Love and Loss at Christmas

The Christmas holidays can seem awfully lonely sometimes. When Sam and I used to work in the ER, we saw more than our share of the lonely and bereft every year, and it was not only sad, it could be downright exasperating and dangerous trying to deal with those folks. Don’t get me wrong—I fully understand how it can be. Lots of people have dysfunctional families and can count the number of Loved Ones on the fingers of one hand and have fingers left over. Sometimes too, bad things happen.

I’m sad this year, because my little Arab mare Hadarah passed away a few days ago. Yes, I knew it was coming, and had for some time. Yes, I did what I could to spend time with her and see that she was as happy and healthy as possible for the remainder of her days. She had a good life and her last year was a very happy one, possibly the best she ever had. I took pains to change her diet to one where she could keep her weight up and not feel hungry. We no longer had to board her at a stable, and I took care of her myself, plus she had the companionship of my wonderful gelding Laddie. Her last day was spent up on the hill above the house, grazing in the sun with Laddie. It was such a nice day, in fact, that we were able to take her turn-out rug off. My last real memory of her was seeing her standing in the sun, looking down and whinnying to me, because she wanted her afternoon snack. She didn’t have any bad moments that day until the very end, when she seemed confused, and even then, she didn’t appear to suffer. She spent the night in her stall with her head out the window in her door, with Laddie standing next to her as he always did. When we came out in the morning, she had finally lost her balance and was lying peacefully on the floor. I know she went quietly, because there was no evidence that she had thrashed around. The lights went out. Now Laddie and I are sad, lost, and wondering what to do with ourselves. Our world is smaller, diminished, because her sweet spirit is no longer in it. No matter how prepared you are for the end, you never really are.

As sad as I am for myself, however, it’s Laddie that I feel sorry for. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to have our other mare, Schelline, to keep him company when Hadarah left—but we had to sell Schelline last summer, in order to have the money to buy hay for everyone. In a way, though, that’s helped me, because Laddie has looked to me for comfort and support. When we’ve had to put down horses in years past, the rest of them just sort of came over, said good-bye, and then went about their business. Not this time. He’s still looking for her or gazing at and whinnying to the neighbor’s horses across the road. He follows me around like a lost puppy whenever I’m outside and gladly seems to tolerate the crying and excess of hugs. We will need to get another horse, but we can’t right now, since we don’t have the money. Sometimes life just sucks.

I have friends who swear they will never own another animal, because it hurts too much when they’re gone. I understand how they feel, but I don’t agree with them. What is life worth if you never love anyone or anything, because you don’t want to get hurt? I can’t live that way! Yes, losing an animal such as Hadarah hits especially hard, because she was more like my child than a pet. We bring them into our hearts and families, and sometimes imbue them with more human traits than they actually possess—but they are special, and they know it. Hadarah gave me more love than I’ve gotten from most people I’ve known in my lifetime, and I imagine many people out there would agree with me, regarding their pets. So, we mourn them and remember them. Hadarah will have a memorial plaque on our round pen when it's finished, and I’m going to have some of her tail hairs made up into a bracelet. In the meantime, all I can do is cry and hope that Heaven is real, because regardless of whether it is or not, it gives me something more to hold onto. Right now I need that, and if thoughts of Heaven serve no other purpose, then I guess they have done their job.

R.I.P. Hadarah: March 9, 1985-December 6, 2014



Hadarah at 30 years

I lost my best friend this morning. How do you even begin to say good-bye to someone who’s always been there for you? Someone who’s been with you for nearly half of your life? I’m trying to find out. As Sam says, you outlive them all but the last one. It’s so hard when you can see the light slowly fading away, even when you know there is no suffering. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew the day was not far off when I had to say good bye, and today was the day. I hoped to make that as gentle as possible for her, and she was ready. She apparently had a massive stroke just before suppertime last night, and I gave her my last hugs. She went in her sleep, resting in her stall. We should all hope to meet as kind an end. I will remember her often, and the memories are all good. I can honestly say I don’t have any bad memories of her. Her name meant "beautiful jewel" or "ornament," and that's just what she was.  

Hadarah at six months

I first met Hadarah when she was a two-day-old foal, in the stall with her mother Shaamin, peeking out between the boards at the strange creatures who had gathered just outside. She was so small then, a little black filly with a star on her forehead and a few grey hairs dotting her muzzle. We all knew she would be grey anyway, because both of her parents were, but I didn’t care about that. We looked at each other that day in the barn and bonded. I knew somehow, some way, I had to have this horse.

There was no way I could buy her then. We lived in an apartment 25 miles away in North Seattle, and besides, I didn’t have money to buy a horse. The only reason I was even there was because we had been invited to visit friends from a new church and see their horses. They were Arabians, too, the breed of horse I had wanted to own since I was a kid. Life has a way of working things out, though. I don’t understand why sometimes things work out and other times they don’t, but this time they did. I kept in touch with our new friends, and we accompanied them to a couple of Arabian shows at the Tacoma Unit #2 in Spanaway, Washington. The horses were amazing, and I was hooked. Believe me, horses are not difficult to fall in love with, and Arabians are no exception.

