Thursday, February 17, 2011

I Can't Make These Things Up

Good Morning Everyone!  I was actually up a little early this morning which brought to mind another early morning.  This is another one of those farm tales that people have been begging me to tell again.  Here you go!

Spot is prone to urinary tract infections.  This is unusual for a male dog.  But, it's not unusual for a male dog with neurological issues--spinal-- who has been on steroids.

He had been whining to go out a lot.  I thought I'd get a sample for Doc and let him check it out.  Doc has warned me UTIs can be the end of a "neuro" dog.  They don't show signs of pain as well.  So, UTIs can quickly become a systemic infection.  This will help you understand my determination to get a sample.

Doc needs a specimen from Spot's first trip outside for it to be most accurate. When Spot decided it was time to go out, I was still asleep.  He'd been off his schedule for a few days. Knowing this, I'd planned ahead.  I put a plastic container by the door.

It was a really cold morning.  I dressed warmly, but not attractively.  Remember, I was asleep when this started.  I had on my nightgown, a heavy wool sweater over it, a pair of tall gray work socks, bathrobe, Ariat riding mules that had seen better days, librarian glasses, and a really bad case of bed head.  I mean, my hair looked like Einstein.  Who was I going to see at this hour any way? No one.  Why worry?  Ha ha!

We head outside.  Spot goes in the flower garden and lifts his leg.  I lurch under him with the container.  Now, Doc likes to be specific.  He also must have a lot of faith in me and Spot and our abilities to meet his requirements.  Doc doesn't want this first squirt.  Doc wants a mid-stream sample.  Ok, no problem.  Again, ha ha!

Spot is wise to this process.  He had a bad UTI back in November.  Spot is also bladder shy.  So, I stick the container under.  I get maybe a quarter ounce.  Spot stops his business...and runs.

I am running after him in my "lovely" outfit with a container of dog pee in my hand, when I hear a truck coming down my driveway.  Crap!  It was one of my "finest" moments.

Ok, they've got to be going back to see my neighbors.  We have a shared driveway.  They live behind me--a whole clan of them.  Seriously, four houses worth of them.  Just don't look at the truck.  The driver won't notice you.  Again, ha ha!

The truck promptly pulls up in front of my gate.  I have no intention of acting like I notice.  Then, the man in the truck starts yelling, "There's a horse in the road!"

Don't get alarmed.  It's not my horse.  I know it's not my horse for several reasons.  First, since it was an exceptionally cold night, my horses spent the night in the barn. The barn doors are still closed.  Second, I have a perimeter fence of field fencing with posts set three feet deep in concrete.  Finally, I have really good gates that are locked at night.

My horses are not getting in the road unless a gate is open.  No gates were open.  I was standing right there beside both exit gates with dog pee in my hand.  I should know.  Besides, I also know whose horse it is: my neighbors.

My neighbors have crappy old rusty barb wire fence nailed into rotten old saplings for posts.  Their horses get out all the time.  It's not news to me.

I yell back to the man, because I have no intention of approaching the gate in this get-up with Spot's dog pee in my hand, "It's not mine!"

He yells again, more insistently this time, "There's a horse in the road!"

I yell back, "It's not mine.  Mine are in the barn!"

He looks utterly disgusted and turns around in the driveway and heads back to the main road.

I did peek around my barn to the main road.  I did not see a horse.  I'd call my neighbors anyway when I got inside.  Those people are thorns in my side.

They sold me the property.  Then they kept me in zoning for eight months and two public hearings.  Complete jerks, especially the old man.  That's another story.  But, needless to say, I don't go chasing their horses down the road.

Why don't you go help those poor horses?  First of all, my liability insurance will not cover me or my employees if we're chasing someone else's horse down a public road and something goes wrong.  That sounds harsh, but it's true.

I'm telling you, my neighbors would have no problem suing me if their horse got hit by a car when I was trying to rescue it.  I promise, no problem whatsoever.  I'd be in court.

And, the person who ran into the horse would sue me.  Actually, their family would have to sue me. If you hit a horse, you're dead.  It's like hitting a brick wall.

Second, those horses aren't very well cared for.  It's not so bad I could report them, but it's not so good that the horses don't head for here.  Seriously, every freaking time those horses get out, they head for my farm.

I think they want to be adopted.  Anyway, those horses might be better off getting in the recycle line for reincarnation.  Maybe they'll come back as one of mine.

I know.  It all sounds harsh.  But, it's all true.  Sorry folks.  I don't want to lose everything saving a horse that might be better off trying again.  Besides, I didn't see a horse in the road.

Back to the story.  I come back inside and call my neighbors.  I call the son who lives directly behind me.  He's a nice guy but he's still following his father's orders even though he's 60 years old.  I call the son even though the horses belong to the old man.  The old man can't hear on the phone.

The son says he knows and he called his dad 20 minutes ago.  Said someone should be out there getting the horse.  Told me it wasn't mine.  No, sh*t Sherlock.  That's why I'm calling you.  Ok, I thought it. I didn't say it.

As soon as I hang up, the phone rings.  I don't even bother to answer with the business name.  I just say "Hello."  I know what it's going to be.

"Are you the horse people?"  Ok, there are three other people around me with horses, but I get all of the calls.  I swear I'm going to put up a sign: If the horse isn't inside this fence, it's not mine!  Call 555-0000.


"There's a horse in the road!"

"It's not mine.  It's my neighbors.  They're taking care of it."

"Oh, ok."

There was another call. Same drill.  Why do I bother answering the phone at times like these?

I called Rose who should be on that road about now.  I was going to warn her not to hit the horse. Instead, Rose was early.  Rose was outside.  She didn't see a horse either.

In the meantime, I still only had a quarter ounce of pee out of Spot.  That was the purpose of the trip outside anyway. Damnit!

This is my life on the farm.  I cannot make this stuff up!  Hope you had a good laugh.  Have a nice day.  Thanks for reading!  I have to go sell sh*t now.  There's a customer in a few minutes.  It's my life!

P.S. Tell all of your friends.  This blog started because too many people are harassing me to write a book about life on the farm. If there's enough interest, well I'll think about it.  And, by-the-way, "Hello Canada!  Hello Singapore! Thanks for hanging in there with the American Cowgirl!"

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