ground. I’m surprised his feet are allowed to touch the ground!

Speaking of feet, once the meal goes in it’s time to pick his hooves. Outside. He actually stands pretty well for this. He is then allowed to go into his stall to eat dinner. While he’s eating I can take one blanket off in preparation for another blanket to go one, but not yet. Notice no mention of water? Well, he’s not allowed any water while eating dinner. He’s a dunker. Plenty of horses dunk their food and hay in water before they eat it. I already have two buckets of water waiting outside the stall, one for now, one for later. Again, not-too-hot, not-too-cold. Just the right temperature. While he eats I get the flaxseed ready for tomorrow, scoop poo in the arena, empty the big water bucket and sweep the aisle again.

Then, it’s time to brave the beast and put his two nighttime blankets on. He swings his giant potentially death inducing head around as I heave the blankets on his back. He’s so huge I have a hard time, but manage. He takes up the entire stall and it’s nerve wracking to move around him. If he decides to move any direction I’m either shoved up against the wall or left without a way of escape. Yikes. This particular portion of the routine takes place around 5:30. Dingbat is then left alone to ponder the evening with his window open. The lights in the house must be left on or he is upset. I guess Dingbat is also a voyeur.

Nearly four hours later it is lights out routine. Dingbat gets his other bucket of water, his window is shut, the barn doors are shut, the radio gets turned off and the lights go out. Did I mention I am also supposed to pick up poo with my kitchen glove at this point? I passed on that idea. I chose secret option B – ignore poop in stall as horse is a horse. I am now allowed to go inside and turn off the outside house lights so Dingbat can rest. Is anyone still wondering why this horse is crazy? I’ll let you know how the second night goes.

As I said before, I've come to enjoy this job. Kooky Lady also has two dogs and a cat that are quite friendly. Her house feels like my house and I feel comfortable there. So comfortable that I notice when things are out of place. Enter the intruder and the police...

Least Fun Thing to do at Work

I know you've been in suspense since my last post. Considering my BFF is the only one who reads this - that is a lot of suspense in the world.

Let's continue where we left off shall we? The end of the surgery had arrived. One doctor and one tech stayed behind to close the foal - I left with another doctor to tackle the next emergency. The mini horse came in and she was obviously in distress. I think she'd been in labor for about two hours at that point. For point of reference - that's too long for a horse. They should be making good progress within 20 minutes of their water breaking. All we could see was the tail of her baby sticking out of her va-jayjay (thanks to Oprah for putting that word on the map).

We tried very hard to get the baby out as fast as possible. Lots of lube and pulling and still the baby wouldn't budge. He was all turned around in there. Butt first, legs underneath him, it was a mess. Not surprisingly he was already dead.

Finally the doctor had to make a decision. Get the baby out - save the mom. He gave the mare a sedative to lay her down and relax her insides enough to pull the baby out. He quickly realized that our next, and only option, was a fetotomy. That involves cutting the baby apart while it's still in the mom, and pulling it out piece by piece. Gross but necessary.

We got to work and quickly cut off one back leg with gigli wire. I couldn't any good pictures to post but basically it's wire that you pull back and forth and it acts as a saw. We then cut the other back leg off and wrapped chains around the "stumps" that were left. It took both of us to pull the baby out. We were pulling as hard as we could and the baby finally slipped out.

I haven't described the conditions we were working in. Imagine lots and lots of blood and baby juice, combined with the slippery stuff we were using to lubricate the mare. All over the floor. All over our hands. All over our clothes and shoes. Every few steps I would slip. It didn't matter if I fell because I was already covered with the stuff.

The owners, surprisingly, handled the whole thing well. They watched the entire process and weren't at all fazed when we pulled their mare's baby out in three separate pieces. They couldn't afford to leave the mare overnight for observation so we sent them home with instructions and a butt load of antibiotics. We never heard from them after that, despite numerous phone calls to see if the mare lived.

This process isn't pretty but I felt lucky to be involved. Some of the techs who have worked at the clinic for years have never seen a fetotomy and I got to witness and get in on the action. Just another day on the job!

P.S. I posted a picture of Rob and his mini-horse just so you can see how cute mini horses are. You know Rob - from Rob & Big.