I didn't especially care for Arabian shows, however, especially all the politics that goes with winning. If you have to have the “right” trainer, or saddle, or whatever is in fashion this year in order to win, you can leave me out. I have never been interested in playing those games. I’d rather spend my money and time on my horse and becoming a better rider, thank you. As a result, I never attended another Arabian show, even though we’ve owned them for going on 30 years.  

About six months later, I got a phone call from my friend with the filly, asking if I would be interested in buying her. Would I? Are there craters on the moon? We had since moved to a small acreage not far away with a small horse barn, so I at least had a place to keep a horse, but still, money was pretty tight. I told my friend that I didn’t know what I could do about the filly, but she said not to worry. She "knew" I was supposed to have this horse, and it was not working out for the friend to whom she had previously sold her. She had to take the filly back, so if I wanted her, she would bring her over if I could help.

Nedjme

To make a very long story short, Hadarah became my horse. I had no idea how special she was, but a little pedigree research gave me a clue. Her tail female line goes back to Nedjme, the first horse listed in the American Arabian Horse Registry Association. Nedjme was one of the horses brought by the Hamidie Society of Syria to perform at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893, and arguably the best of the lot. Hadarah looks exactly like her now. She also
goes back to Raffles on her dam Shaamin’s side, one of the best Arabians brought to this country from Lady Wentworth’s Crabbet stud in England. On her sire’s side, she is descended from the very best Polish breeding through her grand sire +Pentagon, as well as from the very

+Pentagon

athletic horses the Hearsts imported from Syria. One little known fact of note is that she descends from Rudolf Valentino’s stallion Jadaan, who can be seen in his movies The Sheik and Son of the Sheik. Because so many of the Kellogg horses were used in the movies, she is related to many of them.

Rudolf Valentino on Jadaan

Hadarah and Dianne

But to me, Hadarah has mostly and primarily been my best friend. I've spent many happy hours riding and just being in her company through the past almost 30 years. We had lots of riding lessons and riding on the trails around Kent, Washington, where we lived then. She’s always been her sweet, generous, kind, and very intelligent self, and in the end, she taught me most of what I know about horses. My nickname for her was "Cissie," because when our other mares foaled with her half-sisters, she always wanted to steal them away and keep them for herself. One of the few regrets I do have is that I never allowed her to be a mother. She would have been wonderful at it. She always had a happy whinny for me as soon as she heard my voice, and the only time I ever fell off her, it was my own fault. We had so much fun riding the trails—she was an incurable snoop and couldn’t wait to see what was around the next corner. And there’s been the kind of trust and respect between us that one rarely hopes to find in any relationship, whether it be with another human or an animal. I have always been able to depend on her, and I hope she can say the same of me.

Once, when we were riding the Lake Young's trail along 224th St. in Kent, she was being kind of fractious going up the hill, and I wondered, "What the heck's going on?" That had rarely ever happened, and to her credit, she climbed the hill when I insisted, even though she obviously was anxious about it. When we got to the top, I could see someone had pitched a black plastic bag full of garbage underneath the bushes where the trail turned to head away from the road into the woods--and then the bag moved and a possum crawled out! I was so surprised I just started laughing--it was the first time I had seen a live possum, and Hadarah relaxed immediately. We continued on around the corner on the trail and kept on going, with no further problem that day. She always trusted my judgment.

My aim for the past couple of years has mostly been to keep her healthy and happy with her life. She’s required a special diet, due to the loss of dentition, and that’s at times strained the pocketbook, but it’s my responsibility to keep her fed with food she can eat and enjoy as long as she’s able. I think the veterinarians would be happy with what I’ve done. Aside from that, she was not demanding, and I was able to bring her with me to Northeastern Oregon when we retired this year. She was fed in her own stall, so she wasn’t disturbed and I always put her in it at night. She wore a blanket if the weather warranted it. The rest of the time, she mostly roamed our acreage as she wished, usually in the company of Laddie, my new riding horse, who is a Friesian-cross gelding. Hadarah thought he was the bomb! She even got a little flirting in this past summer.

Here is a poem I wrote about her a few years ago:

 

                                                                 HADARAH

I see through your eyes grey pony,
Little Arab mare, twenty-one winters gone.
You feel the year turning,
The Wheel of Life moving onward.
Deep inside, you know
Winter's coming.

Never any blame
For things I've left undone, and
Always a glad whinny when I come,
Asking for a treat
   (No thought of my owing
    Or your deserving).
You never wonder
What tomorrow may bring.

You are the soul of patience,
Acceptance, understanding, and trust,
And I'm blessed.
You've taught me so much more
Than ever I taught you.
I gave lessons in collection,
But you taught me balance.

