Nasty Weather!
This winter has been particularly hard on Massachusetts and our sister states in New England. My husband and I had to spend $1200 dollars to have the roof of our house shoveled. It took a swat team of four men four hours to clear it. Then another $2000+ to have the fiberglass fender of my GMC Sierra replaced. It shattered when it brushed against a snowbank while I was trying to keep clear of snow on the other side while pulling my trailer.
"In the cold these fiberglass fenders shatter like china!" said the gentleman at the body shop.
"What's the point?" I asked.
"Fiberglass doesn't rust."
"Rusting's slower!" I replied Another New England one-two punch--cold shatters and our wet weather and salt aids and abets cancerous rust. Pick your vehicular trauma.
But however difficult this time of year is for us, it's more so for our equine friends. Temperatures that hover vaguely above and below freezing pose particular risks for horses like Dolly who are immune-depressed and underweight. Twice so far I've decided to shut her in her stall during periods of sleet and heavy rain rather than allow her to go in or out as she wishes. Dolly clearly has grown up without shelter of any kind. In fact, she was probably born outside. Though she occasionally walks into her stall, she will remain there only if there's hay in it, and then only briefly. She's much happier with her hay and grain outside on the fresh snow. We let her go in and out of her stall to an outside round pen for two reasons: to ensure she gradually but continually puts weight on her sorry frame, and to keep her stress level as low as possible. But leaving her out in the cold sleet and rain was not an option. We didn't want her to lose precious energy trying to keep warm, or getting so cold she could become ill, so we herded her in and rolled the door shut. We were relieved that she immediately started eating, though she'd occasionally give an anxious whinny. But those gradually grew fewer and fewer during the next two hours. When I checked her later that evening she was happily munching hay. And next morning I was glad to see that she'd felt secure enough to lie down.
These days most horses owned by humans are habituated to stalls because they're born there and from that time on spend at least twelve hours a day in them. We forget that horses are natural-born claustrophobics, fearful of enclosed spaces. (Trailering problems, anyone?) My other horses have a choice; they can stand out in the rain or go in a stall or run-in at will. They also sport waterproof turnout rugs. Though Dolly is now allowing me to stroke her all over, it's still not without some trepidation--no chance she'd permit me to put a blanket on her. And I have no desire to re-traumatize her, much less break my other arm.
Quarantine
I've mentioned that Dolly is in quarantine for thirty days (the word "quarantine" originally meant in isolation for forty days, "quarante" for forty in French) so now is the time that I should go into a little more detail why. You already know some of the reasons. First, Dolly came to us from a horse wholesaler through which hundreds of horses, many of unknown origin, some sick, some physically compromised, are processed each month. All are stressed. Given her semi-feral state we simply assumed Dolly had never received the routine vaccinations needed to prevent tetanus, equine influenza, equine encephalitis and rabies, nor had she been wormed to control the various parasites horses are subject to particularly in poorly managed, maintained, or confined turn-out areas. So we had to protect our horses from her until the incubation period for any of the diseases elapsed and her fecal exams showed she was no longer hosting parasites. We also didn't want our other horses--with their strong immune systems--to transmit anything that they might be able to fight off but that little Dolly could not. So we set up a round pen coming directly out of her stall to establish a twelve-foot space between Dolly and the other horses. It was interesting to note that though horses almost always prefer to be with other horses and can become quite distressed when forced to be apart, Dolly seemed glad to have them near but expressed no interest in joining them. Our horses are all fit and healthy, and I wonder if Dolly didn't recognize that on some level that--given her weakened state--being apart from this robust and playful herd was safer.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that Sirena, the Haflinger mare who'd been her traveling companion, was said to have pneumonia. Fortunately, that turned out not to be the case. But she did spike a fever of 102F several days after her arrival home in Connecticut, and was put on antibiotics, recovering quickly. Five days later Dolly had yellow chunks of mucous hanging out both nostrils. But, thank goodness, she didn't exhibit any swelling under her jaw--a possible indication of the hated respiratory disease Strangles--and she was alert and hungry. As a precaution, we put her on a course of oral antibiotics. Her nostrils have cleared but we're keeping a careful watch.
And, of course, there were those lice! I haven't seen any more but will give Dolly at least one more application before she leaves quarantine. And of course we'll completely strip her stall, scrub it with bleach, as well as apply lice powder.
