Well, the siege is finally over. After days of forcing Siobhan and Bill to muck about nights in the cold, Wanda finally decided to deliver her foal at 1:20 Saturday morning. He’s a colt, chestnut like his father, Kantharos. Siobhan has decided to call him Norm!—complete with exclamation point—after the bar regular in Cheers. I guess her intention is that “everybody knows (his) name.” The older you get, the tougher these foal waits become. It’s tempting to send the mares off to foal at one of these foal-watch operations, something I used to do years ago when I had fifteen mares and a day job. About ten days before the anticipated foaling date, off they went to Cardinal Hill Farm where the owner, Norman Casse, always had a barnful of mares soon to foal and a late-middle-aged couple on hand to patrol the stalls looking for action. When a foaling became imminent, the daring duo would call farm manager, Steve Tucker, and he would be there in no time to help with the foaling. We never had a bad event in several years of this alliance and if we had a larger group of mares we’d probably find a nearby operation well-versed in the same offerings as Cardinal Hill. With two mares, however, we can still handle the moderate inconvenience ourselves. It is certainly better for the mare, herself, to remain in familiar surroundings with friends. Removal to an entirely different environment is stressful at any time, and certainly riskier at foaling time. Horses are creatures of habit, they prefer that each day be the same. Even when a mare does not change farms, just taking her from her friends and placing her with other soon-to-foal mares can cause problems. Planning far ahead to keep mares of close due dates together for several months is a better option. This way, you don’t have heavy-in-foal mares running the fenceline looking for their old friends or battling with other mares to determine who belongs where on the status totem pole. Abortions which could easily be prevented with better planning can happen this way. Eleven months of pregnancy down the drain.
For a few days, I’d watch Wanda until 3:30, then Siobhan would take over. The foaling stall is comfortably ensconced adjacent to the regular barn very close to the Pathogenes cottage, aback the main house. It’s considerably larger than a normal 12x12 stall, a size which guarantees the mare will park herself in some position in which there is sufficient room to get the foal out. The foaling stall is attached to a modest run, accessible by opening a gate which serves as half the stall wall on the south side. The mare and foal can be dispatched to the run while the stall is cleaned or just to get a little exercise.
Usually, when a mare’s milk turns white, it is less than 48 hours until the foal arrives. Usually. Nothing is etched in stone with foaling mares. Wanda, it seems, likes to start emitting wax from her teats four days before foaling. She’s done this the last two times. It is not a good idea, however, to start thinking, “Oh, good, Wanda is waxing—we’ll come back in four days and get the foal.” Because that will be the time Wanda decides that four days is altogether too long and she’ll have it that night. Fortunately for us—and everybody else involved in these ventures—mares do give some clues as to when they are getting ready to deliver. Mainly, their habits change. If you stay up and watch them all night, you’ll find they tend to do almost exactly the same things at the same times every night. When they vary from this schedule, time to start paying attention. Friday night, Wanda was more restless. Instead of standing in one spot eating hay, she moved around the stall more. Siobhan decided to camp out next to the stall so as not to miss anything. Sometimes, the presence of a human will inhibit the mare and she will delay foaling, but Siobhan merged well with the ground, laying on a meager blanket in a downy coat to repel the cold. At 1:10 Saturday morning, she came to get me. “I think something is getting ready to happen,” she said. This usually means that in oh, say a half-hour, we’ll have a foal. I casually put my series of coats on and toddled out, expecting at least a modest wait. Wanda decided otherwise. WHOOSH! went Wanda. The foal came out like those kids that shoot off the slide in your favorite Water Park. All at once, surrounded by his placenta bubble. No pulling involved, a boon for the mare. We got the placenta off and he was up in jig time, no more than a half-hour. We cleaned up the place, sacked the placenta, gave the mare some medication for pain and went off to let mother and son bond. I thought a good name for the critter would be “Murphy,” it being so close to St. Patrick’s Day and Eric Murphy playing outstanding basketball for the NCAA Tournament Florida Gators. Or even “Nick The Greek,” celebrating the sire, Kantharos. But Siobhan was adamant about Norm! and around here we cede naming rights to the people who lay on the cold, hard ground, waiting for foals to be born.
What’s Next?
