And Then There Was One . . . Maybe

I am down to one chicken.  My adventurous brown Aricauna was gone when I went to the barn yesterday evening.  When she wants back in after one of her escapes, she usually hangs around the stalls, or roosts on top of the chicken yard, waiting for me. 

I looked; no chicken. 

I called; no response to my inviting clucking. 

With growing trepidation I walked around the barn, and searched inside, looking for a mass of brown feathers that would confirm my fears.  No feathers. 

I searched farther afield, looking through the pasture and in the trees behind it, far out of her usual range.  No feathers.  Baffled, I walked the entire hay field next to us, where I have seen a fox take a stolen chicken to eat it, then play with the remains.  But still no feathers. 

This is puzzling, but I've figured it out.   My chicken has gone on a grand chicken-adventure, perhaps getting lost for a time.  One day I will walk out to the coop, and there she'll be, waiting to be let inside.

This is what happens when you watch too many Disney movies.

Meanwhile, the last chicken and Zoe, the chicken coop cat, don't miss their aggressive roommate a bit.  They were sunning themselves in the dirt today.

Pokeweed

A few years ago one of these plants appeared in my pasture by the manure pile.  It was pretty and amazingly fast growing - you could almost see daily progress.  (click on the photo to enlarge; it's a majestic weed!)

It quickly grew to 7 or 8 feet, and had green berries that turned to shiny black in the fall, eaten by birds.

The berries make a red ink or dye.

Wikipedia "fact" - the U.S. constituion was written with ink made from pokeberries.

Another fact, this one from personal experience:  pokeweed is prolific.  It loves horse manure and urine-soaked wood shavings.  This is now my manure pile every summer:



It's covered with a tangle of pokeweed.  The roots are buried so deeply in manure there's no getting them out, and weed killers barely faze it.  What's the point in waging a war I can never win?  I've decided to like it.  Pokeweed is part of my green contribution to the local wildlife.

But any stray berries that take root in my pasture are ruthlessly mowed to shreds.  Two manure piles make for quite enough pokeweed.

Fritz, Superhorse and Man of Mystery

Fritz is nearly back to normal!  This is from today, with the injured front hoof nearest to the camera.



For a horse that could barely touch his toe to the ground 3 weeks ago, his progress is amazing.  And the final verdict on the cause - we still can't be sure, but the farrier has now reversed his decision, and says it wasn't an abscess.  The evidence would show up by now.  Sooo, the best guess is a ruptured or detached tendon, perhaps the flexor tendon where it attaches to the coffin bone.  (For all you anatomy nerds.)  All I care is that my baby is going to make it.

He nearly didn't.  My farrier confessed that the last time he saw him he thought he was about a day away from . . . this was where he made motions of shooting a finger-gun at his head.  No one wanted to ever say it in front of me, but I could see as well as they could that we'd run out of options.

Fritz lost a lot of weight from the constant pain combined with the 100 degree heat, and he no longer wanted the magic oatmeal that was a staple for him.  I switched to applesauce.  He was thrilled!  He's been going through one 3-lb jar every day while I've been fattening him back up, and it works well.  I'm trying to wean him off his habit by diluting it with water, and so far he thinks that's okay.  Not having many teeth limits my options.  (The horse, not me.  I still have my teeth.) 

I mix the applesauce with Equine Senior pellets, which according to my one-year old granddaughter are yummy enough even when eaten plain.  Not that I encourage eating horse food (note to her parents,) but she popped one into her mouth before I could stop her.  It wasn't hazardous enough to risk getting my fingers bit off by going after it, but I tried to discourage her by saying "No!  Ick!"  She disagreed.  Giving me her sincere big blue eyes, she said, "Mmm!"  So for the record, Equine Senior might make a good breakfast cereal.

Fritz Update - Progress?

When I left for conference, Fritz could hardly stand to put his toe down to take a step.  His hoof was in a poultice for the week I was gone, and when I got back he was putting some weight on his foot.  Today he walks with a pronounced limp, but he walks, using the whole hoof. 

We expected that the abscess would find a route out and we would see a sudden improvement.  Instead, we're getting a slow improvement.  Swelling and heat are both down around the coronary band, and the underside of the hoof is sensitive in front.  If there's a small seepage I can't see it.  But heck, I'll take whatever progess I can at this point. 

It's An Honor To Be Nominated!

I didn't win a gold statue, but I have my blue and gold flag that proves I was a finalist!  Well, it does unless you happen to come across one by accident.  I was operating on half a brain most of this week, and like a ditz, I left my flag at the Pocket signing when I had to dash off early to Rita rehersals.  When I checked later, it was gone.  I asked if it had been turned in, and RWA officials took pity on my addled state and gave me a new one.  Then I ran into my editor who told me she had my flag.  I could lie and pretend I finaled twice, but that's no fun.  So I told her to keep it - she's had many Rita finalists and winners over the years, and she deserves a flag, too!