In the meantime, I tried to give her the best day she could have every day, and her last day was a happy one, just being a horse, up on the hill with Laddie. I can still hear the last whinny she gave me when I came out the back door yesterday afternoon, telling me she thought it was time for her snack. I regret the days when I could have spent more time with her and I didn’t, but those are the only real regrets I have. I will miss her more than I can imagine now that she’s not there to greet me every morning. Those people who say that animals have no souls or that their souls die when they do, don’t know a thing. If they do, so do we! Now you're free to gallop across the fields of Glory with Shaamin and Waaj, Shaheeda and California, and I’ll be listening for your whinny when I get to Heaven, Doll Babe! I’ll be looking for you! I will never, ever forget you.
 

Hadarah and Dianne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

On Horsemanship

I read a blog post by John Strassburger this week which got me thinking about my own horse journey, which has been over the course of 50+ years (you can read his post at http://horse-journal.com/blogs/the-equine-things-that-matter-most). I also thought about what my sister Laurie had to say about her relationship with her own horses the last time we spoke on the phone.

Mr. Strassburger makes several points worth considering: 1) many folks can’t pursue riding at all if they must care for the horses themselves—they don’t have the time; 2) many people’s education regarding horsemanship is sadly lacking, because riding is the only piece of horsemanship they ever learned; 3) the horses are often better and more efficiently cared for if the pros do it; and 4) if you provide “full care,” then you need to charge enough to actually pay people to perform those services. Amen! I have to agree with him on all these items, but at the same time I must say that no stable has ever cared for my horses as well as I do myself, and it’s been the source of considerable annoyance through the years. Now that I’m the stable manager, I can only blame myself if things don’t get done—but that‘s rare. I’ve never had a stable that blanketed my horses for me or cared for my tack, nor have I had one to groom and tack up my horse so all I had to do was ride. Are you kidding??? Who does that? It must truly cost a fortune if you can find it anywhere. Very few indeed can afford THAT, I would imagine, and I personally would not care to do horses under those circumstances. I love doing all of it, not just the riding, which to me is a very minor part of having a horse.

I am fortunate really, because I was only allowed to have a horse when I was a kid (I was 12 years old when I got my first horse) if I promised to faithfully take care of it myself. That meant feeding, watering, grooming, and mucking out every single day, no matter what, or the horses would be taken away. It was my job to care for my filly and her mother (my Mom’s horse), plus I was expected to hold the horses for hoof care and shoeing, since my stepfather did that part.

My stepdad taught me a few things about horse care, but the vast majority of it I learned on my own by reading, and I know I read every single book our local library had regarding horses, horse care, and riding. Many people do take the trouble to inform themselves as I did with books, DVDs, lessons, and clinics; but at the same time, it blows me away how many people don’t. I was not allowed to participate in 4-H (too costly and inconvenient for my parents), so as all I had was the library. Oh, and we did subscribe to Western Horseman magazine. Believe me, you can’t learn to ride by reading books, but you can learn a hell of a lot else, and I absorbed everything like a dried-out sponge! Even today, I would bet my equestrian library of books and DVDs would put most public libraries to shame. I still add to it from time to time. I also buy books to read on Kindle, so I have my equestrian library to take with me.

I learned feeding and nutrition by reading Diana Tuke’s book Feeding Your Horse or Pony (1987), grooming by reading Grooming to Win: How to Groom, Trim, Braid, and Prepare Your Horse for Show, and of course my Bible, The Event Groom’s Handbook. Then there were the many riding instruction books (Wilhelm Museler’s Riding Logic and Sally Swift’s Centered Riding were among my favorites), and I devoured everything I could find. More than anything, I wanted to learn to ride English, because to me that was real riding. It wasn’t my fault I lived where people only rode Western. I wanted an Arabian too, not a Quarter Horse or Appaloosa, because Arabians were the foundation breed and supposedly prettier and more intelligent—at least that’s what the books said. No doubt teenage rebellion had something to do with it, but I DID eventually get my Arabians, AND I learned to ride English—and not only English, but dressage through Second Level. I tried my hand at jumping too, because I love the sport of three-day eventing, but I kept falling off so gave up on doing it myself, especially after getting my total knee replacement. In a way, it’s too bad, because my Friesian-cross gelding Laddie is a really talented jumper.

Lucky for me, I found a fabulous riding instructor, Karin Bishop, who was also a licensed dressage and eventing judge, so I never felt I had to show in order to know how I was really doing. And, Karin taught me everything I needed to know. I can never thank her enough for all she did for me in the years I knew her and took lessons, but I can certainly be grateful that she was patient and willing to invest the time in teaching me. For one thing, she never yelled at me, even when I wasn’t getting it—she just tried another tack. A big part of it was teaching me how to correctly do the things I thought I already knew how to do—from reading books. Books are great, but they can’t give you all the pieces you need to know, and you need to actually do things yourself, not just watch someone else do them.

I do have some gaps in my horsemanship education. For one thing, I never learned to bandage horses, partly because I never needed to—I never had any lame horses! Also, since Karin came from an eventing background, her philosophy was that horses needed to learn not to strike or step on themselves. The way they did that was by stepping on or striking themselves and discovering out how to avoid doing it again. They learned to be careful on their own. I do use brushing boots when lunging and riding and shipping boots when trailering, but mostly, they do figure it out.

