I’m not dead yet

It’s been a while, and what a while; one of those whiles where you struggle to keep swimming and at some point you look back and realize that six months went by without you really noticing. But I’m not dead yet, and as long as there’s life there’s hope.

I did not get to do much with Emilie in this long while. She’s still struggling with back pains, and I am still struggling with fibromyalgia. Together we exercise from the ground – she needs to practise lifting her hind quarters over cavalettis and using her hips correctly, and I need to walk, any kind of walk. It’s harder than it sounds like, and I’m still not sure how I feel about my new walker-rollator. On one hand it means I can leave the house – on the other hand it kind of feels like giving up on ever walking unaided again.

My health has been down the crapper this autumn. I’ve been through the proverbial wringer, with hospital visits and with testing out new medication options. At this time it seems low-dose Naltrexone works best for me. It does not reduce my pain, but it does give me some energy and ability to cope in spite of the pain. The Combar that I was put on in order to solve my not sleeping due to pain issues has to go – it has weight gain and muscle pain as a side effect, and I’ve gained 10 kilos in three months in spite of moving more about than I used to.

In spite of the last two paragraphs, though, this is not a venting session or pity rant. The structure of my life is holding together. The framework is solid. I woke up this morning with the strangest sensation of relief; the proverbial manure hit the fan a couple of times, but the windmill is still standing. If there’s something to be grateful in life, it’s the ability to cope with crisis and still be there afterwards. I’ll never take that for granted.

Ah well. Onwards, let life speak for itself in pictures.

The husband snapped this one in the yard. We have an astounding amount of wildlife here.
The husband snapped this one in the yard. We have an astounding amount of wildlife here.
Can't have a lawn without a hedgehog.
Can’t have a lawn without a hedgehog.
Or newts.
Or newts.
In fact, we seem to be collecting newts. The husband has been building little sleeping spots for winter for them, too.
In fact, we seem to be collecting newts. The husband has been building little sleeping spots for winter for them, too.
This little fellow visited us in the sun room; fortunately the husband got to him before the cats.
This little fellow visited us in the sun room; fortunately the husband got to him before the cats.
I'm not keen on pictures of myself but the husband wanted to document my attempts to take up watercolours again. If I ever acquire a scanner I'll show you my amateurish compositions.
I’m not keen on pictures of myself but the husband wanted to document my attempts to take up watercolours again. If I ever acquire a scanner I’ll show you my amateurish compositions.
The murderkittenz love nothing as much as their 'wild water' - drinking from the tap is just that much better than the water bowl.
The murderkittenz love nothing as much as their ‘wild water’ – drinking from the tap is just that much better than the water bowl.
Yes. Miv fell asleep with his face in the food bowl. Again. He does this pretty often, even when there is no food up there.
Yes. Miv fell asleep with his face in the food bowl. Again. He does this pretty often, even when there is no food up there.
This naked lady or autumn crocus popped up in our lawn in October just as everything else was turning pale and wet.
This naked lady or autumn crocus popped up in our lawn in October just as everything else was turning pale and wet.
Who knows where the road is winding? It's beautiful there, at least.
Who knows where the road is winding? It’s beautiful there, at least.

What comes next? Only time will tell. Life’s being a bit of a female canine at the moment but it tends to go on anyhow. A mountain of trouble may seem like a road bump six months later. I’m not dead yet.

Summer’s Beautiful Though

Summer is being rough on me this year. The heatwave that began in May shows no sign of letting go anytime soon. Everything is bone dry and the air is full of dust. The heat is not doing my fibromyalgia any favours. But one thing can be said for this very atypical hot Danish summer: It’s beautiful. I’ve spent more time in my garden this summer than in the twenty years previous at the old house.

I planted wildflower seeds in a big pot on the terrace in order to feed my never-ending love for cornflowers. The outcome is a little weird. There’s all sorts of other flowers in there too, but it’s the pink cornflower that baffles me. I had no idea cornflowers could be pink. Cornflowers range from white over pale blue to dark cobalt blue. Maybe this one’s just colour blind.

Wildflowers in the yard. Notice that pink cornflower? I had no idea cornflowers could be pink. Maybe it's just colourblind.

We live close to the river so there is a lot of wetlands wildlife in the area. We see toads all the time, and salamanders are fairly common too. But the ones we usually see are smooth newts, by far the most common in Denmark; this big fella is northern crested newt which is a rare and protected species here.

No one who knows my husband will be surprised to hear that we now have salamander-friendly patches and watering holes under the rhododendrons. I’m hoping to meet adders out there too. The neighbour claims to see adders in his garden all the time. I love them.

