Bringing Back Chesapeake

In 2003, the White Bird Appaloosa Horse Rescue was still in its first year of operation as a non-profit organization. We were an enthusiastic bunch of rescuers (many fresh from the ranks of companion animal rescues) who were undaunted by distance, finances or complicated logistics, and who were still becoming familiar with the many issues and ethical minefields in the horse industry.

One day, I happened upon a post from another rescue, which was forwarding information about the upcoming auction of horses by the Colorado State University. Horses have traditionally been used in the school’s veterinary program labs, and at the end of their tenure, the horses had just as traditionally been auctioned off to the highest bidder. These usually turned out to be buyers for the slaughter market. Without opposing bidders, the horses would certainly enter the slaughter chain. The more we thought about it, the less fair it seemed. These horses had already come from owners that they had served, then been used by the University in their embryo transfer program. Now, they’d be sold for meat. It seemed to us that these horses had already done their service to humanity and deserved a better end.

A handful of members of our Yahoo! group pooled their resources to form an ad hoc team they called “ARC (Animal Rescue Corps), with the intention of buying one of the horses through the on-line auction. We selected several likely candidates from the list of auction horses and when the auction opened, we bid. Our bidding methodology was simple: we assumed that the least expensive horse would be in the greatest danger of being sold for meat. We altered our bids accordingly and remained watchful.

When the bidding ended, we were shocked. Every single horse had had their bids topped and their high bidders had been outbid. We were equally shocked to receive an email shortly after the auction, advising us that “our” horse would be available at our previously bid price. We have been told that there were some shady dealings at the end of the auction, though we cannot verify what happened. We only know that we had “our” horse, an overweight, sullen-looking chestnut mare with a large scar on her neck and the number “1830” tattooed on her butt. ARC named her Chesapeake Hope, a compromise between the ARC members who favored “Chesapeake” and those who favored “Hope.

The following weeks involved a flurry of negotiations with a rescuer in Colorado, who picked her up at the vet school for us, kept her for several weeks, and helped us to locate a reliable hauler to bring her home. The horse that rolled out of the trailer was far different from the one in the photo. She was bright, lively and in better condition than in her photo (thanks to Shirley, in Colorado). What a bundle of energy! From the quarantine paddock where she desperately wanted to get to the other horses, to the love and discipline she doled out as “Momma” to our nurse mare foals, she took immediate control of the herd and remained its matriarch. Did I mention she is bossy?

Among the volunteers we have had at the rescue was a young woman who came out a couple of times a week to help feed and clean stalls. The chemistry between these two grew quickly and we received the surprise request one day for Chessie’s adoption. We were ecstatic. Chessie went home with our best wishes for a bright future.

But predicting the future is impossible. We never know what hooks and turns our lives will throw at us, and so it was with Chessie’s adopter. Several weeks ago, we were advised that Chessie would need to return to us, for reasons beyond anyone’s control. So six years after Chessie arrived from Colorado, we brought her back to White Bird, to a new farm she hadn’t yet seen and to some old friends, both horse and human, that she still recognized.

Chessie has been very well cared for by her adopter. But it is apparent that Chessie’s life prior to her rescue had not been an easy one. We are now seeing the results of what appears to be a series of old injuries that are emerging as various arthritis and joint problems, in addition to the navicular syndrome that is so common in Quarter horses. It is not unusual for old injuries to start causing problems a long time after they seem to have healed. But for a 14-year old horse (a baby by our standards!) she has a surprising number of health issues. Chessie will never be completely sound and will always require a little extra care to keep her comfortable. But she is still our bright-eyed, bouncing girl and still “large and in charge.”

We are sorry that Chessie lost her home and the person who loved her. But we are glad that she had somewhere safe to go, especially in this difficult economy and terrible horse market. People are not exactly standing in line for busted up mares with bad feet, no matter how personable they are. But one of the best reasons to adopt horses from rescues is that, if something unforeseen happens, your horse has an insurance policy. Bringing back Chesapeake was possible because her adopter opened her home to a rescued horse, ensuring that in an emergency, her horse had a safe haven. But we are also grateful to her adopter, for taking such good care of our girl and for making sure she was safe when she could no longer care for her.