I also never had a horse that colicked, thank God, though I have known lots of folks who have. I always tried to make certain my horses were fed properly and that they were outdoors as much as possible, with other horses, rather than on a high grain/alfalfa diet and locked up alone in their stalls all day. I do blanket them when the weather is foul, but I let them be horses and roll in the mud if they want. It’s what they do! I have to clean up the mess later, but they are much happier for it. I can also say that I’ve never had to deal with a horse that cribbed. I doubt I would ever buy one that did.

Since I’ve retired, I’ve been able to manage my horses as I wanted to do most of my life, and I care for them completely now, since we own our own place. It’s wonderful! I know I wouldn’t have time to do things this way if I still had to work, for one thing my 30-year-old Arab pensioner gets fed five times a day, so I recognize that boarding stables are a must for most folks. Just figure that the pros give your horse the bare minimum care required, and it’s your job to fill in the rest, including routine visits from the vet and farrier. And don’t feel guilty if you can’t ride every day. My sister feels guilty because with her schedule she rarely has time to ride her horse, but she does groom and spend time with it every day. As Laura Graves recently said in an interview on the Universal Sports Network, “Some people are horse people, just like some people are dog or cat people,” and I'm sure I fall into that category! If your horse makes you happy, it’s getting what it needs to be healthy (horses do not NEED to be ridden), and you can afford to pay its bills, then you should enjoy having the pleasure of its company. True, you won't be getting what most people call your “money's worth," but don't fret if you don’t have time to ride. Do what you need to do to change things so you CAN, and just don’t feel guilty, period.

 

Say Cheese!

Well folks, today I had a sort of graduation day from cheesemaking school: I waxed my first hard cheese and put it on the shelf to age for at least a month. It is a simple Monterey Jack, but it represents lots of measuring and cooking milk, cutting curd, and putting cheeses into the press. So far I’ve managed to make an average of one two-pound cheese a day, and I’ve been doing it for about a week now.

Before moving on to hard cheeses, I made loads of fresh Chevre, seasoned with just sea salt, or salt and herbs, but my favorite has sun-dried tomatoes and chives in it. Yum! You know, the kind you pay $5 and up for 4 oz. at the store? My refrigerator was getting pretty well loaded with that, though, so I decided I had to move on. After all, you can only eat so much fresh cheese. Besides we use mostly aged cheese, especially cheddar and pepper jack. I want to try making Parmesan too, but I haven’t used my cream separator yet (Parmesan is made with skim milk). Sam has to mount the separator on a board for me. I would probably do it myself, but I’ve got carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands right now and can barely function, though it hasn’t stopped me from milking the goats (a no-no I was told).  Look out once the separator is working, however, because I will be able to make butter and ice cream too!

The only thing that hasn’t turned out well is yogurt, and I’ve tried just about everything. Goat milk typically makes thinner yogurt anyway, but mine has been more like buttermilk than yogurt. I haven’t tried pasteurizing, cooling, and then re-heating it yet, though I have tried holding the milk at 180⁰ F. for 20 minutes, and even adding dry milk powder to increase the solids. That has been a challenge, because we really like yogurt, and I had become accustomed to making my own Greek yogurt with store-bought pasteurized cow milk.

As with most everything else, I suppose you just have to keep at it. Persistence always wins in the end.

You Can't Have Just One

If you recall my last blog post, I had once again acquired a small herd of dairy goats. I believe sheep flock and goats herd (they don’t really—either of them, but that’s another story), just as there is a gaggle of geese and a murder of crows. Isn’t the English language wonderful?

Goats are like potato chips, as are sheep: You can’t have just one. They are social creatures, so they need company, and believe me, YOU don’t want to be stuck being herd queen. If you are, the other goat(s) will follow you literally everywhere, bleating along the way. You’ll find yourself hiding in the house, since that’s usually the only sacred place they can’t go—unless one gets sick and you end up having to nurse it around the clock.

Obviously I like goats, or I wouldn’t have gotten them again, but they can be really annoying sometimes. Most breeds of goats are fairly quiet, but Nubians—my favorites, are not. Most goats make a noise like a demure little eh-eh-eh, or perhaps a short Ba-a-a! to be more emphatic. Nubians typically make a BA-AH-AH!!! sound, as loud as they possibly can, over and over. I call it goat screaming. You get the picture. I’m only grateful that of the eleven I have, only three are bleaters, and then only part of the time. I thought Romy was going to drive me out of my mind the day I decided to dry her off. We heard goat screaming all day long, until I was at the end of my rope and absolutely did NOT care anymore. I imagine my neighbors across the canyon wondered what on earth I was doing to her! Fortunately, it only lasted all that day and part of the next. Blueberry (my favorite milker) will bleat unceasingly when it’s time to be milked, or if she wants me to do something, such as let her out of the pen. If she manages to let herself out in the morning, she will come and bleat underneath my bedroom window to be sure I know she wants me. NOW. The other one is Kingfisher, our Nubian buck, who carries on as though he’s going to die, whenever the girls go where he is unable to see them.

