15 April

Rocky: Learning To Care For Him. Another Level

by Jon Katz
New Level: Paula Josa-Jones and Rocky

Our friend Paula Josa-Jones, an equine videographer, dancer, writer and blogger (her site is one of the Blogs I Love) came to see us with her partner Pam White, a photographer, video coach and new and very stylish blogger. We have become very close friends with these two amazing women, and I am Pam’s unoffocial blogging coach and technological nag. After much prodding and poking, this brilliant photographer, artist and video coach is getting her new blog going. Please check it out. Pam is shy, and was reluctant, as many are, to open herself up online, but she is feeling excited about it now, I think. Her blog will be remarkable. Pam and I are so much alike it is as disturbing as it is wonderful. We are grateful for Pam and Paula’s friendship.

Paula came up to the farm to have lunch but also to see Rocky. She is an animal advocate and she has long studied horses, their movement, and ways of communicating with them – she is writing a book about it. It was an amazing experience for Maria and I to see Paula connect with Rocky. We were really shocked and excited.

She got right in his face, talked to him, got a brush out, worked on him with enthusiasm and authority,  and she and Maria took about a half-a-horse worth of hair off of him. He loved it. He was practically purring, his lip quivering, his eyes closed, swaying back and forth.  Maria and I both learned so much from watching Paula work with Rocky. We saw how reserved we are, how tentative. We saw how much he loves being brushed and being with people. Paula fell in love with him, said he was a doll and taught us a lot about how to commit to him, talk to him, really care for him. We are very grateful for it, and I will post some photos on my Facebook Page.

Paula said horses don’t mourn or grieve like people, but she is sure Rocky is aware that his human is gone – her perhaps feels an absence –  and that Maria and I are there. We were quite lit up seeing Paula’s very powerful gifts. We are committed to helping Rocky and helping care for him. Seeing what he needs and  responds to.  He looked like a different animal when Paula and Maria were done with him, tufts of hair all over the field. We will finish the job tomorrow.  Rocky is well-cared for. But we will help take care of Rocky a lot better now.

P.S. The “Everyday Goddess” Art Show will be held at Bedlam Farm June 23-24. It is probably the last show to be held at  Bedlam Farm before we move. Simon, Lulu, Fanny, the chickens, dogs, me and a bunch of great artists will be there. Fiberart, photos, paintings, photo and 3 D collages.  Great stuff, cheap, as always. The public is invited. No charge, no dogs, please. Details at www.fullmoonfiberart.com

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15 April

Simon’s Dream

by Jon Katz
Simon's Dream

It was bitter cold, and Simon the donkey was shivering, shaking.

He missed his old farm and farm family. He missed his dry warm barn, and fresh hay,

and shelter from the wind and cold. When his farmer had come to say goodbye,

to tell him he would have to leave,

Simon did not understand what had happened, but he understood the farmer’s tears

and sadness. And soon enough, his own.

Simon was lying in a pool of frozen water. He could no longer stand up, as his hooves

had grown out so far his legs were twisted, and he could not walk without great pain.

His had lain on his right side for so long in his wooden lean-to – there were

so many holes the rain and snow and ice came inside – that his teeth had grown into his

jaw and it was too painful to try and eat.

His coat was covered with rot, his mane with lice, most of his fur had fallen off,

his eyes infected and swollen shut.

Simon was letting go. He knew he was dying, he was losing strength, hope.

All winter, he had been living under a few planks of wood, a pallet or two,

which had formed a low tent. It was built by the farmer’s son,

who was not mean.

He could barely lie down inside, but

there was no room to stand up.

Simon was so thin his ribs were sticking out, and he was weakening.

Every day or so, the farmer’s young son would sneak out to the lonely shed and toss

Simon a carrot, or an apple, or a piece of bread.

Simon would have loved to spend time with the boy, crunch on his apples.

take him on rides. But he could no longer eat anything.

He did not understand how people could be so good,

and so mean to a donkey.

Simon could not stand up any longer, he had accepted his fate, his death,

was ready to leave the world,

and set out in search of the place where animal spirits go, and then,

as he was drawing one of his last breaths, and preparing to say goodbye to his sad world,

Simon had a dream.  In the dream, strangers came in the night and took him to a different farm.

In this farm, there was light, and warmth, and shelter.

He dreamed that there was a different farmer, who

came to him, and understood his pain,  and saw into his disappointed soul,

for donkeys do not ever get angry, only sad,

and brought him apples,

and rubbed medicine on his wounds,

and sang to him and told him stories at

night, when he was lonely.

He dreamed there was a woman on the farm who brushed him,

and touched heads, and whispered soothing

sounds in his ear, and brought him fresh hay, pains of grain,

carrots and bread and even rich smelling spaghetti with cheese.

Simon dreamed there were two female donkeys, who he loved dearly,

and who he followed around all day, and who

kicked him in the head almost every morning to show how much the loved him too.

Simon had never had other donkeys to live with, not once in his life, and this made him happy.

And there were pastures to roam, and hills to climb, and bark to nibble and trees for shade,

and when it was raining and cold, he had a barn to come inside, which was dry and warm.

And soon his belly was full, there was sometimes more food than he could eat, and fresh

grass as far as he could see, and

he could walk again on his legs, and people came to trim his hooves,

and rubbed soothing ointments on his skin,

and  fix his teeth so that he could chew and eat.

And in the afternoon, when the sun was strong,

he could lie on his side and soak up the sun, with the other donkeys,  which

all donkeys love to do. And the new farmer took him for walks, and sang songs to him,

and scratched his itchy forehead and came out to him in the barn in the night

and told him stories in a soft and soothing voice.

Simon took a slow deep breath, and brayed out to the stars in farewell,

very grateful for this dream.

And then, he awoke from his dream and opened his eyes,

and he could not believe what he was seeing at first.

He thought it was his poor cloudy eyes playing tricks.

But then he saw that all of these things were real.

His dream had come true.

 

15 April

Portrait: Shirley Partridge, Shiva

by Jon Katz
Shirley Partridge, Shiva

 

Shirley Partridge, Shiva. We like our new chicken line-up. Once chickens figure out you bring them food, all is well. They are calm, grounded and they already love the camera. I lie on the ground in front of them and toss bits of muffins and cereal for a few minutes. They are starting to like my Canon. The thing is not to get too attached to them. Every hawk in the county will be looking for Shiva, fig fat and beautiful bright thing. We will lock them in at night, but not in the daytime.

15 April

Chicken Triumphant: Fran Joins The Gang

by Jon Katz
Chicken Triumphant

It is a pleasure to bring you a happy story, a small miracle in a complex world, one that does not worry much about the life of a chicken. Fran was a starving wreck with we got her, full of holes and peck marks, too skinny to lay eggs. She got healthier, loved to pal around with Meg. She got attacked by a fox, and survived, Meg ultimately did not. Fran was so mangled I wanted to kill her, a mercy killing, but Maria and I decided to give healing a shot. Small miracles are important.

It’s been about a month, and as recently as two days ago I did not think Fran would make it. Maria and I decided together to keep her going, and Maria worked especially hard and patiently – putting her in a crate at night, carrying her out to the pasture to walk around. Fran cannot move her wings, and may not ever be able to jump up or fly. Doesn’t seem to bother her. Today for the first time, she marched around with the other hens, and they were all comfortable with one another. Life does not always work out, for them or for us, and if you live with chickens, you see a lot of life happening. It was sweet to see her walking around. Maria and I sat watching for awhile.

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