Ricardo Puts His Best Face Forward

Frisco got pneumonia :(

Frisco has pneumonia. But he’s on the upswing now, which is why I’m able to finally write this post! The past week has been rough, culminating in one night of utter despair as I lay next to him in the straw in the dark with my arms around him, thinking it might be the last time….

Bovine pneumonia is not uncommon ~ calves are susceptible when they are weaned and often survive it, though it can kill. Frisco has not been weaned and is older than the usual age for pneumonia risk, so it was a shock that he became so ill. In fact, at the beginning, when I noticed he was “off,” I thought he was depressed.

Last week, we weaned Mike’s calves, and to do this, we moved the homestead cattle (Sir Baby, TR, 16 and her little calf, all the characters you’ve seen on this site) over to a different pasture in order to use the corrals for weaning. The calves being weaned have an easier transition when their mothers are right next to them, just on the other side of the corral fences. The calves can see, smell, and moo to their mothers and Mike and I have found this set up to be far less traumatic than whisking them away from their mothers.

So, in order to do this, we moved the homestead bunch to a pasture across the road, leaving only Daisy and Frisco in the corrals with the group of calves, so that I could continue to milk Daisy. We also thought that Daisy would act as a den mother for the calves and Frisco, so incredibly friendly and carefree, would be a calm and happy presence. Plus, he’s not weaned from Daisy and therefore stays with her.

Weaning Mike’s calves went perfectly smoothly but I noticed, a few days in, that Frisco was not his usual happy self. He was despondent, and kept gazing over to the pasture where his friends had been moved. I thought he was depressed! The next day, I noticed he was no longer nursing Daisy. Something was definitely amiss.

By that time, the calves were weaned and we had trailed the cows to their fall pasture, and so Mike and I immediately moved Frisco’s crew back into the corrals, but Frisco didn’t even get up to meet them. This was so completely out of character for Frisco that it was undeniable he had taken ill.

Diagnosing an animal is not always easy because they can’t talk to you in words. Sometimes it’s a matter of ruling out options based on physical signs ~ he didn’t have diarrhea, he had a bit of snot, he could walk fine but he preferred not to get up. He had lost weight and wasn’t drinking from Daisy. He kept his head on the ground when he was lying down. Mike and I suspected pneumonia based on these signs. Though none of Mike’s calves came down with colds or pneumonia, it was the first time Frisco had been exposed to the younger bovine set ~ he has only been around adult cattle for his entire life, with the exception of 16’s little baby. That, combined with a sudden shift to cold and wet weather just knocked him down.

At that point, I called the vet and described everything to him, and he also thought it was pneumonia; apparently dairy cattle aren’t quite as hardy as the angus are, either. The vet told me the type and amount of antibiotics and cow aspirin to give to Frisco, and to call with a status report the next day. I gave Frisco the medicine that afternoon (via shots) and made a bed of fresh straw for him in the sheltered part of the corrals where I milk Daisy.

That night was bad, but the next morning, Daisy’s udder was empty ~ no milk for me but YAY!! It was the first time he had nursed in days. Frisco was standing at the feed bunk beside her eating hay as well, and when he rested throughout the day, his head was up rather than down on the ground as it had been before. I will give him another dose of antibiotics today and am still keeping a close eye on him, but I do believe he’s on the road to recovery!

Again, thanks for all your sweet healing wishes to the both of us :)

Clarification.

To make things perfectly clear re/the post below, Part IV:

Neither Mike nor I are DIRECTING ANYONE to SHOOT ANYONE in the LEG!

His words are a visceral and accurate description of the .44 Mag. If you shoot someone in the leg with a .22, they will continue moving forward.

Here’s a photo showing the difference. You can see my shot with a .22 pistol next to the Pepsi logo near the center of the can. And then Mike’s shot with a .44 Magnum made the enormous gash. We were standing side by side, about 30′ from the can when we did this. The .22 makes a sharp loud crack when it’s fired, and the can didn’t really move when I shot it. When Mike shot his .44, I felt the boom under my feet. The can flew. This is all to say, the .44 Mag is a beast. It’s to protect oneself against grizzlies. And this happens to be the gun the cops found, loaded, on the stalker when they arrested him.

