July 2007

~ Rose Fyleman ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As if our home is not crazy enough, July has been a month of foundlings. First was a starling baby which fell from a nest 16 feet up in the hay barn, and attempts to return it to it's nest failed repeatedly. No feathers at all, just crazy fluff on it's head and a gaping mouth twice as wide as it's head, the little thing was determined to be on the floor of the barn, and we resigned ourselves to being surrogate parents to it and settled into a routine of feeding every 20 minutes sun up to sun down.

So when work was being done in the same barn a few days later, and Randy appeared at the back door with something tiny in his cupped hands, I sighed, assuming we were about to have a second nestling. My heart absolutely sank however when I realized that he had a handful of wriggling newborn mice. The nest had accidentally been torn apart, and being not more than a few days old, they had no chance of survival without their mother. 

Most people would have at this point stepped on them or worse, left them to slowly starve, but no matter how small or large, if we have disturbed creatures that are not doing any harm, we do our best to correct it. My first course of action was to go and see if the mother was anywhere near looking for her babies. I have seen this once before when a nest was disturbed. I was hoping that she would move the newborns to a new location and continue her motherly duties, however three hours later she had not reappeared and time was running out for these hungry little creatures. 

Mice are extremely difficult to hand raise, especially before their eyes are open, but I felt that when they expired, at least I would have tried, and they would not have died cold and hungry. It  was too late at night to go to the pet store to get kitten milk replacer, which was the suggestion of all the internet pages I could find related to orphan mice, so I turned to my book on raising orphaned animals and birds, and mixed up the suggested formula for tiny animals with high caloric needs. 1 level  teaspoon of honey and 1 egg yolk, mixed in enough milk to make 4 - 6 ozs. stored in the fridge and warmed in tiny amounts as needed. With an eyedropper, I began feeding each of the 12 tiny babies, and every two hours I repeated the procedure, transferring each baby in turn as it was fed to a second container in order not to lose track of who was fed and who was not. By the third feeding they had caught on somewhat and began to lick the drops of formula from the end of the dropper. The early feedings were only a couple of drops at a time, and they would nestle down to sleep again, warmed by a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel under their nest box. Every two hours all through the night, I set the alarm and continued the feedings. Randy offered to help, but I was so nervous about these tiny delicate babies being held too tightly, that I insisted on doing the feedings myself. (he has a very strong grip and does not always realize how strong)  He helped by warming formula and re filling hot water bottles. Most of the babies would gag occasionally when they got too much too fast, and formula would bubble out it's tiny nose. My book had warned this would happen and said to hold them upside down till their passages cleared, and a few seconds later they would be back to normal and feeding again. 
By morning all 12 tiny babies were still with us, and I was so tired that I could barely move, but I was committed now. I thought about going to get the kitten milk replacer since all the internet info said they could not digest cow's milk, but I was afraid to change what seemed to be working so continued with the home made formula. Another day went by, and another, and I began to wonder if they might survive after all. At five days however, we lost the first one. Soon we lost another, and another, and went down to just five. Six of the babies which we referred to as "the tinies" had seemed to be less mature than the others, and we wondered if it was possible that there had been two litters in the same nest. I think however that they were just the weaker ones that would not have survived anyway had the mother raised them. All but one of those six, which we dubbed "Tiny Tim" were the first to pass away. Tiny Tim hung on and we eventually lost two of the more mature looking ones as well, leaving us with a total of four. At several days old, I was faced with the dilemma of having to go to work, and packed my little box of babies, formula, hot water bottle, dropper and tissues, into the car and went off to work. I parked the car in the shade and opened the windows, checking occasionally to make sure the temperature was not too hot, and at supper and break time I would slip out to the car, feed them, and tuck them back in. This included three nights that I worked, when being the only one on staff I could not leave the building, so the mousies had to come inside with me...shhhhhh : )

They were now old enough that at feeding times I only had to put my hand into the box and the babies would cling to my fingers and scramble up to sit in the palm of my hand for their turn. They began to grip the end of the dropper with their tiny paws and suck greedily at the formula.