Pepperchini Update

Pep has officially lost ONE pound!

Next up - nine more.

A Weekend in the Life

Weekends at work can be one of two things: incredibly boring or insanely busy. Last weekend was the busy kind. With nearly 10 horses in the hospital requiring treatments, I was on the go for 10 or 12 hours at a time. Combine that with the 100 degree desert weather and you've got a tired little technician.

I was busy all weekend monitoring our ICU cases, hanging bags for the horses who were on IV fluids and dealing with owners who didn't quite know when to go home and let us do the worrying. I got through Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The real action started on Monday.

A three week old foal came in with signs of colic. Rolling, depressed and diarrhea (P.S. If you work in the medical world you should know how to spell diarrhea). The doctors did everything they could to make the filly feel better but at 5 o'clock we got the word - set up for surgery. Officially our crew consisted of two doctors and two techs. We also had a peanut gallery in the room with us - two more doctors, a vet student and an assistant from the barn where the baby foal lives. The room is small and we were cramped but it was fun having a large, and surprisingly joyful, group on hand.

My official job during surgery is scrub tech, same as the human world. I get our equipment ready and hand instruments and supplies to the doctors. There is a technique to handing doctors sterile equipment and it was nerve wracking with the owner of the clinic sitting in on the surgery. Luckily I didn't contaminate anything!

Let me back up and explain how large animal surgery goes. The surgery takes place in a padded room with a table that moves up and down. Once the horse is knocked down (a nice term for putting the animal under anesthesia) we use a hoist to lift them up and set them down on the table. After the site is prepped, the doctors go in and start sifting through their guts. Next is time for the colon lavage. Sounds glamorous doesn't it?

The guts are laid out on a sterile table and one doctor makes a small incision in the large intestine and we run garden hoses up and down the inside, where it's definitely not sterile because of the manure. The tainted water runs down into a large bucket that we like to call "the shit bucket." One lucky person's job is to stir the bucket so the drain stays clear. We like to reserve that job for tech students who are getting surgery hours, affectionately of course. My job during this process is to run the hoses and keep the colon tray clean with sterile dump saline. It's fun except sometimes I get splashed with poop water. Once the colon is clean, the doctors push everything back inside and close the incision. FYI - this is the quick and dirty explanation of surgery. A lot of time and effort goes into this process to make sure all persons and horses are taken care of.

In the case of the foal, a small impaction was found and the doctors were able to break it up and move it out. At about 9 or 10 o'clock that night the surgery was nearing it's end when one of the doctors got paged. A mini horse was almost at the clinic. She'd been trying to deliver her foal for a couple hours and so far only the tail was visible. Like humans, butt first is the wrong way to enter the world.

I left surgery with one of the doctors - leaving the other doctor and tech to close and wake up the foal. With all of our surgery gear still on, we tackled the next emergency. I'll save the story for my next post but I'll leave you with one word: fetotomy. You can google it.

I've been Goosed!

I've been pondering a new post these past few days. I was considering a story about how I got fired from one of my pet sitting jobs, maybe introducing you to my horse or writing about a neurotic family of animals that I take care of on the regular. All that got put aside this morning during a trail ride.

I was up early to take care of the aforementioned family of animals. Since it was cool outside, I decided to visit the horse for an early morning ride. I grabbed a Starbucks and drove to the barn (while listening to the new DMB, which is rad BTW). After I saddled up the beast I hopped on and we rode out the gate. We do this often. The neighborhood is horse friendly and close to BLM trail riding.

Instead of going my usual route, I decided to switch it up. One of my friends lives close by and I wanted to see if she was outside messing with her horse. As we turned the corner near her house, Watson's ear's perked up. I knew something was coming because he had the same look the time the coyotes circled us in Colorado. We were riding by the 10 acre property. They have all kinds of animals including donkeys and reindeer. I assumed he was trying to catch a glimpse of Santa's steeds.

Not so. From across the street we heard a loud honking. I looked over and a giant goose was running down the driveway! Watson did a double take. He was shocked. He's never seen a goose and now he'd come face to face with a big one. The goose stopped at the end of the driveway and continued honking at us. Watson stopped and continued looking baffled. I couldn't stop laughing.

