The time had arrived to usher dear Kaspar to the Rainbow Bridge. Kaspar had been part of all lives since our daughter Minka and son-in-law Jamie brought him home from the vet’s just over 14 years ago. We phoned Dr. Pat first thing yesterday morning and with heavy hearts, awaited his arrival yesterday afternoon.
Kaspar’s health had been deteriorating rapidly over the past few months. He was becoming weaker and weaker and no longer steady on his legs. He had become little more than a shadow of his former self. But he was still so ‘present’ that it seemed too soon, too soon to say goodbye. Eventually, the choice had to be made. His sad eyes told us that it was time and he needed to return to the oneness from whence he came.
It had been from Dr. Pat’s rescue kennel that Kaspar had come those many years ago and it seemed only fitting that he would be here to ease Kaspar away from suffering at the end. “What a day,” Dr. Pat said. “This morning I had to put my 40 year old horse down. Had him for 20 years and now, Kaspar.”
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Kaspar. Minka and Jamie took me to see him when they were considering adopting him. Pat led us into the back where there was a single row of kennels filled mostly with hospital patients. “I think he may have a bit of coyote in him, but just take a look and let me know what you want to do.”There he stood. Cleaned up, white, skinny, long legs and the biggest feet you can imagine. “Goodness, this is not going to be a small dog. When he grows into those feet, he’s going to be a pretty big fella.” I told my young couple. “When I was a vet tech, I saw lots of pups, and this one’s got a heck of a lot of growing to do.” So, home he came on Christmas day and given the name “Kaspar” after the Slavic word meaning Court Jester…How appropriate!
He wasn’t an easy pup to take in and care for. I’ll never forget my daughter’s raging call two days later. “Mom… I don’t know what we’re going to do. We left him in the bathroom as you suggested and he’s torn the bathroom apart! He’s torn up the floor and eaten the walls. I don’t think we should try to keep him in there anymore.” I had recommended keeping him in the bathroom at night as part of his house training. The space was small and seemingly there was little damage he could do. In such a small space, we thought he would be okay and would go out dutifully in the morning. After all, he hadn’t gone potty and was holding… holding pieces of the linoleum, and drywall in his mouth that is.
The next day started with another tearful and panicked call, “Oh my God! Mom, he’s eaten the kitchen wall and torn up the floor. The living room is a disaster. He’s ripped back the carpet and there isn’t a piece of underlay left larger than one inch in diameter. I don’t think we can keep him. What am I to do?” Unfortunately my usual recommendation of having him sleep near you with a light line tied between you and him wouldn’t work as they slept in a loft only accessible by a ladder.They called Pat and described the situation they found themselves in. “Oh, he’s chewing a lot is he? Well, that’s to be expected of pups, especially pups that might be a little bit coyote.”
‘Hmm,’ I thought when I heard Pat’s response. ‘I think he knows more than he’s telling us.’
Things were not looking great with Kaspar, who was beginning to look more ‘wolf like’ with each passing day. “ Oh Mom… He’s ripped out the sofa cushions and shredded them. There’s just no stopping him. He’s ruining everything. We wont have anything left.”The next call brought, “Now he’s really done it,” Minka said. “He’s chewed up the television remote. Jamie tried to tape it back together but after he chewed it up a second time… Oh well.”
Things weren’t any better outside the house where he dug a great den under the porch stairs. He also chewed the TV cable off the place…twice, as well as the garden hose. And, he had developed a ‘wander-lust.’ The fences grew higher but unable to contain him. He could slip a chain and as we are all opposed to chaining a dog, it wasn’t an option anyway.All this time, he was growing into a magnificent animal. He was something to see looking very much the wolf. He moved with such fluid grace. We eventually learned of his origins from a Salmo breeder, and indeed he was a half wolf half husky.
Kaspar eventually stopped eating the house and endeared himself to his Minka and Jamie. Of course, he developed other doggie proclivities that both entertained and annoyed us. He was sneaky. He could disappear right before your eyes and especially so in winter. With his white coat he would slink down in the snow, move from shadow to shadow and evaporate and only return when he was good and ready. The dogcatcher made it her personal mission to catch the scoundrel but he outwitted her for years and she never got him and now she never will. He loved to ride in the back of Jamie’s pickup truck and was known around town as the ‘Drive by Barker,’ infuriating every neighborhood canine into a frenzy.