You also cannot keep them out of anywhere, unless it’s surrounded by a solid board wall or a 10-foot woven wire deer fence. And trust me when I say that they absolutely will eat anything and everything within reach, especially if it’s something you don’t want them to, such as your prize roses. I had to barricade the entrances onto the deck, because they were up there ALL the time, looking in my windows, getting into stuff, and (need I mention it?) leaving a little trail of goat pellets behind. I tried terrorizing them (running at them while yelling and waving my arms around), but that made no impression at all. Finally I nailed up some boards, because they just bulldozed their way past everything that was movable.

“The girls” (AKA the milking does) have finally gotten to be reasonably civilized about the milking routine. There is a small room in one of our outbuildings that I use as my milking parlor, with an adjoining room that makes a handy feed room, and the building itself is right next to the goat yard. Unfortunately, I have to “run the goatlet” to get into the milking room, and I usually have an armload of milking equipment with me. The four does I milk will be waiting for me, each one jostling the others trying to be first in the door. It’s fun. They DO know who’s supposed to be first, though, so Cherry generally makes it in the door by herself, while I set down my milk things and cram the rest of them back out the door. I’m usually yelling, “Get out!” too, as I do this, which makes for a ladylike picture. Sometimes a second doe will get past me and I’ll have to throw her out. The worst one is Lady, who is NO lady—my nickname for her is The Moose. She barges right in, and once started, it’s like trying to stop a freight train. The other doe that was supposed to come in will have beat her onto the milking stand, so she’ll look at me as if to say, “What happened?” Egad.

It’s not all fun and games though. Once the milking is completed, then I have to tend to the milk itself. I finally got smart and started putting everything through the dishwasher, rather than washing it by hand. Hand washing dishes is probably my least favorite chore anyway, but what made me stop hand washing was that the faucet on the sink completely failed and started spewing water all over. There was one heck of a leak under the sink, too, so Sam ended up having to replace the whole thing. That only took a couple of weeks, since we had to order the sink. Guess how many times you use your kitchen sink in a day?

We do drink the milk, but mostly I’ve gotten to learn how to make cheese, since there’s so much of it. I want to learn to make butter also, but that hasn’t happened yet. I had to order a cream separator from the Ukraine, since it appears nobody in the U.S. makes the small ones anymore. That was right before the current crisis there, so I wondered if I would get it, but it arrived even earlier than expected. I don’t have a butter churn yet. My plan was to use my Kitchenaid mixer, but I don’t know how well that will work. Basically, you just keep beating cream to get butter, but it might be difficult to remove the buttermilk using the mixer. I will have to give it a try.

You may be wondering why we bought so many goats anyway. Well, we have all these weeds and brush that need basically to be eaten by somebody. Goats do a far more efficient job than burning or poisoning the stuff, though you have to be careful. Some of what’s out there is toxic, so you have to remove that yourself. Sam had to pull up and burn a ton of spurge, since the horses couldn’t eat it either. Goats can convert a great deal of otherwise noxious plant material into something useful, such as milk and cheese. And I’m glad! It’s far better to have a nice blob of fresh Chevre and some crackers to snack on than all those teasels or Scotch thistle. And the goats love what they do!

One Thing Led to Another

I haven’t posted a new blog article for a bit, because frankly, it’s been rather hectic around here. Some of you may remember that Sam and I used to have dairy goats years ago before we moved to the big city. We had thought we might get some again once we got settled on our new place, though the jury was still out on that. Any kind of dairy animal is a lot of hard work, plus the dairy part really ties you down. Want to go out to dinner? Have the goats been

milked? Want to get out of town for the week-end? Who will do the milking for you? Guess what, unless someone else in your family is already good at it and doesn’t mind lending a hand, you ain’t goin’ nowhere! You can’t just ask a neighbor to drop over, nor can you take them to the kennel for the duration. You could conceivably take the goats with you on a camping trip. I honestly do know people who do that—in fact my nephew Chris rents his out for packing—but do you REALLY want a flock of bleating goats running after you as you hike or ride up the mountain? I didn’t think so!

Well, so I saw an ad on Craigslist for a milking Nubian doe, a purebred buck, and their four kids. She was a nice-looking doe, as was the buck, and kids are always cute. Sam and I talked it over and thought we’d like to buy at least the doe and the two doelings, so I emailed the seller and said we’d like to come over. It took several days before I heard back, but then we had an address and phone number and made arrangements to visit.

Before going any further, I should explain that I am very spoiled on having top-quality dairy goats. Yes, if I wanted them just for the milk, any old milk goat would do—but I want PRETTY goats with really nice udders, and of course Nubians have the best (i.e. richest) milk, so that’s what I wanted. I’m not a cheapskate either, and I don’t mind paying for quality, especially if the animal in question has the pedigree to go along with it. I had to do a little homework to get back up to speed (we haven’t had goats for 35 years!), so I would understand what was in those pedigrees, but now I feel fairly confidant.