When we had had the babies nine days, Randy and I had to go to New York briefly, and still too young to survive without their feedings every 2 or 3 hours, the decision was made to take them along. I stressed about what to say at the border, however no questions were asked and I did not volunteer that we had four little extra passengers. There are no regulations or requirements for crossing with pet rodents, and they would not be getting out of the car anyway. We were back across into Canada in short order, and other than to get their feedings, the babies were never out of the nest box, but I breathed a sigh of relief once we and our "contraband mousies" were back in Ontario. We drove through one of the worst thunderstorms with torrential downpour for several hours, but our little babies slept the hours away till we arrived home.

When the mice had been with us 13 days, Tiny Tim, whose eyes had finally opened and who had actually started getting fur, suddenly stopped eating, and despite our attempts to encourage him, he too died. The same evening, we had to drive about three hours away to pick up our son, and the mice went on their last road trip with us. (The remaining three had continued to grow, and were now beginning to nibble solid food.) On the way home I attempted to pick one up out of the container, but as I was awkwardly using my left hand (the formula filled dropper being in my right) instead of scooping it up in my cupped hand, I managed instead to somehow propel it over the edge and onto Randy's seat. Randy yelled and made a grab for it as it disappeared between the seat and back, two little legs and a tail vanishing through and onto the floor being the last thing Randy and I saw. Mike saw it on the floor and also made an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve it, and then it was gone. We got on our hands and knees outside the car, looking everywhere. It was dusk and with the light fading, Randy ran into a store and bought two flashlights. We carefully removed everything from the car, mats, maps, junk, jackets etc. and still no sign of the little escapee. I was becoming very distressed by this point. The wee mouse could not yet survive without us, and having been through so much to keep them going, I was desperate to find it.

After an hour of searching we accepted that we had to continue on, and unsure if it was hidden somewhere, or if it had managed to escape the car altogether, drove home. Once there we removed all the junk from the car again, and with a flashlight, a smelly piece of cinnamon raisin bread, pillow and blanket. I settled down in the quiet to listen . Focusing my attention on an opening in the carpet under the front passenger seat, under which the baby had last been seen, I waited. An hour passed, and I began to hear a very faint scratching sound which I was certain was coming from under the carpet in front of the back seat. I held my breath to hear better, but there was nothing. Perhaps I had imagined it. Another half hour passed and I heard it again, louder and higher up under the carpet between the seat and the side door. This was no bug crawling round! Flipping the back seat forward I could see that the rug across under the seat was not fastened at the back, and I slipped my hand under as far as it would go but felt nothing. Fearing what Randy might say I pulled the corner of the carpet from under it's anchor, and rolled it back as far as I could, and there at the edge was my lost mouse slipping back down over the wheel well. I grabbed quickly but only managed to brush it with a finger. At least now I had seen it and knew that it was still in the car! I placed a piece of the bread there and waited again. 15 or 20 minutes later, a tiny face peeked out from under the turned back carpet. I gently put my hand down to it, and it nibbled at my finger. Pulling my hand back slightly, I lured it forward until I was able to slide my fingers around it and it climbed onto my open hand. I carried the little one into the house to be reunited with it's siblings, in complete disbelief that I had managed to get it back! Randy fixed the carpet in the car and said even if I had had to cut it he would not have been upset. If I had known for sure it was there and that was the only way, I would have cut it too!

 Today (July 25) is day 15 with them so the remaining three are likely about 19 days old, going by when their eyes opened, which happens at about 14 days. They are still so tiny, but sit holding millet seeds, rolled oats, bits of cereal and crumbs of cinnamon raisin bread in their tiny perfect little paws. We are still dropper feeding them, but they are taking less and less each time now. I don't know if they are going to survive to maturity, but raising these tiny animals has been such an interesting experience, that I wanted to share it with anyone else who has a heart for God's creatures. 