For those who have never been to an RWA convention, many publishers hold a signing event, giving out their authors' latest books free to conference attendees, with authors on hand to autograph.  I signed and gave out 2 cases in the hour I was there - about 75 books.

There's another stack of books on the other side of me.  The flag is beside my computer monitor now, where I can continually distract myself with my past glory.  And thanks to Cherry Adair, (another Rita finalist) who sat next to me, noticed my sad state of preparedness, and whipped off a huge roll of gold foil stickers to put on my book covers that said, "signed by the author."  the extra touch  that says I'm a professional, even if I need to be steered in the right direction.

It was a similar scene at the Literacy book signing:

With my buds after the Ritas.  Cheryl Ann Smith on the far left writes Regencies for Berkley; Patti Shenberger writes for several e-publishers, and Beppie Harrison is published in non-fiction. 

 And now it's back to work on something new.  As soon as I finish the laundry, buy groceries, pick beans in the neglected garden, clean the barn . . .

RWA Literacy Signing

You know that rush you get when you snort a line of coke right after chugging a Red Bull?  Me either.  But I imagine it would get you as charged up as I felt at last night's Literacy Signing at the RWA national convention here in Anaheim.  For three hours I got to meet readers and hear how much they enjoyed my books - that's a big enough high to be illegal.  And for others who were attracted by the book cover, I got to introduce them to my new series and my past books.  I hate promoting myself, but when they actually come to me...well, I can be persuaded to brag a bit.

That blue flag announcing me as a Rita finalist helped.  It's like a flashing neon arrow saying "Other authors loved this book!"  Maybe that helped get me a corner lot, too, right on the main aisle.  I met so many wonderful readers and authors! 

The books are donated by the publisher, and all proceeds go to literacy organizations.  RWA donates tens of thousands of dollars a year through this event, thanks to the generousity of the publishers and readers.  And I get an entirely selfish high by connecting with my readers.

Still Waiting...

I keep hoping I'll have a happy update on Fritz's condition, but we are, incredibly, still waiting for the abscess to find a path out of his hoof.  Whoever thought good, strong hooves could be a problem?  He is more sore than ever and the skin above his coronary band is puffy and hot - something is happening, but not enough.  I am more nervous every day, because this has got to be putting added stress on his other feet.  Heck, on his whole system, just from dealing with the constant pain.  To allay my fears a bit, I had a compelte blood panel done to check the general health of his organs, and all is well, just an elevated white count from infection.  So we wait.

I am more uneasy each day, because I have to be gone next week.  On Tue. I leave for the Romance Writers of America's national convention in Anaheim, CA.  This is the BIG EVENT for me, as my book Silver Sparks is a finalist for best single title contemporary for both the Rita award and the Booksellers Best.  This may never happen again.  Fritz was supposed to be well by now.  Talk about conflict.  My husband will be here and will do his best to care for him, but Fritz is my baby.  I'm going to be a distracted, nervous wreck. 

The Right Job (You thought I'd say Write? I don't do cliches.)

I finished my novel!  Big cheer!  I'm on vacation!

Day One - no looming deadlines, no contract obligations.  Total Freedom!  I can do whatever I want, starting with the long-neglected laundry and vacuuming.  Ha!  I knew that carpet was beige!

Day Two - God, what do people do all day?  My head feels empty - no plots playing out in the background, no characters getting themselves into sticky situations.  How can I enjoy a novel when all I see is some other author beating me to a juicy plot line?  Unemployment sucks.

That, people, is how you know you're in the right line of work.  That, and when your husband says he's looking forward to retirement, and panic seizes your gut, and you blurt out, "But I don't want to quit working!" 

Did those words just come out of my mouth?  Yes.  I love my job.  Never saw that one coming.

But Starr, you say.  I thought writing made you frustrated, anxious, and constantly distracted!

I said I was happy, I didn't say I was sane.

The Ultimate All In One Product!

I was walking through my local Tractor Supply store, and saw a large bottle of clear liquid with a name that gave no clue to its purpose.  So I read the label.  And what a revelation!  I can throw out both the Tide and the Mane and Tail shampoo because this stuff will wash both my panties and my horse!

 

Second Opinion

My farrier winced in sympathetic pain when he watched me lead Fritz from his stall.  Every symptom I reeled off and every observation he made led to one conclusion - a deep abscess caused by a stone bruise, probably under the coffin bone, and working its way upward to the coronary band.  As if to confirm it, today the hoof was warm in that area from the infection.

He trimmed the affected hoof to help put more weight on the back, to ease Fritz's pain a little.  He also trimmed the back feet, but couldn't do the other front hoof because Fritz could not bear to put that much weight on his sore left foot in order to pick up the right one.  But he moves a little better tonight. 

My job is to watch for a bulge along the coronary band where the infection will try to find an exit, and pop it.  It'll probably save him a day of pain before it breaks through on its own.  It can't be worse than the abscesses I've drained in cats.  Those things can be nasty.