So we drove to where the goats were, and of course we bought them. We declined on the buck, though he was well-mannered, pretty, and not a stinker right then (I should warn you that buck goats are famous for their very strong odor during certain parts of the year); but I didn’t see that we could use him since we were buying two of his daughters. All went well and we brought the goats home.

Then we got to thinking (and that usually gets me in trouble) that we should buy another milking doe, since the one we now owned had two kids nursing—so no milk left over for us right now. I had already sent an email to some folks with a nice herd in Northern Idaho to ask if they had any mature milkers they might sell, and I heard from them the very next day. Yes, they had a number of does for sale. I called back and made arrangements to come up there, not realizing that it was a six-hour trip one way. Sam and I are nothing if we are not intrepid, so the next day we drove to Northern Idaho and returned home with TWO more purebred Nubian does!

 

We needed a buck, now that we owned three mature does, and since neither Sam nor I want to get into the baby goat business (most people breed their does and then sell the kids as future milk goats or raise them as replacements), we decided to buy a Boer buck. Boers are smart, friendly, and look like Nubians in that they also have the lovely Roman profile and long, pendulous, bell-shaped ears, but that’s where the similarities end. They are primarily meat goats, so they do NOT have dairy character. They are little blocks! Fortunately, we knew where there was a lovely three-year-old buck, and as luck would have it, his owner was in the process of getting out of goats. A short drive later and “Dino” (short for Houdini) was ours too. He is currently residing in the chicken house adjoining the garden area (which is presently filled with grass and weeds) and is happy as he could be. He’s really a sweetheart, even though he smells quite bucky. Sorry, but I don't have picture of Dino!    

In another day or so we’re going to Pasco to pick up three more Nubian does, plus that cute Nubian buck that we turned down last week.

We will have six mature milking does, two doelings, and two bucks, so we now officially have a herd of goats—or they have us, which is realistically more true. I also joined the American Dairy Goat Association and today registered a herd name—I put in for “Imnaha.”

So, you may ask, what am I doing with all that goat milk? Making cheese! I hope to sell a bunch of it at the local farmer’s market this year! Wish me luck!

Making Homemade Italian Sausage

Today I did something I’ve never done before: I made homemade Italian sausage, using my Kitchenaid mixer and food grinder attachment. And, it was super easy! I will probably never BUY Italian sausage ever again! It was fun, too.

You should be aware that I’ve had my Kitchenaid professional mixer for at least 10 years (I bought a refurbished one) and have hardly ever used it, because I dislike using machines when I can do a task by hand. That’s getting more difficult to do these days, however, since the arthritis in my hands has moved to a new level. I decided I might as well use the mixer and attachments I invested so much cash in. After all, I can just toss everything in the dishwasher when I’m done. I also have a manual meat grinder I can use if I wish. I bought mine at Value Village in Kent, Washington last year for five bucks! It’s exactly like the one my Grandma Rose used to have, and I may even have hers around here somewhere. I decided to use the Kitchenaid just because, and also because I don’t have a kid available to turn the crank for me while I stuff meat down the hopper. I’m certain I’m coordinated enough to do both tasks at once, but then why not just use the Kitchenaid?

I decided to make my own Italian sausage, because the local supermarkets frustrate me, having been spoiled by shopping in the big city—the closest store, not counting the Imnaha Store and Grill (2 ½ miles), is 28 miles from my house. If you are a purist, making your own is also the only way to get away from nitrites, which have been implicated in cancer. Safeway in Enterprise, Oregon (34 miles) does sell Italian sausage, but the time I bought theirs it had hardly any flavor. To be fair, they also sell Johnsonville Italian sausage, which is acceptably tasty. The Mt. Joseph Grocery in Joseph, Oregon (28 miles) has wonderful, locally-made Italian sausage—when you can get it, but their butcher doesn’t make it all the time, I learned to my dismay. Fortunately, they also sell the Johnsonville brand, which is kept in the frozen food case. I decided I might as well try my hand at making it, since I enjoy cooking and being self-sufficient is more important out here. You can’t just run to the corner market when you run out of something. The Imnaha Store and Grill does have milk and eggs, but most of what they sell is camp and snack-type food for tourists. They also sell soda pop, beer, and bait.

I’m sure I will need to make several batches before I’m satisfied with the mix of seasonings in my own sausage, but that’s all right. I’m in control now. I bought a 6.79 lb. chunk of pork shoulder when I shopped at Safeway the other day, which cost me $13.98 ($1.99/lb.). I had to bone it out (Roxi was thrilled about that—I sent her off to the back yard with her prize), and I did carve off the fat from the one side, only to finally grind it up too, since the ground meat looked too lean without it. Grinding up the meat took maybe five minutes at most. Then I tossed all the ingredients in a 4-qt bowl, mixed them up by hand, covered the bowl and placed it in the refrigerator. Clean up amounted to disassembling the grinder, putting all the parts in the dishwasher, and wiping down the counter. Tomorrow I shall cook up a portion of it to see how it tastes and make any adjustments before packaging up the rest to store in the freezer. Then I will make lasagna. Here’s the recipe I used today, which I adapted from several different ones I found online: 