Many people reading this I am sure will think that I am insane, but I don't care. I can not look at any animal and see it as having no worth simply because it is so small. Randy and the kids and I have repeatedly marveled at these incredible beings, that something so tiny has a heart, lungs, a brain, nervous and circulatory systems - all the same things which keep larger animals alive. Eyes not open yet, they would suck their fingers and toes just like our human babies used to do. Randy sat watching this one evening after I had finished feeding one and said "there is no way that this was not created, this could not possibly have evolved from nothing." A visible reminder to us that God is in control. I do believe that the Lord delighted in the creation of each of His animals, and am thankful that I was taught as a child to have an appreciation and compassion for all living things, no matter how small. Although we do not always succeed, there is a great satisfaction in raising an orphan and returning it to it's rightful place in the world. We have taught our children this as well, and have always liked to think that when there is compassion for creatures, that this just naturally continues on to caring about other humans as well. I certainly hope these remaining babies will live, but I am thankful for the way in which I have been made to pause and reflect for a moment, on the intricacies and wonders of  creation. All creatures great and small...

Rebecca

"If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures
from the shelter of compassion and pity,
you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow man."
-- St. Francis of Assisi

April 2007

I have learned since moving to Treherne Farm, never to complain about a boring day. Boring is good, wonderful even! Boring means nothing unusual, out of the ordinary, or distressing. So when we got a break from our very busy schedule this past Friday morning, Good Friday to be exact, I relished the thought of an unhurried morning with Randy and all the kids home, and a pot of coffee. 

Our eldest daughter has moved back to the farm for a few weeks till her graduation from college, as the place where she had been renting was sold. Rather than try to find somewhere to rent for such a short time, she came home. Driving her to college each day consumes several hours. It is one hour each way, and if she only has classes for half the day, we wait. Otherwise, it is a second trip to pick her up at the end of the day.

Our eldest son who recently joined the military, has been in basic training at a base nearly three hours away since January, and after week four when he started getting weekend leave, we have driven down every Friday to pick him up for the weekend, and again every Sunday to take him back, a total of 12 hours each week. We are thankful for the time with both Erinn and Jordan, as we know the time is coming when both may be living far from home, but to say that we are tired, juggling all the driving with work, the farm, and home schooling the youngest three, is an understatement! So having picked Jordan up on Thursday in time for Easter weekend, we looked forward to having nowhere to go, and nothing much to do on Friday morning. 

I came downstairs to the usual chorus of dogs wanting to be let out, and stopped to put on a pot of coffee first. Randy came down next, and behind me I heard him exclaim, "what on earth...?" The words ran my blood cold, as this combination of words usually means some sort of calamity. He was looking down the basement stairs, and peering over the edge, the glare of large white splotches on every step met my gaze. "What on earth...?"

A quick search of the basement revealed the source of the splotches, a massive bucket of paint that has not been used in years. It could not have been one of the many usual gallon sized cans with a half inch of dried up paint each, that have been accumulating down there every time we painted a room since we moved here thirteen years ago, oh no, it had to be the industrial sized ten gallon bucket, and of course, still half full. How the lid came off is a mystery since the bucket was still upright, but other than a couple of cats with minimal paint on their paws, we could not find the animal that had daubed the stairs white. As we sprinted round the house checking dogs and cats, no culprit was evident, and scratching our heads, we let the dogs out, and after all were safely back inside, sat down with our mugs of coffee. It must have been half an hour later when Randy suddenly yelled. "I know who it was!" and appeared with a sodden white creature, the half dried paint spiking it's fur like a poor excuse for a punk rocker. The pitiful thing was practically unrecognizable. "Who is it?" I asked. "Tuna", Randy replied. When not painted, Tuna is a gorgeous dark smoke grey, with a white nose and paws, however this animal was solid white, even the eyes were not the colour they should be, glaring angrily back at us, as though we were to blame for it's current predicament.  