Top photo: Auction picture taken at CSU, 2003
Middle photo: Despooking exercise, taken at White Bird's Stillwater Farm in 2004
Bottom photo: Chessie at White Bird, taken this morning, Valentine's Day 2009

The Great Raw Milk Debate

The great joy of owning a family cow or two (or three) is the ability to produce your own, fresh, raw milk. Raw milk is milk that has been neither pasteurized nor homogenized, existing in the state that (pick one: God, Natural Selection) made it. Pasteurization is the heat process that destroys pathogens. Homogenization is the process of mechanically breaking the fats into small particles so that the cream no longer rises to the top. While homogenization is simply a stabilizing process, whether pasteurization is necessary has been the subject of heated debate and some questionable public policy.

The arguments “For” pasteurization are as follows: Milk carries dangerous pathogens that can injure or kill, and these must be destroyed in order to make the milk safe to drink. Pasteurization does not affect the nutritional quality of the milk.

The arguments “Against:” Pasteurization affects the nutritional quality of the milk, altering colloidal minerals and destroying beneficial enzymes like lactase. It makes it taste different, or “cooked.” Clean cows and hygienic handling processes minimize the potential for pathogen contamination, making pasteurization unnecessary. Requiring pasteurization is an unfair burden on small farmers.

Reviewing all of the positions “For” and “Against” that have ever been written is guaranteed to make your head explode. Claims range from “drinking raw milk is dangerous dietary Russian roulette” to “it is nature’s perfect food just as it is.” Raw milk has been credited with causing terminal diseases, or curing them. Arguers on both sides are passionate, convinced they are right, and they present equally flawed arguments.

Public policy in Virginia is based largely on the public health arguments for pasteurization and also reflects the interests of the struggling and fiercely regulated dairy industry, which operates on a slim margin even in good years. These are definitely not good years and the industry does not welcome competition, even from small family farms. The Code of Virginia prohibits the sale of unpasteurized milk in any amount. So, if we sell Rosebud’s milk to our neighbor Earl, we are subject to prosecution, even if Earl is standing under the cow collecting it. This is because, in the eyes of the Commonwealth, neither we, nor Earl, are competent to make this decision for ourselves.

After sifting through enough literature to make even the most enthusiastic researcher yearn for a People Magazine, I offer the following synopsis of what I've found:

Milk that comes from healthy cows and that is handled properly is safe to drink. If it is not stored or handled properly, it can become contaminated with pathogens. Let’s face it. If you’ve ever been to a commercial dairy, even a really good one, you really wouldn’t want to drink that milk unpasteurized. Cows are large animals and the manure of healthy cows is soupy and prone to wide…uh… distribution. Put a hundred of these animals together in one place and it isn’t the spot you'd choose to have a picnic with your grandchildren. Once the milk is collected, it is then transported and any number of factors can cause contamination between cow and consumer. However: of the many studies that I have reviewed that analyzed bacterial content in raw milk, none examined samples taken directly from very small family farms (single or dual cow operations) under typical conditions. This is a serious, if not fatal, defect in such studies, as the milking and handling environments are very different from commercial dairies. Until contamination levels at these small family farms are adequately studied, comparing results from the two operations is like comparing apples to lawn chairs.

Raw milk tastes fresh and the high butterfat content in Jersey milk gives it a silkiness unlike grocery store products. Is it nutritionally healthier for you? I still don’t know, as there is surprisingly little peer-reviewed research on this question. And of course, there are entire organizations on either side that will cheerfully serve as "peers," so I am referring to peer review by the scientific community, rather than an interest group. But chemically, there is no question that heat will permanently alter the tertiary structure of a protein. Think of a raw vs. boiled egg. They are different, certainly. Is one better for you than the other? That depends on whom you ask. But there is little scientific support for the idea that drinking milk from your clean, healthy family cow will make you and your neighbors succumb on the spot, gasping like bruised bass after a long struggle. And despite the growing homestead/locally grown food movement, it isn’t likely that family cows will supplant the role of commercial dairies in American society. Industry has little to fear from Rosebud, Bessie and Priscilla.

This month, the State of Arkansas appears poised to pass legislation to allow limited sales (100 gal/per month) of raw milk from small farms. This amount equates to the high end of Miniature Jersey production for one cow. In these times of economic hardship, this is exactly the right thinking.

Photo of Tom, Jorg and Bessie from: "Old Picture of the Day" at: http://old-photos.blogspot.com/2009/01/milking-cow.html, Just kidding about the Jorg and Bessie part.