The Worm Has Turned
Or rather, the egg has turned into a worm and the fly egg into a pupae! Dolly's initial fecal exam was taken during her first week; it indicated a heavy dose of strongyles (bloodworms). So we dosed her with ivermectin paste and will run another fecal in one week. While picking out her pen we discovered what looked like bot fly larvae in a her manure. Bot flies are invidious little creatures that lay eggs on horses' coats. When a horse licks or scratches itself or grooms another egg-laden horse, these fly wannabes travel through the horse's saliva and arrive in the stomach, where they affix themselves to its lining. For eight months they feed on precious nutrients meant for their host. They also prevent any nutrients they don't consume from being absorbed by blocking them from the lining with their bodies. A large number of larvae can result in ulcers, even death. In late spring they're expelled in their host's manure and then burrow into the ground to become flies. And so the cycle repeats itself. I sent Dr. Merriam a jpeg that appears in this blog and asked him to confirm that if this was a bot pupae, was dead or alive, and what to do. He confirmed that it was, but believed that it--and any others expelled by Dolly-were dead because of the ivermectin medicine. He added that I should worm again in six weeks to head off the next phalanx. Disgusting little creatures!
Dolly, Our Horse "Dala"
Though "Dolly" is a sweet name for our two-year-old baby, as she has begun to get healthy, and as I've seen glimpses of her athleticism, I wondered if a more elegant name to put on her show records and entries might be more fitting. Problem: she now knows her name. I needed to find something similar. She's a red chestnut. Hey, what were those funky, chunky, little carved red horses from Sweden called? Weren't they "Dalas"? I googled. Yes, indeed, Dalas they were, and the story of their origin was as charming as they are themselves. In the mid 18th century, war-weary, penniless Swedish soldiers were billeted among the people of the countryside. These gentlemen repaid their hosts by presenting their children with little horses that they had carved from scraps of wood left over from local furniture and clock makers. Because of the abundance of copper in the area they were traditionally painted red. Well, this had possibilities--discarded scraps of wood transformed into charming pieces of folk art. Our once discarded and poor little Dolly girl is now "Dala," a gift to all of us at Windflower Farm.
This winter has been particularly hard on Massachusetts and our sister states in New England. My husband and I had to spend $1200 dollars to have the roof of our house shoveled. It took a swat team of four men four hours to clear it. Then another $2000+ to have the fiberglass fender of my GMC Sierra replaced. It shattered when it brushed against a snowbank while I was trying to keep clear of snow on the other side while pulling my trailer.
"In the cold these fiberglass fenders shatter like china!" said the gentleman at the body shop.
"What's the point?" I asked.
"Fiberglass doesn't rust."
"Rusting's slower!" I replied Another New England one-two punch--cold shatters and our wet weather and salt aids and abets cancerous rust. Pick your vehicular trauma.
But however difficult this time of year is for us, it's more so for our equine friends. Temperatures that hover vaguely above and below freezing pose particular risks for horses like Dolly who are immune-depressed and underweight. Twice so far I've decided to shut her in her stall during periods of sleet and heavy rain rather than allow her to go in or out as she wishes. Dolly clearly has grown up without shelter of any kind. In fact, she was probably born outside. Though she occasionally walks into her stall, she will remain there only if there's hay in it, and then only briefly. She's much happier with her hay and grain outside on the fresh snow. We let her go in and out of her stall to an outside round pen for two reasons: to ensure she gradually but continually puts weight on her sorry frame, and to keep her stress level as low as possible. But leaving her out in the cold sleet and rain was not an option. We didn't want her to lose precious energy trying to keep warm, or getting so cold she could become ill, so we herded her in and rolled the door shut. We were relieved that she immediately started eating, though she'd occasionally give an anxious whinny. But those gradually grew fewer and fewer during the next two hours. When I checked her later that evening she was happily munching hay. And next morning I was glad to see that she'd felt secure enough to lie down.
These days most horses owned by humans are habituated to stalls because they're born there and from that time on spend at least twelve hours a day in them. We forget that horses are natural-born claustrophobics, fearful of enclosed spaces. (Trailering problems, anyone?) My other horses have a choice; they can stand out in the rain or go in a stall or run-in at will. They also sport waterproof turnout rugs. Though Dolly is now allowing me to stroke her all over, it's still not without some trepidation--no chance she'd permit me to put a blanket on her. And I have no desire to re-traumatize her, much less break my other arm.