Homemade Italian Sausage

2 lb. ground pork shoulder

1 tsp black pepper (freshly ground, if possible)

1 ½ tsp dried Italian seasoning

1 tsp dried garlic powder (or substitute 2 Tbsp fresh garlic, minced—about 4-6 cloves)

1 Tbsp dried parsley (or substitute ¼ cup chopped fresh parsley)

1 Tbsp dried red pepper flakes (use more or less, to taste)

1 tsp fennel seeds, toasted and crushed (or substitute anise seeds)

½ tsp paprika

1 tsp minced dried onion (or substitute one small onion, minced)

2 tsp salt

2 Tbsp dry red wine (optional)

Mix all ingredients in a large bowl. Cover and store overnight in the refrigerator (24 hours is best) so flavors meld. Be sure to brown meat in a skillet before using. Use for any recipe requiring Italian sausage that is not in casings.* You can put it into casings too, if you prefer, using the stuffer attachment on the meat grinder. 

*Note: This would be nice used in lasagna, jambalaya, or stuffed baked zucchini, for example. I also like to use it for part of the ground meat in my Grandma Rose’s Meatloaf recipe. 

Blackfish

Some of you may recall that I wrote several posts regarding Tilikum, the subject of this documentary, back in March 2010 (“the Tragedy of Captive Killer Whales,” “Addendum,” and “In Fairness, My Last Word”). Before reading this post, it would be good to review what I have already written, if you can. Well, I finally watched Blackfish yesterday (February 22, 2014), which I originally recorded on October 24, 2013—a delay of nearly four months—because I knew it would be disturbing.

Blackfish, directed by Gabriela Cowperthwaite, made its debut at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival on January 19, 2013 and was picked up by Magnolia Pictures and CNN Films for wider distribution. It specifically focuses on the life of Tilikum, a captive Orca whale owned by SeaWorld Entertainment, and the lives of captive killer whales in general. Former SeaWorld trainer Bridgette Pirtle maintains that the film is “a complete 180 of how it was represented;”[i] and Mark Simmons, one of Tilikum’s first SeaWorld trainers, charges that few of his comments were used because they did not support the director’s agenda in the film (Mr. Simmons’ interview is quoted a number of times). Not surprisingly, SeaWorld itself refused to take part in the film’s production and states the view it presents is “inaccurate.” The film has had a sizable impact. Considering that following its release a number of bands and recording artists cancelled their contracts to perform at “Bands, Brew and BBQ” at SeaWorld Orlando or Busch Gardens Tampa in 2014, and the sale of tickets is down (an estimated $15.9 million dollar loss), I’m sure SeaWorld is not happy about it.[ii] In addition to that, CNN conducted an online poll (aired with the film I recorded) which stated that 61% of the respondents would not take their children to see a SeaWorld show. We all know information can be manipulated to agree with one’s own agenda, but I would challenge you to watch the film and draw your own conclusions. It is available through Netflix.[iii]

The ethical treatment of animals is a subject rife with controversy, not the least because our daily lives revolve around them. Whether they be beloved pets or companions, members of species we rely upon for food, or creatures we only see on occasion to entertain us, such a subject would have never come up many years ago. While we may or may not agree with the subject of animal rights or PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals), it’s something we should give serious thought. DO animals have intrinsic rights, or should we only be concerned about their welfare?

From what I’ve been able to discover, it appears to hinge on the status of animals in our society, their intelligence, and whether or not we believe they have souls. Some would argue that speciesism is as much a prejudice as any other. In the past, when it was debatable whether all human beings (such as slaves) had souls or were even human, animals were not considered to have them. It was only important if you, or grandmama, might be reincarnated as one—then it mattered!  Our present world (or at least, parts of it) regards animals differently. Nowadays, many people don’t have children, but they do have pets, so the pets become surrogate children. It is not at all unusual for some people to spend more money on their dogs or cats than other people are able to spend on their kids. The pets are referred to and even thought of as children and imbued with anthropomorphic human attributes—which the animal doesn’t actually possess, of course.

Pet animals are a relatively new phenomenon in society. In the not-so-distant past, all animals had jobs to perform, whether it was providing food, guarding the premises, carrying or pulling burdens, eliminating vermin, herding, or hunting. Scarcely any animals were kept for companionship alone, and then only the rich could afford them. When an animal could no longer perform its job, its owner had little choice but to get rid of it. People couldn’t as a rule afford to keep animals that were unable to pull their own weight. Dead livestock were eaten, unless it was unhealthy to do so. That’s not to say that people didn’t care about their animals. They certainly did! Life was more utilitarian. People didn’t have the luxury to keep animals unless they had a practical use for them.