"Where are the snows of yesteryear?"

The "Ballade des dames du temps jadis" ("Ballad of the Ladies of Times Past") is a poem by the fifteenth-century French poet François Villon which celebrates famous women in history and mythology, and from which came the line "Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan". In French they have the expression "triste" which is a wistful sadness rather than outright depression, and Villon is commenting that, like the snow, life fades away almost without us noticing.

Well that was a long segue into the fact that snow, in depth, finally came to Triskelion Farm last night - all quarter of an inch of it! But worth sharing, as it was real springlike snow, pretty without being a nuisance (or worse) and it too will fade quickly. In the meantime the ravages of rain and cold are hidden for a few brief hours and we can believe that spring is around the corner (even if Punxsutawney Phil says otherwise, and the weather forecast is for 16 degrees tomorrow night!)

Most of the menagerie were tucked up in stalls, just the youngsters braving the flurries. When dawn broke they were happily munching the hay I had put out, and take the snow along with most weather conditions with equal equanimity. They too have comfy stalls when it gets cold and when ice storms are likely; but their preference is for wide open spaces, as evidenced by the rodeo that went on last evening that caused my neighbor to phone and ask if everything was OK. The thunder of hooves across the paddock could be heard half a mile away, but it was all play. The call was appreciated, however, as accidents do happen. Another neighbor, a few miles away, just earlier in the week, had gone through the floorboards of a barn and broken his thigh bone. Unfortunately, he had left his cell phone in his truck and it took him over an hour to get out and call for help. I guess we have all heard of similar stories in rural communities so a watchful neighbor is always welcome.

Well, I for one won't be sorry to see winter bow out, and perhaps the longer days and brighter weather will cheer us all up, and instill some optimistic thoughts. Let's dwell on the good things ahead rather than feeling sad about the past. In that spirit , White Bird is holding its first volunteer orientation of the year on Sunday, having put out "come and volunteer" notices on line and locally. We have had a great response so far and it will be a fun day with the promise of warm weather, as well as refreshments. See the notice on the sidebar.

Call 'Em Anything but "Late for Dinner"

From: Pull the udder one? Calling cows names 'makes them produce more milk'
Matthew Weaver
Wednesday January 28 2009
guardian.co.uk

"Cows with names such as Ermintrude and Daisy produce more milk than cattle without names, researchers claimed today.

The study, which has prompted a pull-the-udder-one attitude among sceptics, said cows treated with "the personal touch" are happier, and produce higher milk yields than cows treated as just one of a herd.

Researchers from Newcastle University asked 516 British dairy farmers about their attitude to the behaviour and welfare of their cows. Those who called cows by name said they had a 258-litre higher milk yield than those who did not.

The study was published in an online journal called Anthrozoos, which is described as a "multidisciplinary journal of the interactions of people and animals". Critics claimed the study was flawed and confused a correlation with causation.

Dr Catherine Douglas, who conducted the research, said: "By placing more importance on the individual, such as calling a cow by her name or interacting with the animal more as it grows up, we not only improve the animal's welfare and her perception of humans, but also increase milk production."

She added: "Just as people respond better to the personal touch, cows also feel happier and more relaxed if they are given a bit more one-to-one attention. What our study shows is what many good, caring farmers have long since believed."

Dennis Gibb, who co-owns Eachwick Red House Farm at Dalton, near Newcastle upon Tyne, with his brother Richard, says he believes treating every cow as an individual is "vitally important". He said: "Collectively we refer to them as 'our ladies' but we know every one of them and each one has her own personality."

Hank Campbell, who set up the blog Scientific Blogging, said the study had "too many logical flaws for me to tackle without being insulting". He wrote: "Basically they asked farmers how to get more milk and whatever half the farmers said was the conclusion."

Copyright Guardian Newspapers Limited 2009."

We found this study interesting for a number of reasons. First, every dairy farmer has an interest in doing whatever is necessary to get the optimum production from his or her cows. This might mean naming them, feeding them treats when they are being milked, waving incense over them or dancing a Seekrit Magical Milk Dance around them. There is already evidence that cows are sensitive animals and there are many studies documenting that stressed animals do not produce as well. The conclusion of the study is not necessarily wrong, it’s simply unsupported in a way that is scientifically defensible.

