My Giant, My Heart

I’ve had this blog on a photo-intermission because Frisco has been very sick. About a month ago, my vet – whose general bedside manner is Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky – told me to prepare for the worst. He didn’t expect Frisco to make it another week. I’ve been pretty much living in the barn, and everything in my life that I could put on pause, I have. I’ve been so sad and so scared and so dirty, but it’s also been a special time, in a weird way. Tragedy incinerates everything that is not important.

We don’t know what has caused Frisco’s decline. He recovered from foot rot in January, then this ailment came on a few weeks later. Blood tests, fecal tests, organ tests have not shed much light nor given us any definite answers, and his treatment has been varied, including everything from antibiotics to flower essences to, most interestingly, a magnet. I fed Frisco a very large, very strong, pill-shaped magnet as a measure against Hardware Disease, which may or may not be at the root of his illness. Cattle are indiscriminate eaters, and if a small piece of metal or wire or a nail or fencing staple is littered in a pasture and then baled into hay, a cow may inadvertently eat it. Once swallowed, the metal can puncture the stomach wall, nearby organs, cause infection – basically, wreak havoc within. Eating a magnet can help remedy this: the magnet draws the metal out of the stomach tissue (as long as it is not aluminum) and holds the offending piece tightly against the magnet at the bottom of the stomach, where it remains (they don’t poop it out). The magnet will also catch any future metal the animal may ingest.

The past few mornings, Frisco has been eager to leave the barn and go out to eat at the hay bunk with Daisy and Fiona. His weight loss has been severe and is very frightening, yet his eyes and spirit are bright and lively. His appetite has improved, though he is still weak and wobbly. This afternoon I was down at the corrals, leaning against the fence, watching him. He ate some hay. He drank some water. He lay down in the sun. I went over and sat next to him, leaning back against his massive shoulder. I stroked his cheek, timed his pulse rate with my phone. He was tired. He closed his eyes. And then he swooped his head around, wrapped his neck around my body, laid his head on my chest, and fell asleep.

{I wish I had a go go gadget arm to have captured this scene from a distance! Alas. This image is two overlapping photos spliced together, hence the “missing” corners.}

Three Little Pigs

Baby Puffballs

The babies have arrived. Chicks! I seriously debated getting turkeys, and one day I will have swans, but this year I decided to be pragmatic and NOT add anything crazy to my plate and just get a handful of chicks. Mike and I decided on six more of the silver laced Wyandottes, who are so friendly and did so well through the winter (at this point, I will never buy chicks that will grow large combs; too many of the chickens we’ve adopted from other people have gotten frostbite).

Mike picked them up at the farm co-op when he was in town late last week, and called me on his way home. “They had a couple extra, so I got them, too,” he said. “But they’re a different kind.” He arrived home with FIVE additional chickies! So much for pragmatism!! So I have eleven chicks living in my bathroom. At least I don’t have to worry about frozen combs with the extra five. They are white crested black polish hens-to-be, and will grow up to look like THIS!