Wrapping an old quilt around Tuna in an effort to get him to the bathtub without paint splattering walls and furniture, we raced for the bathroom. I wish in hindsight that we had taken a quick photo, as my description can not possibly adequately portray the state he was in, however we were concerned only with retrieving our very distressed cat from under the hardening crust of muck. Into a warm bath he went. 

Now I know it is possible to bath cats, some perhaps, may even enjoy it, however both Randy and I were no match that day, for one small but extremely peeved, heavily painted cat who had never seen the inside of a water filled tub! Within seconds we were both soaked to the skin, and Randy had been both clawed and bitten as Tuna twisted, hissed and spat. He was an angry little tornado, spraying us and the walls with water and paint. Gripping the scruff of his neck and his hind end, Randy managed to keep him in the water as I rinsed and worked the stiff paint out of the fur. The one good thing about this fiasco was that the paint was latex (and non toxic), not oil based, or I think we would have needed a vet and sedation...and maybe some for the cat too! Four times the water had to be drained and refilled before it started to run off clear. We cleaned his nose, ears, mouth and eyes. For hours he cried white tears as the remnants worked their way out. By now I also had scratched hands and arms, but when a drenched but familiar grey cat was all we had left in the tub, we lifted him out and wrapped him in a large towel. I held the soggy bundle in my arms, and as we turned to leave the bathroom, the furious and less than grateful feline had finally had more than he could take. In an attempt to escape, he managed to get one paw free of his cocoon, and buried all of the claws to the hilt in my neck. I let out a blood curdling shriek but didn't let go, as one by one we carefully extricated his claws from my punctured and bleeding flesh. Tucking the loose paw back in, we wrapped him more firmly, and I sat holding the seething and growling animal until he began to calm down. One of the kids appeared with a hairdryer, which I quickly rejected before it was turned on. Tuna had definitely had enough new experiences for one day!

The still damp beast was finally released to go lick and dry his fur, and promptly hid under a bed for the rest of the morning. It was some time before we could coax him out, and I was able to wipe the last gooey bits of paint from the corners of his eyes. I think he has forgiven us and is none the worse for having survived such an ordeal, but the wounds he inflicted on us are still healing, and I have no desire to ever repeat this experience. We still have no clue how the lid came off the bucket, but Tuna's curiosity must have gotten the better of him, and he must have slipped as he leaned in to sniff the milk coloured substance. Once we were sure the cat was alright, Randy and I laughed about the whole thing. It joins the long list of ridiculous events that leave us wondering from time to time why it was that we ever wanted animals. A question no doubt, to which we will never receive an answer!

There is never a dull moment here. I wish there would be dull moments. MANY dull moments. I could learn to appreciate an entire lifetime of dull, but somehow I think it will never happen!

Tuna - the picture of innocence. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!

Rebecca

February 2007.

All the groundhogs have predicted an early spring this year, Puxatawny Phil, Shubenacadie Sam, and of course Ontario's own Wiarton Willie. With the rodents all in agreement, one should be able to anticipate an end to winter sooner rather than later, however the accuracy of their predictions in years past, has led me to contemplate groundhog stew, which might help to take the chill off winter! We actually saw a predecessor of the current Willie in Wiarton, while on a trip up the Bruce peninsula one year, and I have to say that the old albino boy was so obese that it was hard to imagine him even stirring from his den, much less waddling around to check for his shadow, however the younger, newer and hopefully improved Willie appears to be far more energetic and motivated, so I am relying on him to be correctly heralding the arrival of spring. 