To reiterate, in stating these comparisons, I’m not advising to shoot the leg. Or to shoot once. Or to shoot at all. I am not advising, period.

Guns are an enormous responsibility and no one should learn technique from a website! That should be done in a safe, hands-on environment with skilled, safety-oriented mentors. I am not giving tactical advice here. OK? OK.

Part IV

Earlier posts:
Intro, Intro Addendum
Part I, Part II, Part III

My best friend has always said that I get the “shrapnel version” of events. The bombs in her life tend to go off right in her lap, whereas the bombs in my life leave me with shrapnel here and there rather than blowing me to bits.

On a Saturday afternoon, an email came in from the stalker. “I have to see you. I’m packing a bag and driving up there…. If you don’t want me to come or if you’re going to tell the Sheriff’s department, just email me and tell me so.”

The last time I had responded to his emails was exactly one month prior, when I had said, “Stop, or I will get law enforcement involved.” He, of course, had continued, sending me hundreds of emails, to which I did not respond but had forwarded to the Sergeant who had taken my case.

When this email came in, my immediate urge was to write back and say “NO! What part of NO don’t you get???” But instead I called Dispatch. The Sgt. was not in but I was transferred to the Lieutenant on duty, who knew the details of my case as well. She said, “Don’t write him back. He will only interpret that as contact, even if you are saying, ‘don’t contact me.’ If he emails you again with his whereabouts, call back. I’m working an event tonight and dispatch will patch you through. If he enters the county, he enters our jurisdiction and we can take him in. If he shows up at your house, call 911.” At this point, I knew what the stalker looked like and I knew what he drove. I was remarkably calm, thanks to the internal transformation described in Part III, and went about my day.

Mike came down at dusk. He had a holstered pistol slung around his shoulder with baling twine, the twine fuzzy from years of use.
“I dusted off my ol’ .44 Magnum,” he said.
“Bailing twine?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “This thing’ll stop a grizzly bear, but you got to keep it close to your body.”
Mike spent years guiding pack trips in the mountains surrounding Cody, an area rife with grizzlies. “If a grizzly shows up and there’s a horse wreck on the trail, and you fly off and your horse runs away, your gun does you no good if it’s tied to the saddle. Gotta keep it on your body,” he said, patting the holster at his ribs.
“May I see it?” I asked. I had seen it before but had paid little attention. He unholstered the gun for me. Black, heavy. His initials were engraved in the handle.
“I don’t ever want you to have to shoot this gun,” he said. “The recoil would probably break your wrist. Shoot a guy in the leg with this, and he’ll fly back thirty feet.”

Mike and I played with Charlie and Chloe, then walked Daisy & Co. down to the corrals and tucked them in for the night. When we got back to my place, I checked my email. I grabbed my phone and was patched through to the Lt in seconds, and read her the email that had just come in. “I’m at the motel in Ten Sleep, room XX. I need about an hour to freshen up and then we can meet.”

This is what I mean about the shrapnel version. I still can barely wrap my head around the cocktail of insanity, narcissism, and stupidity that swirled through this guy’s veins and brain. He pretty much served himself up on a platter, but ONLY because I had done my due diligence in the steps I had taken with law enforcement.

“We’re on the way,” she said. “Sit tight, stay safe, I’ll be in touch.”

Mike and I sat outside. It got dark. Headlights approached and we could tell from the starlight that it was one of the deputy’s trucks. He drove slowly past the driveway. We could hear his radio crackling but couldn’t make out what was said. “Is he lost?” Mike wondered aloud. Just beyond the driveway, his truck squealed in a tight U-turn, sending gravel flying. “Apparently!” I said. But he didn’t turn up the driveway; he sped back towards town at full speed. “Something’s going on,” I said, looking at Mike, who was looking at me.

Fifteen minutes later, the Lt. called. “We got him,” she said. “We arrested him at the motel on stalking charges and we’re taking him in. Call the prosecuting attorney Monday morning, he’ll tell you what happens next. Make sure you ask him to set a high bond. [the Sgt’s name] and I will be back Tuesday.”

Part V is HERE