The first problem here is the assumption that correlation is the same as causation, in other words, the assumption that because two events have a relationship with each other, one must cause the other. For example, Merlin, our rooster, crows in the morning. I get up and go to work in the morning. Most mornings, both are true. I do not get up because Merlin crows, I get up because if I don’t, neither he nor I will have enough to eat, shortly. But someone confusing correlation with causation might assume that I wake up in the morning because Merlin crows, rather than considering other factors, like “dog needing to go out right now,” or "retaining job,” or "Tom booting me out of bed." In the cow study, it is possible that the farmers who named their cows were also more likely to provide a calming milking environment, which could also result in greater yield with or without a name. There are many other factors that might result in greater production.

The second problem is in the model that was used to support the conclusion. The fact that every farmer that names his cows thinks they produce more milk for that reason and will tell you so isn’t proof that they do. Opinions aren’t science. Sometimes, it can be very difficult to conclude, in a scientifically defensible way, things that are fairly obvious.

We can’t swear that our cows like their names well enough to give us more milk (except Priscilla, who picked hers through an animal communicator). But we think the authors of the study are headed in the right direction. We know that cows like to be talked to. We know they are smart and can learn some words, including their names. Happy cows are likely to produce more milk. That’s enough for us to suspect that the authors have a reasonable foundation for asking this question.

Tom looks really silly doing that Seekrit Magical Milk Dance out in the barn and possibly just calling the cows by their names would be more effective. But then again, Tom really likes doing the Seekrit Magical Milk Dance and production may not be the reason he does it at all. It's easy to confuse correlation with causation.

Penny Writes Home

Dear Humans:

Above is a picture of me and my new best friend Bella. In case you forgot, I am the small, dark one, peaking around the pole. Bella was really glad when I arrived, as she was living all by herself. She used to hang out by the fence so she could talk to the cows in the neighbor's field. All that changed when I came. We made friends right away. I hardly even noticed when you left. I'm not sure I even remember who brought me here. What are your names again?

Things are good here. I haven't seen any of those frightening animals they call "cats." The food is delicious, there is lots of grass, a toasty shelter and people are nice to me. I do miss my cousin Annie and I wish I had some more chickens to watch. You probably haven't noticed it, but I think that big black one is maybe a rooster. It has a strange way of looking at the hens. And two of them might be sick. The poor things are laying blue eggs. Annie wrote recently to tell me that she is doing well and living in Appomattox. She has developed an interest in analytical chemistry and is taking courses on-line. She's hoping to patent a process that produces cheese directly from the cow, skipping all those unpleasant intermediate stages having to do with fungi. I knew you'd be pleased to hear that.

How is everything on the farm? How are Mom and Bessie? Before I left, I heard them whispering about someone named "Son of Fat Louie." I had to put my hooves over my ears. I don't want to worry you, but there is a picture of him hanging in the stalls in the red barn. I also heard the name "AI Tech" and then lots of giggling. It's probably none of my business, but you might want to check your phone bill for long distance calls to Ohio. This just can't be good. And do you think it wise to encourage a relationship with someone who has, at least on the face of it, a genetic predisposition for excessive weight gain? I think Bessie is a really bad influence. When no one is looking, she gets all painted up and then looks for ways to get out of the fence. I think she's headed for trouble.

I hope all the horses are okay. The blind ones in the paddock next to us were nice, especially the really old girl who speaks "cow." I don't miss the "minis," though. They were mean to us and called us names through the fence. I told them that one of these days, I am going to grow up to be twice as big as they are, then I am going to come back over there and butt their little equine behinds so hard they won't land until they reach Mecklenburg. I am cow. Hear me roar. The little creeps.

I have observed some troubling developments in the economy lately. The GDP has declined sharply, the unemployment rate is still rising and we appear to be headed into a protracted recession. This is a good time for you to invest in bonds, buy undervalued stocks, keep your money in interest-bearing money market accounts and diversify your portfolio. Also, I think you should buy lots of molasses cookies and send them over, wrapped in plain brown paper and labelled "For Penny Only."

Well, that's about all I can think of for now. I have to go tidy up my resume in case milk prices continue on their present downward slide. I'm thinking about working in the alcoholic beverage industry, which tends to be relatively recession-proof.