As a horse lover, I’m well aware of the movement to improve the plight of animals. Most of you are familiar with the book Black Beauty? Published in 1877 and written by Anna Sewell, it is one of the best-selling novels of all time, plus it is considered the most influential anti-cruelty novel ever written. It has been compared to Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, and it is noteworthy that one million copies of it were in circulation in America two years after it was published. Presented as a history and written in the first-person, it puts Beauty on the same level as those he serves and so allows people to empathize with him. Its publication resulted in a number of improvements in the everyday lives of horses in the Victorian Era, including outlawing use of the check rein. For those of you unfamiliar with carriage horses, a check rein forces a horse to hold its head in a high, painfully exaggerated position and it eventually damages the musculature of the neck.

I cannot speak for people who live in other countries, but those of us who live in the United States seem to be reasonably aware of the conditions endured by our animal neighbors and friends. For example, many of us now routinely adopt animals from the local animal shelter, rather than buying a new purebred kitten or puppy, and we just as routinely neuter or spay them. Why, it is even possible to buy medical insurance for animals now! Another movement afoot right now is improving the lot of livestock used for food, most notably chickens. One can easily find labels on eggs and fryer chickens at the supermarket extolling the fact that the birds involved lived in healthful conditions (humane,  cage-free), free-range) and were not fed objectionable food (no antibiotics, dyes, bone meal, etc.). While one can certainly still buy cheap eggs produced by de-beaked hens crammed three to a cage, the organic, cage-free, humanely-produced eggs seem to sell quite well, despite being oftentimes two or three times more expensive. Organic, free-range fryers can cost twice as much as regular ones. Presumably healthier animals produce better food for us to eat, so it’s in our enlightened self-interest, if nothing else, to see that our livestock is well cared for.

We are also learning that many of the animals we rub elbows with are really smarter than we’ve historically believed they were. An article in the current Scientific American magazine (February 2014, “Brainy Bird,” by Carolynn L. Smith and Sarah L. Zielinski, pp. 60-65) recounts findings in a study of chickens, which shows they are capable of being deceitful and can communicate with each other. The film Blackfish shows an interview with Lori Marino, a neuroscientist, who states that in MRI examinations done on orca brains, it was discovered that they have an entire section of brain tissue that other mammals do not have, including humans. She states it appears to be shared with other cetaceans, such as other whales and dolphins, and is devoted to emotional development and social interaction. If this is true, and cetaceans are more highly evolved socially than we are, can we justify tearing their family structures apart? We know, for instance that orca family groups stay together, the children living with their mothers their entire lives.

In 2011 PETA brought a lawsuit against SeaWorld alleging that keeping orca whales in captivity for entertainment purposes violated the 13^th Amendment (slavery). SeaWorld maintains that their orcas perform, “because they want to,” but at the same time, they are deprived of food if they don’t. What about other animals, such as livestock? In 2012 US District Judge Jeffrey Miller dismissed the case when it came before him, but I have to say that SLAVERY was what kept echoing through my mind while watching Blackfish. The only way you could reasonably say it was not is to regard only human beings as capable of enslavement. What would be the ramifications if the judge had ruled in favor of the whales? Considering the far-reaching impact of such legislation as Title 9 and EMTALA, I shudder to consider the consequences—and that, I believe is why the judge dismissed it. He couldn’t allow the case to be heard, because it was a real bucket of worms!

Regardless of where you land in the animal rights vs. animal welfare debate, the orca performances at SeaWorld and elsewhere come down to making a great deal of money from them. If the money were not there, would they still be in business? Would they keep them for research purposes if they never made a dime? I think not. As much as I wanted to see Keiko when he was at the aquarium in Newport, Oregon, I could never justify his capture and captivity as worth what it cost, and it was millions before the end. And after he was returned to an ocean pen off the Norwegian coast, and we realized he would never learn to hunt again so he could feed himself, did we continue to care for him? No. He was turned loose to eventually starve to death lonely and alone, abandoned by his human taskmasters. If I want to see whales in the future (and it’s on my bucket list), I will rent a boat and watch them in the wild, thank you—like the former SeaWorld orca trainers at the end of the film.

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[i] Davis, Eric (January 9, 2014). "Blackfish Exposed by Former SeaWorld Trainer". MiceChat.com. Retrieved January 13, 2014.

[ii] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackfish_(film).

[iii] In addition, you may be interested in another documentary, Lolita: Slave to Entertainment (which can be viewed online, see link at the end of this footnote--it does not appear to be available through Netflix), which documents the fate of Lolita, a captive orca in residence at Miami, Florida’s Seaquarium. NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) has petitioned Congress to include her as part of the endangered Puget Sound L-pod, regardless of her status as a captive animal, and to consider action to return her to her original wild environment. You should also be aware that the filmed capture sequence detailed by Mr. John Crowe in Blackfish was the one resulting in Lolita’s capture. 11 whales were captured and five died that day (four of them juveniles who were captured—nearly one third of the captured animals!) as a result of this escapade. The dead whales eventually washed up on the beach in Washington State, causing a great deal of upset, and resulting in the eventual outlawing of the practice of capturing wild whales in the Pacific. That is when the shift to capture them off Iceland came about. Lolita is the only one of that group who still survives at this time. http://www.miamiseaprison.com/lolita.htm