Mares can be bred back around nine days after foaling, believe it or not. Women who have foaled often cringe at this revelation, but it happens all the time, although the chances for conception on these nine-day heats is somewhat less than if one waited. Maiden mares are rarely bred on these heats, nor are mares which experienced difficulty foaling or which have a bad history of getting in foal this way. Wanda’s foaling couldn’t have been easier, so we’ll give it a try. This usually requires the services of a stallion, so we set about to find an appropriate candidate and wound up at a place called Stonewall Farm, home of Hallmarc Stallions. And who should be over there but the well-travelled Declan Doyle, who coincidentally happened to be running the show over at The Vinery, where Wanda was last bred. The Vinery has gone out of the stallion business so Declan had to find something else to do and, after sticking his toe in the water elsewhere, decided this place was as good as anywhere. When we went to The Vinery, we went to look at a stallion for Dot and ended up with a different one for Wanda. This time, we went to look at one stallion and ended up with a contract to another. Declan, infinitely kind to his favorite blog writer, made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. Wanda will be bred to Breeders Cup Sprint Champion and winner of over 2.7 million dollars, Big Drama. We don’t get to breed to too many Breeders Cup champions around here, so Wanda better get in foal. We have discussed this with her at length. We even threatened to withhold her gruel. Wanda, the inveterate gruel hog that she is, has promised to do her best. Now it all resides with the Fates. Doesn’t it always?
Fastest Horse In The World Update
Cosmic Flash went out for his first three-eighths work Wednesday at Calder and went 12.1, 23.1, 36 flat, a little faster than trainer Larry Pilotti had in mind but this horse has a tendency to do that. The work equaled the fastest time of the day by a two-year-old. He will get company for his next work on April 6th, this time a half-mile. We’re still on course to run in a 4 1/2 furlong maiden special weights race on April 26. Cosmic Flash is improving, but still isn’t breaking from the gate the way a horse needs to if he’s going to win a race at 4 1/2 furlongs. With a month to practice, we’re sure he’ll get there.
Scarlet Siren had her first work last weekend, going a quarter in 25.1, bravely racing inside a flock of horses galloping too close to the rail. Larry says young horses don’t usually do that, so good for her. The filly is executing her gate departures a little better than Cosmic Flash so she has that to chide him with if he gets huffy about his faster works.
A Dog’s Story (by China the Rottweiler)
I still remember when they came and got me, Siobhan and Bill, traumatic as the experience was. I lived in big cages back then on the breeder’s farm but it was all I knew, so it wasn’t so bad. I thought they were just more visitors—we got a lot of them at the puppy farm. Then the puppy farm boss told me goodbye and that these new people were taking me with them. WHAT?!? Taking me WHERE? And, ohmigawd, they were going to put me in their truck? What’s that all about? I never knew what trucks were about back when I was I kid. Of course, now I know they perform a vital function. Trucks pull up in our yard all day long, unloading what must be important packages for Siobhan. One of my favorite guys, Larry the Fedex Man, used to come by every day in his truck with packages and he always brought me a dog biscuit. I’m not sure what ever happened to Larry, he doesn’t come around any more and the new guy is tight as a tick with treats. Siobhan’s own truck is very critical in our own activities. She’s uses it to bring home hay and straw and horsefeed and, most important, dogfood for me. So I can live with trucks, as long as it doesn’t involve actually riding in them. The trip to Siobhan’s farm from the puppy place was pretty traumatic, stuff going every which way out the windows. I kept thinking we’d crash for sure. Eventually, though, we made it and I couldn’t believe how nice it was here. I had acres and acres to run around in and raise hell and bark and chase things. And there were lots of things to chase, too. Slow-moving armadillos (it almost wasn’t fair to chase these pokey guys), raccoons, possums, what have you. Siobhan told me I wasn’t to go around grabbing these poor fellas but what can I say, I’m prey-driven? Eventually, they made me stay in at night. It was taking them too much time to go around picking up carcasses in the morning.
When I first got here, another Rottweiler, Mike, lived here. He was a nice old guy. I think the idea was to breed me to Mike before he got too old, but either Mike didn’t find me very attractive or he was too old, so nothing ever happened. Later on, I ended up getting a uterine infection so they had to have me spayed, so no kids. When Mike died, though, I did inherit his two cats, Elmo and Roadkill. Elmo was always a cantankerous son of a gun and he kept his distance but me and Roadkill were great pals….we even slept together in the laundry room. It got a little hot in that laundry room sometimes, though, so I had to have a serious talk with Siobhan and Bill and I eventually weaseled an air-conditioner out of them. I felt a little special after that. I mean, how many dogs have their very own air-conditioner?
All in all, I’ve had a pretty good run here. Unfortunately for us Rottweilers, though, we don’t get to live much past ten years and I’m right on the precipice. Bill says getting old is a bitch and reluctant as I am to speak ill of Mother, he’s pretty much right, in spades. First, all the prey animals started getting too fast for me, so that was a bummer. And lately, I’ve developed quite a limp. Worst of all, though, I started getting this terrible mass in my mouth and it grew like wildfire. The vet said it was something called “squamous cell carcinoma,” and even I know what “carcinoma” means. I had to get back in the scary truck and motivate over to Dr. Lokai’s place to get it cut out. Damned if it didn’t grow right back in no time. Makes it hard for me to eat anything but wet stuff. Even the biscuits are a chore. Smells terrible, too. There’s blood all over my bed when I wake up in the morning. The other day, I even found one of my teeth on the floor.