Over the past year he still attempted to chase the deer from our apple trees, but they no longer considered him a threat and bounded only a short distance away to look back to see if he was still in pursuit. While the deer went back to their browsing Kaspar would lay down in the grass to watch them.
A couple of days ago we had let Kaspar out for his morning constitutional and after a couple of hours he hadn’t returned. Worried, I went looking for him and found him lying down, asleep in the driveway with the same two deer standing quietly over him. I clapped my hands and the deer moved a few feet away and Kaspar picked up his head and looked at me with sad eyes, painfully pulled himself to his feet and followed me back to the house. Seeing him there with the deer, I felt my heart tighten. I knew then that the time had come to say goodbye... for now.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
Mr. Big
“Flashy,” that was how he was described to us, the owners of the newly opened Circle R Spur Guest Ranch. “He’ll add a lot a color to your dude string,” promised Pete, our part-time ranch-hand who was always on the lookout for good, ‘gentle’ horses. “Okay, bring ‘em over,” I said, “and let’s have a look see.”
Later that afternoon Pete arrived in his big white pick-up with the home built enclosed horse slip on the back. Pete stepped out of the truck and walked to the rear. “Just you wait, you’re gonna like this one. He’s a beauty. I picked him up over at the Santa Rosa auction.” Pete went on dropping the tailgate and unlatching the door to the slip. The truck rocked as the horse inside adjusted to the change in the light when the door opened. Pete picked up the rope that lay on the floor of the slip and pulled. Shaking and trembling emerged a great black and white paint gelding.
“I got him for only a few hundred dollars,” which actually meant he spent little more than a hundred. “But I’ll let you have him for what I paid. I just know you’re gonna like ‘em.” Pete pushed his cowboy hat back a bit from his ‘honest’ face to look directly at me, “Well, you gonna try ‘em?”
I was still a toddler when I first sat on a horse and before getting married and opening the Circle R Spur I had worked the previous summers as a wrangler at a mountain pack station. So, having the most horse savvy, it became my responsibility to decide which horses to buy and which to pass on.
“Okay, throw a saddle on him and let’s see what he’s got.” I said, looking him over. He was indeed flashy. One of the most impressive paint horses I’ve ever seen and big, over 16 hands at the withers. His heavy neck and muscling warned that he could be a handful as he was probably a stallion for much of his ten years.
The instant I placed my foot in the stirrup, I became aware of the great power, strength and fear in the big animal. I swung into the saddle and picked up the reins. I touched him lightly with my heels and we were off -- like a rocket. I gave a quick pull on the reins and there was no response. I don’t think there is anything much scarier than being stuck on a runaway horse.
Straight for the ranch entrance and out on to Highway 20. I gave a few more pulls on the reins but to no avail. He didn’t cross the highway as hoped. If he had, I could have ridden him straight into Clear Lake on the other side of the highway and surely the water would have stopped him. Instead, he made a quick turn to the left and ran straight up the double line. I started to ‘saw’ the bit in his mouth, hoping to release the bit from his teeth and get his attention. No chance of that either. I looked up to see a Mac truck come around the corner headed right for us. No time for the driver to slow down, I knew we would collide head on. I was screaming although no sound escaped my lips just a pitiful “help me, oh lord, help me.” I pushed my foot hard into the left stirrup and pulled with all I had on the left rein. As in answer to my pleading prayer, he turned just in time on to what little was left of the shoulder on that side of the highway. From that point on it was shear cliff above the road and a twenty-foot drop off into the lake on the other. The truck raced past me with only inches to spare, my hair blowing wildly around my face as it passed. In that brief moment the big horse had paused in his mad run, fearing he would take off again, I took the opportunity to jump down from the saddle, I stood shaking in my boots, holding the reins and trying to calm myself before leading the big horse the few hundred yards back to the ranch. I turned to see my husband, our ranch hands and Pete running toward me.
“Good God girl, how did you get him stopped?” asked Jean, our cabin cleaner. “I would have been screaming my head off.” “I was,” came my whispered response.
“I thought I was going to loose you for sure on the front of that truck,” said my husband, shaking almost as much as I was.
Pete stood mute, nothing to say until we were safely back at ranch. “I guess you ain’t gonna be wanting this one.”
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I bought him anyway with a huge discount making no one really happy. I tried him again, but I didn’t use a bit choosing instead to use a hackamore with long side shanks working like a fulcrum, putting pressure on a different part of his nose and jaw. For the most part, it worked but I was always extra cautious whenever I had to ride him.