After a minute I thought, okay, ha ha, we saw a goose in the desert. Let's move on Watson. The second we started walking the goose started running across the road! He was really going to take on the 1000 pound horse. I started yelling "Go home Goose!" but he wouldn't. He was all honkey and flappy waddling across the road. I made Watson stop, the goose stopped. We started walking, the goose started chasing. This went on the entire length of the street. The goose ended up herding us off his street.

I need to give credit to Watson. He barely flinched. I was the one who panicked. I was yelling / laughing / trying not to drop the coffee that I had brought along. Yes, I was enjoying my coffee on the leisurely stroll. If you knew Watson, you'd know this is know big deal. He doesn't move fast. He meanders (most of the time).

The goose got me riled up, but I'm proud to say my horse was not impressed.

Pepperchini Notice

Pepperchini Notice

I’m named after delicious food, but please don’t feed me!

I’ve gained 10 pounds in just a few months. That is a lot of weight for a little dog in a black and tan fur coat.
Doggy obesity is a growing problem in this country; please don’t contribute by feeding me extra food!

How You Can Help:
If you MUST give me a snack – please limit it to healthy fare such as tomatoes and carrots.
I like physical activities such as walks, runs, bike rides and fetch.

I look forward to debuting my new, slimmer body in a few months!

Plus Size Pep

She started getting chunky around her mid-section. Then I noticed a good size fat roll behind her collar. I knew I had to do something when I saw her waddling, not walking, down the stairs.

The impossible has happened - my trim, in shape, always on-the-go herding dog has gained weight. The question is: How much?

Today I loaded her in the backseat of my car and took her down to the vet clinic for a weight check. Like any lady, she didn't want to step on the doggy sized scale in the front office. I pushed her hefty body with my leg and forced her to sit on the scale. She did so with shame. I almost couldn't believe the number that popped up. 58 pounds. 58!!!! That's a 10 pound gain since we moved to the desert. Canine obesity is a growing problem in the U.S. and apparently I'm a big contributor.

I know exactly how she got fat and the reason is twofold: 1. Dumpster Diving. The trash is right at Pep level and she never hesitates to dive right in. Peanut butter jars, butter wrappers, yogurt containers... nothing is NOT a treat. 2. Family members who dispense treats on an hourly basis. They deny it, but I know what they're doing.

And, I hate to admit, this one's my fault - I don't take her on enough walks. We used to walk everyday. Now she's lucky if I can make it a couple times a week. Bro and Bro's GF have done some legwork with her, but they don't go everyday. I figured her daily play session with the Critter were enough. Totally wrong.

We must meet this problem head on! Which is why I've posted signs around the house (The actual sign is posted above). I hope I don't embarrass my dear puppy, but she has to be stopped! I resolve to monitor her eating habits more closely and take her on as many walks as possible. It's my job to save her.

Pep's fighting weight is 48.5 pounds - Wish us luck!

The Day I Birthed a Baby Horse

I've never seen the miracle of birth first hand. And I don't think that's an accident. Word on the street is that birth is gross and messy. Considering kids aren't my favorite - I don't think it's a co-inky dink that I've missed out on the birthing process.

Enter: My Job.

I work at a large animal vet clinic. All horses, all the time. With the occasional donkey, mule, pig, mini horse thrown in. I've seen a lot of cool stuff. But I was wholly unprepared for the birth.

It happened on a Saturday afternoon. I work alone on Saturdays, assisting the doctor who is on call. A mare had been struggling for a few days. She was ready to give birth, the little monster inside her didn't want to come out. What to do? The doctor decided to induce, which is pretty rare in the large animal world. Before the dirty deed went down, I pulled the doctor aside and told him I was a little nervous. I'd never done anything like this... ever. His calming words: "Me neither."

He gave the horse a shot and within 20 minutes the action began. When the baby horse's front legs were visible, the doctor wrapped some chains around them so we could pull. Don't worry - this doesn't hurt the baby horse and it's totally standard. His final words were, "You might want to put some exam gloves on."