So I guess what I’m getting ready to say is that life isn’t much fun anymore. I try to put on a good show because I know Siobhan and Bill hate to lose their friends. Bill, especially, gets really upset. I’m not fooling anybody, though. I think we’re finally ready to do the deed. I hope they put me over there next to Mike where I can watch all the traffic going in and out. Hey, and thanks to Mary and Chris and everybody who came over to say goodbye and bring me stuff. Remember me to all my pals out there. I hope I gave you some good stories to tell the new puppy. And if you ever see Larry the Fedex Man again, ask him to drop by and leave a couple of those cookies.. He can put them right up there on top of my grave. Eventually, it’ll rain and the good stuff will seep through. I always loved those cookies….
That’s all, folks. And thanks for all the good times, China.
For a few days, I’d watch Wanda until 3:30, then Siobhan would take over. The foaling stall is comfortably ensconced adjacent to the regular barn very close to the Pathogenes cottage, aback the main house. It’s considerably larger than a normal 12x12 stall, a size which guarantees the mare will park herself in some position in which there is sufficient room to get the foal out. The foaling stall is attached to a modest run, accessible by opening a gate which serves as half the stall wall on the south side. The mare and foal can be dispatched to the run while the stall is cleaned or just to get a little exercise.
Usually, when a mare’s milk turns white, it is less than 48 hours until the foal arrives. Usually. Nothing is etched in stone with foaling mares. Wanda, it seems, likes to start emitting wax from her teats four days before foaling. She’s done this the last two times. It is not a good idea, however, to start thinking, “Oh, good, Wanda is waxing—we’ll come back in four days and get the foal.” Because that will be the time Wanda decides that four days is altogether too long and she’ll have it that night. Fortunately for us—and everybody else involved in these ventures—mares do give some clues as to when they are getting ready to deliver. Mainly, their habits change. If you stay up and watch them all night, you’ll find they tend to do almost exactly the same things at the same times every night. When they vary from this schedule, time to start paying attention. Friday night, Wanda was more restless. Instead of standing in one spot eating hay, she moved around the stall more. Siobhan decided to camp out next to the stall so as not to miss anything. Sometimes, the presence of a human will inhibit the mare and she will delay foaling, but Siobhan merged well with the ground, laying on a meager blanket in a downy coat to repel the cold. At 1:10 Saturday morning, she came to get me. “I think something is getting ready to happen,” she said. This usually means that in oh, say a half-hour, we’ll have a foal. I casually put my series of coats on and toddled out, expecting at least a modest wait. Wanda decided otherwise. WHOOSH! went Wanda. The foal came out like those kids that shoot off the slide in your favorite Water Park. All at once, surrounded by his placenta bubble. No pulling involved, a boon for the mare. We got the placenta off and he was up in jig time, no more than a half-hour. We cleaned up the place, sacked the placenta, gave the mare some medication for pain and went off to let mother and son bond. I thought a good name for the critter would be “Murphy,” it being so close to St. Patrick’s Day and Eric Murphy playing outstanding basketball for the NCAA Tournament Florida Gators. Or even “Nick The Greek,” celebrating the sire, Kantharos. But Siobhan was adamant about Norm! and around here we cede naming rights to the people who lay on the cold, hard ground, waiting for foals to be born.
What’s Next?
Mares can be bred back around nine days after foaling, believe it or not. Women who have foaled often cringe at this revelation, but it happens all the time, although the chances for conception on these nine-day heats is somewhat less than if one waited. Maiden mares are rarely bred on these heats, nor are mares which experienced difficulty foaling or which have a bad history of getting in foal this way. Wanda’s foaling couldn’t have been easier, so we’ll give it a try. This usually requires the services of a stallion, so we set about to find an appropriate candidate and wound up at a place called Stonewall Farm, home of Hallmarc Stallions. And who should be over there but the well-travelled Declan Doyle, who coincidentally happened to be running the show over at The Vinery, where Wanda was last bred. The Vinery has gone out of the stallion business so Declan had to find something else to do and, after sticking his toe in the water elsewhere, decided this place was as good as anywhere. When we went to The Vinery, we went to look at a stallion for Dot and ended up with a different one for Wanda. This time, we went to look at one stallion and ended up with a contract to another. Declan, infinitely kind to his favorite blog writer, made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. Wanda will be bred to Breeders Cup Sprint Champion and winner of over 2.7 million dollars, Big Drama. We don’t get to breed to too many Breeders Cup champions around here, so Wanda better get in foal. We have discussed this with her at length. We even threatened to withhold her gruel. Wanda, the inveterate gruel hog that she is, has promised to do her best. Now it all resides with the Fates. Doesn’t it always?