He was our Mr. Big and a bit of a bully as horses go until me met the little black mustang stallion we bought later on that same summer but that’s another story. None-the-less, he became the favorite mount of one young man who came up from the city all summer long just to ride him. There were others too who enjoyed the excitement of riding such a powerful horse. I only rode him when I had to and I never toke pleasure in riding him after that first time. Well, that’s not exactly true, he was a strong swimmer and I did have fun riding him far out in the lake. No way he could run away out there.
Later that afternoon Pete arrived in his big white pick-up with the home built enclosed horse slip on the back. Pete stepped out of the truck and walked to the rear. “Just you wait, you’re gonna like this one. He’s a beauty. I picked him up over at the Santa Rosa auction.” Pete went on dropping the tailgate and unlatching the door to the slip. The truck rocked as the horse inside adjusted to the change in the light when the door opened. Pete picked up the rope that lay on the floor of the slip and pulled. Shaking and trembling emerged a great black and white paint gelding.
“I got him for only a few hundred dollars,” which actually meant he spent little more than a hundred. “But I’ll let you have him for what I paid. I just know you’re gonna like ‘em.” Pete pushed his cowboy hat back a bit from his ‘honest’ face to look directly at me, “Well, you gonna try ‘em?”
I was still a toddler when I first sat on a horse and before getting married and opening the Circle R Spur I had worked the previous summers as a wrangler at a mountain pack station. So, having the most horse savvy, it became my responsibility to decide which horses to buy and which to pass on.
“Okay, throw a saddle on him and let’s see what he’s got.” I said, looking him over. He was indeed flashy. One of the most impressive paint horses I’ve ever seen and big, over 16 hands at the withers. His heavy neck and muscling warned that he could be a handful as he was probably a stallion for much of his ten years.
The instant I placed my foot in the stirrup, I became aware of the great power, strength and fear in the big animal. I swung into the saddle and picked up the reins. I touched him lightly with my heels and we were off -- like a rocket. I gave a quick pull on the reins and there was no response. I don’t think there is anything much scarier than being stuck on a runaway horse.
Straight for the ranch entrance and out on to Highway 20. I gave a few more pulls on the reins but to no avail. He didn’t cross the highway as hoped. If he had, I could have ridden him straight into Clear Lake on the other side of the highway and surely the water would have stopped him. Instead, he made a quick turn to the left and ran straight up the double line. I started to ‘saw’ the bit in his mouth, hoping to release the bit from his teeth and get his attention. No chance of that either. I looked up to see a Mac truck come around the corner headed right for us. No time for the driver to slow down, I knew we would collide head on. I was screaming although no sound escaped my lips just a pitiful “help me, oh lord, help me.” I pushed my foot hard into the left stirrup and pulled with all I had on the left rein. As in answer to my pleading prayer, he turned just in time on to what little was left of the shoulder on that side of the highway. From that point on it was shear cliff above the road and a twenty-foot drop off into the lake on the other. The truck raced past me with only inches to spare, my hair blowing wildly around my face as it passed. In that brief moment the big horse had paused in his mad run, fearing he would take off again, I took the opportunity to jump down from the saddle, I stood shaking in my boots, holding the reins and trying to calm myself before leading the big horse the few hundred yards back to the ranch. I turned to see my husband, our ranch hands and Pete running toward me.
“Good God girl, how did you get him stopped?” asked Jean, our cabin cleaner. “I would have been screaming my head off.” “I was,” came my whispered response.
“I thought I was going to loose you for sure on the front of that truck,” said my husband, shaking almost as much as I was.
Pete stood mute, nothing to say until we were safely back at ranch. “I guess you ain’t gonna be wanting this one.”
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I bought him anyway with a huge discount making no one really happy. I tried him again, but I didn’t use a bit choosing instead to use a hackamore with long side shanks working like a fulcrum, putting pressure on a different part of his nose and jaw. For the most part, it worked but I was always extra cautious whenever I had to ride him.
He was our Mr. Big and a bit of a bully as horses go until me met the little black mustang stallion we bought later on that same summer but that’s another story. None-the-less, he became the favorite mount of one young man who came up from the city all summer long just to ride him. There were others too who enjoyed the excitement of riding such a powerful horse. I only rode him when I had to and I never toke pleasure in riding him after that first time. Well, that’s not exactly true, he was a strong swimmer and I did have fun riding him far out in the lake. No way he could run away out there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
