9943 days, a few hours, and not so many minutes away from 9944

I was driving along today, on my way home, thinking about my son. Thinking about Lou and the Horsey Halloween Party we went to. Thinking about how much joy they bring me. Wondering why the joy they bring me somehow came back to Joshua. It's some very odd and misguided sense of guilt that keeps me a little on edge about admitting how happy I am around them.

He once told me, not too terribly long ago, in a rather put out manner, that if I didn't have "the horses" maybe I "could" afford to help him more. By not too long ago, I do mean within the last year. He was 27 in August of this year. He is also currently residing in another state. Yet, he really does believe that my life ought to center around him, still. Not just participate in, center around. Nine thousand, nine hundred, and forty three days later; center around him.

It doesn't. I feel guilty, how dare I not focus on whatever dilemma has befallen him. How dare I enjoy the life I have built. How dare I have joy when he is in obvious, unavoidable pain. Make no mistake those are statements, not questions.

Tonight I realized I could bask in the joy that comes with thinking about Mr. Lou and I at Diamond Hill this weekend. I could, if I let myself. And so nine thousand, nine hundred, and forty three days later I'm gonna let myself be a participant in Joshua's life, an important one, still a participant, and bring you part of the joy that is Lou...

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Big Lou

Big Lou, you have to say it with your head tilted down toward your chin and with a deeper voice than is likely to come out of you, whomever you may be! I didn't notice that I actually did the tilting of the head when I addressed him as "Big Lou" until tonight when I was thinking about writing a bit about him.

He's not always Big Lou, sometimes he is Mr. Lou, sometimes he is Hey Gorgeous, and sometimes he is Seriously Lou?. Nearly always, he is perfect. He's got personality from here until next Tuesday, which really means he is prone to causing trouble. In the same respect, he is as mellow as sipping a Vanilla Latte in a springtime pasture on a Sunday afternoon.

Under saddle he does exactly what you ask, even when presented with someone who doesn't always ask perfectly. I know he'd do his level best to catch me if I fell, which I have. Some call it an emergency dismount, I call it being used to falling :-).

I've rarely felt as safe as I do when I am atop Lou. Still, I'm never bored. It's not a comfortable, old shoe kind of safe. It's a 'let's do this, I believe in you" kind of safe.

I got lucky with Lou. He just flat out makes me smile, tilt my head down, and lower my voice to that of a fifty year old cowboy and ask "Ok Big Lou, ya wanna go for a ride". I don't even care how silly it must look and so far as I can tell, neither does he!

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Raw and unfiltered

Nice title don't you think? 

It's not near as exciting as it sounds. One day not so long ago I came home to find that one of the boys had hurt himself. He had a nasty gash on his shoulder. That first day it looked like he got kicked and the skin had been pulled back. Nasty, yes. Treatable, absolutely. 

The next day he had rolled and seemingly torn off the piece of skin that led me to believe that it was a kick that had simply torn back the skin in the process. When I cleaned him up that night I saw that it was more along the lines of a puncture wound and once the skin that was trying to cover it had left, well it was roughly the size of a half dollar. It was swollen. There was heat.

I cleaned it out, put medicine on it (Nu-Stock which is great stuff), and tried to wrap it. He ended up with a huge ass home-made band-aid secured with duct tape. You can not wrap an almost to the shoulder, but not quite, wound with much success, at least I couldn't. 

The bandages didn't work very well. Inevitably they'd come off during the day. I have decided they came off when he rolled. Off comes the bandage, in comes the dirt. The dirt meets the medicine which covers the wound and all the days work is lost. 

This went on for about four days before I remembered the honey. A friend of mine had used it with a lot of success. Lou's wound was one day away from the vet. I could not keep it clean and or dry. The medicine I was using, as great as it is, was useless when it was mixed with dirt. I pressed my nose to the cut and smelled, it wasn't good. Yes I smelled it. It was what made me remember the honey. 

I knew we were bordering on something that could go south. I went to Pike Place Market a day after that and spoke to every honey vendor there. I finally stumbled on a woman whom did not look at me as if I were crazy when I explained that the taste did not matter because the intent was to slather my horse's shoulder with it as a salve. Her son had actually used honey to heal a wound he had across the bridge of his nose, she understood; her son did not scar by the way. She had a variety of honeys however recommended a Wild Thistle honey due to it's thickness. 

Honestly, I was desperate; Lou's wound had me scared. An infection could lead to really bad things. I didn't really think the honey idea would work, it seemed too simple to me. I'd probably have never tried it had I not been contemplating a 60.00 farm call and god knows how much to follow. 

I bought a 3oz jar for 5.50. It is worth noting that I still have some left.

I put the honey on him Sunday night after washing out his wound. Monday morning it looked as if the honey had acted as a drawing agent, pulling out the yuck that was still in there. His leg was wet in streaks. It wasn't like the honey just dripped down, it was as if the honey pulled out bad stuff (not puss or anything gross like that) and released it underneath this seal around the actual wound. The wound itself was still covered, the heat had left, and the swelling had gone down.  

The wound was washed and the honey reapplied each day for two days.

I did not touch the wound Tuesday or Wednesday. I checked on it but I did not wash it out and reapply the honey until Thursday.

It was dirty however the honey had created a barrier of sorts for the actual wound. The outside of the area was dirty, the wound was clean and protected.

My friend and I looked at his wound last night. It was, or better yet is, not the least bit swollen, has not even the touch of heat, is barely the size of half a dime, with virtually no hair loss

I smelled him tonight, just for good measure. I stuck my face right there on his big giant shoulder and breathed in deep and what I smelled was beautiful, healthy, raw, and unfiltered!

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