I can spend hours just looking at the wildflowers. I have no idea what those pink ones between the morning glories and cornflowers are, but they are absolutely gorgeous. The husband built bee hotels in the yard and now that everything is so dry and dead, the wild bees are here in droves to check out those wildflowers.

It’s so dry here now that when we go to the barn and water the horses in the pasture, wasps turn up in droves to drink. Look at the soil; there’s no moisture in the earth anywhere. We’ve had the hottest May on record ever, June and July have not let us off the hook. It’s pretty, but I will admit, it’s taking its toll on people and animals alike.

There’s only one family member who absolutely loves the dry dusty heat. It’s great for certain purposes!

May Pretties

The husband bonds with animals on a level I can never match. No fuss, no big deal, they just fall in love with him as easily as he falls in love with them. And sometimes, I swear, they’re talking about me.

“And then she said …”

We’ve had two weeks of blazing summer-before-summer; in fact, one of the hottest May months in a century. After the meteorological disaster that was 2017 I can’t say I am complaining. I don’t do well with heat, but it’s pretty to look at, and no one yells at me for sitting in the shade.

The heat means I have to braid Emilie’s mane or she’ll sweat buckets. She wasn’t too fond of this notion last year, but something must have clicked: Now she stands perfectly still and seems to even enjoy the treatment. Of course she also picks half the braids out in an hour once released into the pasture. Oh well.

Barbecue on Thursdays, carrots optional.
Barbecue on Thursdays, carrots optional.

I love how expressive Emilie is. She talks. All the time. Some of it is vocalized, little grunts and snorts (in a surprisingly deep tone). Most is her eyes and ears, though. I always pull her forelock aside so I can watch her eyes when we’re together. Her eyes are so remarkably talkative, and so are those big draft horse ears.

"No, seriously, then she said ..."
“No, seriously, then she said …”

Pony Sez #34

Pony Sez #34

The Boss takes charge. The Boss wants to work, but you got to ask nicely and you better not forget to praise and reward. The Boss knows that there is a job that needs doin’, so you better roll up those sleeves, put that hard hat on, and get to doin’ it, mate.

Each horse I have owned has had its own unique personality. Some have been pleasers; one was aggressive, and my current Jutland draft is very much the boss of me.

I don’t mean that in a bad way. Emilie is better at being a horse than I am. She’s cool with changes and loves exploring new things. Whenever I curl up in anxiety or pain, she’s the one telling me to breathe and chill. I may point the direction we’re going, but Emilie is very much the one who gets us there. Together.

Back in the saddle!

Back in the saddle!
Emilie is infinitely more at ease and in control of the situation than I am.

 

I’m proud of husband and horse this week. The credit for me finally getting on Emilie’s back is theirs, completely and utterly theirs.

I have not been riding regularly since November 2016. My Friesian, Pilar, fell lame, and then she fell sick and eventually, she died. We bought Emilie in February 2017, and a week later, she came down with a volvulus. In July she was finally over her surgery but something had gone wrong in her back: She’d be lame in a completely random leg every other day. After another hospital visit and a move to a farm with far more acreage for her to roam, she was finally declared healthy in late March 2018.

During all that time, I sat on my fat ass. It didn’t get any less fat.

Therein lies the problem. I can barely walk. I do yoga, but after more than a year of not riding, my legs are weak and useless. Last time I tried to get on a horse my knee flat out refused to push off the ground. I fell down, and I hurt my leg enough that I couldn’t walk at all for two weeks.

They make me so proud

I got into water gymnastics to strengthen that weak knee, and the husband built me an 80 cm stepping stair. I can slide from it to Emilie’s back and not have to push off at all. Together, we introduced Emilie to the stepping chair and explained to her that all she needs to do is stand there and open her mouth. Then I’ll fumble around and climb on board while all she needs to worry about is how fast she can eat carrots. Emilie thinks this is a pretty good deal.

My timing is less than ideal, as usual. I can barely cling to her back – forget proper riding! – due to weakened muscles and chronic pain. Emilie is barely saddle broke and has no idea what the signals and cues actually mean. It’s like that old joke – for inexperienced riders we have inexperienced horses.

For now we rely on the things we taught her from the ground while she recovered. Follow the husband. Walk shoulder by shoulder. Listen to verbal cues, they don’t change whether they come from the ground or on your back.

We’ll take the long road together. She’ll help me get my ability to move back, and I’ll teach her what she’s supposed to do. She’s cool with this. She loves solving problems and figuring out cues, and getting rewarded. It doesn’t seem to matter to her whether I’m sitting on her back or on a chair next to her, as long as I keep talking and explaining to her what I want.

The only thing Emilie doesn’t like is the saddle girth. She tenses when the saddle is put on her back and tells us she’s worried about it being tightened. But as long as we just tighten it a few holes at a time and give her time to wait and relax between holes, everything is fine.