I slapped my gloves on and we grabbed some legs and started pulling. After a couple minutes I was in the position to catch the baby before it fell to the ground. (FYI- It's best and easiest if the mare stays on her feet.) The doctor said, "The baby's coming! Are you going to catch him?" Me - "YES, I'm going to catch him!" And I did! He came tumbling down and I caught him and helped him land gently on the ground.

I haven't mentioned how completely disgusting this process is. The whole time we are pulling, the mare is spewing baby goo all over us and pooping everywhere! I know you can't control yourself but I don't need poo down my scrub top. When the whole thing was over I had to change clothes because I was THAT disgusting. Eww.

The baby stayed in the hospital a few days because he was a little bit sickly. I made his butt get up and nurse because I felt a small kinship with him. I helped him come into this world and no child of mine is going to be an underachiever dammit!

Final word - The baby is doing great. He eventually kicked us so many times that we sent him home happy and healthy.

Pep is a Poop

Pep likes to growl at people she knows. Especially when they call her name and she's trying to take a dog nap. A few days ago Bro called Pep's name in the middle of the night. He was awake and probably wanted to give her a snack or take her on a walk. I woke up because she was growling. He called her name, she growled back.

My favorite part is that she doesn't move from sleeping position. She was sprawled out on her bed (my bed) and didn't even get up to growl. No effort except the rumble in her doggy throat. She growled until he opened the door. As soon as that happened, she was all smiles. "Hello Bro! I'm so happy to see you! What are we going to do tonight?" She promptly ditched me and followed him out the door.

She's made the adjustment from only dog to social dog pretty well. I was nervous because she has a history of being aggressive. She's only bitten one person (sorry former boss) but I wouldn't put biting past her. She's naughty. The social life suits her though. She has a person to hang out with day and night and two other dogs are always ready for a play session.

Even though she talks tough, Pep is a love pup at heart. Turns out my ill behaved rescue puppy has turned into a sweet, polite and well behaved dog. Congrats Pepper-O-Chini!

Horses Don't Drink Baby Formula

A lot of strange things happen while I'm at work. Mini donkeys run me over, stud colts jump on me in a sexual specific sort of way and people feed their baby horses human baby formula. Why would a baby horse drink human formula? The short answer is: they don't.

Several weeks ago the front office got a call from a frantic woman. Her new foal wouldn't suckle from his mom. Instead of calling the vet or encouraging nursing, the woman loaded the baby horse into the backseat of her beat up Towncar and drove it to her trailer park. She spread the colt out on the floor of her home and force fed it through a syringe. FYI - this can be quite dangerous. One has to be careful that the food, water, whatever actually goes down the throat and not into the lungs.

Two days later, the foal is very weak and won't drink anything. When water doesn't work, the woman goes to the store and returns with human baby formula. For HUMANS! Not horses. She loads the syringe with the formula and sticks it down the baby's throat. Of course, the formula isn't going anywhere near the baby's stomach, it's getting shoved down his windpipe right into his new baby lungs. He's suffocating on formula.

Several days and several phone calls later, the Towncar screams up to the clinic and a crew of people jump out of the car. "We've got a baby in the backseat!" They keep screaming at us. Normally when horses arrive at the clinic they do not do so in the back seat of a beat up car. I ran to the car with one of my co-workers and try to unload the black colt from the backseat. We end up making a sling out of a blanket that works well. Inside the clinic, the colt is wheezing badly. He sounds like he's breathing underwater, very gurgly. His vitals don't look good and yellow formula whooshes out his nose as soon as we tilt his head down. The family is still carrying a bowl of baby formula.

The doctor rushes to put a catheter in so we can get some helpful fluids into the colt. I start scrubbing the area and try to explain what I'm doing. "This is betadine. I'm cleaning the area so we can put a catheter in the vein." The lady has a sassy comment for me. "I know what you're doing. I've had horses for 20 years." It's time to shut my mouth. If you've had horses for 20 years then please explain the chain of events that led you to our clinic.

The baby foal died within 30 minutes. He had no chance. He never received his mom's nourishing first milk, he was extremely dehydrated and oh yes, he had baby formula coating his lungs.

The family decides to one up this entire situation with their final move - they load the dead foal into their truck and take it back to the mother.

No word on the mare. Hopefully they don't feed her what's left of the baby formula.

Number One

It's official. I'm blogging.

Blog that!