After the most incredibly mild December, and almost a green Christmas, January arrived and alternated between thaw and freeze several times before winter truly set in. Now we have the kind of weather we usually expect this time of year, with bone shattering temperatures and copious amounts of snow. The animals are pretty much staying indoors, even when given the choice, although on a nice afternoon most of the horses find a sheltered spot and stand out in the sun, enjoying it while they can. The large horses and ponies pick up their feet as they prance through the white stuff, and the minis just follow the paths and plow through increasingly smaller areas. Their movements are often restricted for a time at the end of winter, though they always keep a couple of paths trampled down, and amuse us once a day or so by having a silly half hour, galloping single file back and forth along these tracks. Deviating from these areas brings consequences that they learn to try to avoid, as once off the beaten path, a tiny horse can find itself bogged down in snow up to their shoulders, and the struggle to regain solid ground can be a tough one. I have yet to see however, a year as bad as when a friend's 36.00" or so mare strayed off a path and found herself in snow which actually came up and covered her back! The poor thing could only look round helplessly until her owner came to the rescue and dug her a path out (although she took a photo of the incredible sinking first - and I am certain that mare was absolutely GLARING at the camera!) 

Every horse owner dreads a jail break, and we have had our share over the years. A gate or door gets inadvertently left open, and the first horse that spies the error wastes no time in leading the others like the pied piper, into a (hopefully brief) taste of freedom. The problem for the minis at this time of year, is that when freedom does happen, it comes with limited choice of direction, unless the snow is not very deep. So the other day when a gate was left unlatched, the yearlings and two year olds followed the only available route from their paddock by the barn, straight up the plowed driveway, through the front gate, our second line of defense which for some reason had also been left open, and onto the highway!!! Randy and I were busy doing chores when Mike screamed to us that the babies were out on the road, so I did not see exactly who it was that had led the others astray, however in my heart I just KNOW it was Baby Boo and Ruby (Diamonds and Rubies) as those two have proven to be the Houdinis of our miniature horse world. Three strand electric fence has worked well for us for years, containing horses of all sizes, until Baby and Ruby partnered up at the end of last summer, and continually showed us how clever they are at navigating through any number of strands we installed. Ruby being a tiny little thing, started it by almost crawling on her knees underneath the lowest wire, barely bruhing it with her back. As she got taller she just charged, ducked and I assume hit the wire so fast that she felt no sting from the fencer. Baby soon mastered the art of escape along with her partner in crime, and as fast as we returned them to their paddock, they would be outside of it again, grazing contentedly in the back yard with the other foals watching enviously from behind the fence. Baby would at least stick to the grass, however Ruby began to sample anything and everything, including shrubs, daylilies and any other plant that caught her attention. Now it was not just an aggravation, it was a health concern as not all garden plants are good for horses. We finally strung a page wire fence and sat back and smiled at "The two bad babies" (nicknamed after a favourite book from when our children were small) who paced the perimeter looking for any possible escape route. Resigned to their captivity they settled into the main group of youngsters and behaved themselves reasonably well until the other day. 

On this particular afternoon, four horses had remained in the paddock, though it was surely only because they were not quick enough in spotting what had happened, but five of the little darlings were out and away down the road before anyone could stop them. I have never seen Randy move so fast as he did sprinting down the highway after them, which is something that always puzzles me, as never in all the years I have been around horses, have I ever seen a person chasing a loose horse catch up with it, and yet we still do it. Randy duly informed me that he did indeed catch up with them, but that the "darlings" (which is NOT what Randy called them) adjusted their pace accordingly and he just couldn't pass them! Mike grabbed a bucket of grain in hopes of luring the little horrors back, and I jumped in the car thinking I could pass them and perhaps block their route. Thankfully the road was not particularly busy that afternoon. By the time I drove out, some kind person had already slowed down and angled their car across the two lanes, managing to halt the expedition in it's tracks, but not before they had made it a half mile or so down the road. Unwilling to admit defeat, the group did an about turn, dodging round Randy on both sides. Seeing that they were on the return trip, I backed up and parked the car across the lane closest to our gate, hazard lights on to warn approaching vehicles, and Mike and I stood behind it doing our best to block the other lane, hopefully forcing them to turn into the driveway. Despite the fact that any animal escape where traffic is involved is a nightmare, fearing for both human and animal safety, I had to laugh at the sight of the five little brats trotting back down the road, the two bad babies in the lead. Tightly pressed together for security, their little wooly bodies appeared as one huge multicoloured ball of fur with a jumble of little legs trotting incredibly fast under it. It was an absolutely hysterical picture, which I was not the only one enjoying, judging by the grins on the faces in the cars that were sitting waiting for the removal of our roadblock. In unison the little bundle of fur did a left wheel and trotted back up the driveway, and into their pen and back behind bars where the little delinquents belong!