Quarantine
I've mentioned that Dolly is in quarantine for thirty days (the word "quarantine" originally meant in isolation for forty days, "quarante" for forty in French) so now is the time that I should go into a little more detail why. You already know some of the reasons. First, Dolly came to us from a horse wholesaler through which hundreds of horses, many of unknown origin, some sick, some physically compromised, are processed each month. All are stressed. Given her semi-feral state we simply assumed Dolly had never received the routine vaccinations needed to prevent tetanus, equine influenza, equine encephalitis and rabies, nor had she been wormed to control the various parasites horses are subject to particularly in poorly managed, maintained, or confined turn-out areas. So we had to protect our horses from her until the incubation period for any of the diseases elapsed and her fecal exams showed she was no longer hosting parasites. We also didn't want our other horses--with their strong immune systems--to transmit anything that they might be able to fight off but that little Dolly could not. So we set up a round pen coming directly out of her stall to establish a twelve-foot space between Dolly and the other horses. It was interesting to note that though horses almost always prefer to be with other horses and can become quite distressed when forced to be apart, Dolly seemed glad to have them near but expressed no interest in joining them. Our horses are all fit and healthy, and I wonder if Dolly didn't recognize that on some level that--given her weakened state--being apart from this robust and playful herd was safer.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that Sirena, the Haflinger mare who'd been her traveling companion, was said to have pneumonia. Fortunately, that turned out not to be the case. But she did spike a fever of 102F several days after her arrival home in Connecticut, and was put on antibiotics, recovering quickly. Five days later Dolly had yellow chunks of mucous hanging out both nostrils. But, thank goodness, she didn't exhibit any swelling under her jaw--a possible indication of the hated respiratory disease Strangles--and she was alert and hungry. As a precaution, we put her on a course of oral antibiotics. Her nostrils have cleared but we're keeping a careful watch.
And, of course, there were those lice! I haven't seen any more but will give Dolly at least one more application before she leaves quarantine. And of course we'll completely strip her stall, scrub it with bleach, as well as apply lice powder.
The Worm Has Turned
Or rather, the egg has turned into a worm and the fly egg into a pupae! Dolly's initial fecal exam was taken during her first week; it indicated a heavy dose of strongyles (bloodworms). So we dosed her with ivermectin paste and will run another fecal in one week. While picking out her pen we discovered what looked like bot fly larvae in a her manure. Bot flies are invidious little creatures that lay eggs on horses' coats. When a horse licks or scratches itself or grooms another egg-laden horse, these fly wannabes travel through the horse's saliva and arrive in the stomach, where they affix themselves to its lining. For eight months they feed on precious nutrients meant for their host. They also prevent any nutrients they don't consume from being absorbed by blocking them from the lining with their bodies. A large number of larvae can result in ulcers, even death. In late spring they're expelled in their host's manure and then burrow into the ground to become flies. And so the cycle repeats itself. I sent Dr. Merriam a jpeg that appears in this blog and asked him to confirm that if this was a bot pupae, was dead or alive, and what to do. He confirmed that it was, but believed that it--and any others expelled by Dolly-were dead because of the ivermectin medicine. He added that I should worm again in six weeks to head off the next phalanx. Disgusting little creatures!
Dolly, Our Horse "Dala"
Though "Dolly" is a sweet name for our two-year-old baby, as she has begun to get healthy, and as I've seen glimpses of her athleticism, I wondered if a more elegant name to put on her show records and entries might be more fitting. Problem: she now knows her name. I needed to find something similar. She's a red chestnut. Hey, what were those funky, chunky, little carved red horses from Sweden called? Weren't they "Dalas"? I googled. Yes, indeed, Dalas they were, and the story of their origin was as charming as they are themselves. In the mid 18th century, war-weary, penniless Swedish soldiers were billeted among the people of the countryside. These gentlemen repaid their hosts by presenting their children with little horses that they had carved from scraps of wood left over from local furniture and clock makers. Because of the abundance of copper in the area they were traditionally painted red. Well, this had possibilities--discarded scraps of wood transformed into charming pieces of folk art. Our once discarded and poor little Dolly girl is now "Dala," a gift to all of us at Windflower Farm.
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