Fastest Horse In The World Update
Cosmic Flash went out for his first three-eighths work Wednesday at Calder and went 12.1, 23.1, 36 flat, a little faster than trainer Larry Pilotti had in mind but this horse has a tendency to do that. The work equaled the fastest time of the day by a two-year-old. He will get company for his next work on April 6th, this time a half-mile. We’re still on course to run in a 4 1/2 furlong maiden special weights race on April 26. Cosmic Flash is improving, but still isn’t breaking from the gate the way a horse needs to if he’s going to win a race at 4 1/2 furlongs. With a month to practice, we’re sure he’ll get there.
Scarlet Siren had her first work last weekend, going a quarter in 25.1, bravely racing inside a flock of horses galloping too close to the rail. Larry says young horses don’t usually do that, so good for her. The filly is executing her gate departures a little better than Cosmic Flash so she has that to chide him with if he gets huffy about his faster works.
A Dog’s Story (by China the Rottweiler)
I still remember when they came and got me, Siobhan and Bill, traumatic as the experience was. I lived in big cages back then on the breeder’s farm but it was all I knew, so it wasn’t so bad. I thought they were just more visitors—we got a lot of them at the puppy farm. Then the puppy farm boss told me goodbye and that these new people were taking me with them. WHAT?!? Taking me WHERE? And, ohmigawd, they were going to put me in their truck? What’s that all about? I never knew what trucks were about back when I was I kid. Of course, now I know they perform a vital function. Trucks pull up in our yard all day long, unloading what must be important packages for Siobhan. One of my favorite guys, Larry the Fedex Man, used to come by every day in his truck with packages and he always brought me a dog biscuit. I’m not sure what ever happened to Larry, he doesn’t come around any more and the new guy is tight as a tick with treats. Siobhan’s own truck is very critical in our own activities. She’s uses it to bring home hay and straw and horsefeed and, most important, dogfood for me. So I can live with trucks, as long as it doesn’t involve actually riding in them. The trip to Siobhan’s farm from the puppy place was pretty traumatic, stuff going every which way out the windows. I kept thinking we’d crash for sure. Eventually, though, we made it and I couldn’t believe how nice it was here. I had acres and acres to run around in and raise hell and bark and chase things. And there were lots of things to chase, too. Slow-moving armadillos (it almost wasn’t fair to chase these pokey guys), raccoons, possums, what have you. Siobhan told me I wasn’t to go around grabbing these poor fellas but what can I say, I’m prey-driven? Eventually, they made me stay in at night. It was taking them too much time to go around picking up carcasses in the morning.
When I first got here, another Rottweiler, Mike, lived here. He was a nice old guy. I think the idea was to breed me to Mike before he got too old, but either Mike didn’t find me very attractive or he was too old, so nothing ever happened. Later on, I ended up getting a uterine infection so they had to have me spayed, so no kids. When Mike died, though, I did inherit his two cats, Elmo and Roadkill. Elmo was always a cantankerous son of a gun and he kept his distance but me and Roadkill were great pals….we even slept together in the laundry room. It got a little hot in that laundry room sometimes, though, so I had to have a serious talk with Siobhan and Bill and I eventually weaseled an air-conditioner out of them. I felt a little special after that. I mean, how many dogs have their very own air-conditioner?
All in all, I’ve had a pretty good run here. Unfortunately for us Rottweilers, though, we don’t get to live much past ten years and I’m right on the precipice. Bill says getting old is a bitch and reluctant as I am to speak ill of Mother, he’s pretty much right, in spades. First, all the prey animals started getting too fast for me, so that was a bummer. And lately, I’ve developed quite a limp. Worst of all, though, I started getting this terrible mass in my mouth and it grew like wildfire. The vet said it was something called “squamous cell carcinoma,” and even I know what “carcinoma” means. I had to get back in the scary truck and motivate over to Dr. Lokai’s place to get it cut out. Damned if it didn’t grow right back in no time. Makes it hard for me to eat anything but wet stuff. Even the biscuits are a chore. Smells terrible, too. There’s blood all over my bed when I wake up in the morning. The other day, I even found one of my teeth on the floor.
So I guess what I’m getting ready to say is that life isn’t much fun anymore. I try to put on a good show because I know Siobhan and Bill hate to lose their friends. Bill, especially, gets really upset. I’m not fooling anybody, though. I think we’re finally ready to do the deed. I hope they put me over there next to Mike where I can watch all the traffic going in and out. Hey, and thanks to Mary and Chris and everybody who came over to say goodbye and bring me stuff. Remember me to all my pals out there. I hope I gave you some good stories to tell the new puppy. And if you ever see Larry the Fedex Man again, ask him to drop by and leave a couple of those cookies.. He can put them right up there on top of my grave. Eventually, it’ll rain and the good stuff will seep through. I always loved those cookies….
That’s all, folks. And thanks for all the good times, China.