"All's well that ends well" I suppose, everyone is safe and where they should be, and our household has had a new and fierce drilling about leaving any gates open, however if the snow keeps up I have visions of evil little Baby and Ruby plotting to construct a bridge to go over top of the pagewire! So I hope the groundhogs are right, and that spring is just around the corner. I am not a winter person, I personally am happiest when the skiers, skidoers and ice fishermen are crying over the lack of snow and ice. Sympathy is not in my vocabulary when it comes to this subject, however after a long wait, lovers of winter are currently in their glory, and I can only cruelly hope that their glee is short lived! 

Rebecca  

Back where they belong.....for now!

January 2007.

I find myself at the start of this brand new year, wondering again where the last twelve months could possibly have gone. In many ways 2006 was a horrible year and we are glad to see the back of it. Randy developed new health concerns, reminding us both that age is something that we can not avoid no matter how much we try to ignore it's advances. We had the most unbelievable year of vehicle problems that a family could ever experience. The truck, car and tractor seemed to be taking it in turns to see that we did not have a single month pass us by without some major expense. December did not start off well. Mike's cat Angel passed away and will be sadly missed. The evening before Randy was meant to be in Sudbury for pre admission work for an angiogram, the truck broke down coming home from Jessica and Morgan's dental appointments. Another huge expense just before Christmas was not part of the plan, however the Lord sent several blessings our way, and a season that seemed to be all about disaster, was suddenly transformed back into that magical time that we look forward to the rest of the year. 

We admitted defeat with our old car and had it towed away for scrap, and three days before Christmas bought a brand new little car. It is a lovely fuel efficient 2007, with a WARRANTY!!!!! What a welcome Christmas present! : ) Randy's appointment in Sudbury was rescheduled to this month, and even that came as a bit of a blessing since the hospital changed times around, and all going well, he is now only required to spend one night there instead of two. Our hay supplier brought a loader up to our farm and he and the man who does the delivering for us, took two days and ran back and forth and all our hay but one month's worth, is now stacked up snug in our barn before the bad weather, which has been remarkably late in arriving, but is I am sure, still ahead. Four horses left us and went on to wonderful new homes at the end of the year, and if the round sides on some of our mares are any indication, we will have several new little ones running around this coming spring. 

We are greeting 2007 as a clean page, with the stresses of last year behind us and with much to look forward to. Our little miracle from last year, Dove, will be one year old in just a few weeks. She turned out to be the best of a few bright spots in an otherwise very difficult year for the farm. Erinn will graduate from college and move on to pursue her dreams. Jordan is also preparing to leave home and embark on a career. This time is not without worry for us as parents and we will certainly miss them, but we are so very proud of the wonderful young adults they have become! We look forward to our foals this year, we don't know how many yet, but it promises to be an exciting and colourful crop! I managed to get out to some of the MHCO functions last year with friends, and they are also encouraging me to show, so I am now thinking about which horses to take. Thank you Debbie and Heather, it is going to be lots of fun, and I would probably never have worked up the courage to set foot in a show ring without you! (You may still have to give me a shove that first time out!) 

So after an incredibly mild and wet start to winter, we brace ourselves for the coldest and snowiest weeks, however the days are getting longer again and as my mum always said, once the new year gets over with, spring is not far away. Wishing everyone a very happy, healthy and prosperous year in 2007.

Rebecca