Love,

Penny

My Inauguration Day

(All photos courtesy of Ana Gross, who really was there)

"Where were you when Barack Obama was made President, Great grandad?" We are supposed to always remember where we were at important moments in history. So where was I: when Germany marched on Russia - being born, on VE Day - Portsmouth watching fireworks, on Kennedy's assassination - Sliema Malta listening to news on the radio, on the moon landing - middle of the night in the UK got my eldest son up to watch B&W grainy pictures, and so on. You get the picture. So what about January 20th, 2009?

1am - aroused from sleep by call of nature. Remember when a 1am visit to the restroom was to fix make-up (partner, not me) or get a packet of something for the post-dance activities.

1.05am - sleep elusive so sit down to read Guardian online. Wonder if Barack (he's going to be the people's President, so I feel able to call him by his first name) is up too: wrestling with affairs of state to come, polishing off his speech, or maybe trying to decipher the book of swatches Michelle gave him 3 months ago.

1.30am - finished Guardian, looked at e-mails, still can't sleep. Decide to write erudite post on Inauguration. Unfortunately, wee small hours not best time for erudition and 2 hours of work produces patchy piece at best. Never mind, it was truly felt, which is all that matters.

3.30am - search for suitable photos, as am told blogs without pictures are boring. This was actually quite rewarding and perked me up for the day ahead. So much so that I actually managed an hours sleep before Jorg's alarm routine woke me.
6am - normal day's work for Jorg, well maybe more if the traffic levels turn out to be as expected. Rumors of long lines of coaches stretching down I95 from DC to SC. Dull gray day here in Southside, am relieved to see lovely sunrise in DC, wouldn't want him to start his Presidency in gloomy weather.

7am - lunch box packed and Jorg dispatched to slay dragons, and bring home bacon (love mixed metaphors, don't you!). I look forward to a cosy day in front of TV, pointing at screen and shouting "I've been there, and there". I have a childish delight in seeing places on TV I know! Reality is that there are house pets to feed and water, and a similar task for horses, sheep, and hens, plus the cows to milk. Time to spare a thought for all those hard working people out there for whom today is just "another day, another dollar". Although I suspect that there will be plenty of people in America today who will manage to be in front of a TV screen at Noon. Even now the Mall is choc-a-block with people, many who have been there all night.

8am to 11am - in the cold everything seems to take so much longer. Remembering to remove hoses from standpipes is always a bonus, but draining them as well not always achieved. Having heated troughs is a boon when we get the weeks of low temperatures we are experiencing. Nothing like further North and the mid-west, however, and I wonder what farming there must be like. We get accustomed to working in our own part of the country I guess. Thankfully, milking machine decides not to play up this morning - the cover and heating pad seem to be working. Have been listening to events on NPR, having fixed radios in each barn so that I don't miss anything. It's a little disjointed as I walk between barns but generally I get the gist.
11.30am to 4pm - at last, now I can really sit down and enjoy the moment. Hot chocolate, a cheese sandwich, and a warm house, what more could you ask? Perhaps that is the real message of this Presidency - look around at what you have and be very thankful. For many of us these next months, maybe years, will be hard but, hopefully, not fatal. We will learn not to expect to buy the latest gizmo the second it comes out, and industry will slow down to accommodate slower buying patterns. That is not to dismiss the trauma of losing jobs and houses and savings that people are going through; the hope is that we can come through, stronger and more able to prevent it happening again.
Musings over as President takes the oath and CJ appears to have lost the plot - whatever happened to prompt cards, or notes on the palm of your hand. You, no doubt have your own take on the acceptance speech, so I won't comment except to say I found it stimulating and thought provoking, and am drawn to good oratory, which he undoubtedly has a flare for. The whole inauguration is well crafted with a nice mix of the visual, aural and cerebral for all. Nice to see a little levity in the Benediction, even on such a solemn occasion.
One of the hazards of a combination of losing sleep, and a morning's hard work, is the likelihood of middle of the day snoozing. I am not immune to that ( I blame it on my Navy days as a watchkeeper, when afternoon sleeping was a must when carrying out rotating watches) and as the event slips into lunch, and then the drive from the Capitol to the White House, my post-prandial "dip" takes over. No doubt the many 10's of thousands waiting in the cold didn't have that luxury, and I will forget that part of the day when recounting "what I did on Barack Obama's inauguration" to my Great grandchildren.

4.30pm - all good things must come to an end and, as Jorg and I have not been invited to any of the Inaugural Balls, I will get on with the evening chores as usual, and Jorg will wend her weary way back from Ashland in an hour or so. The radio keeps me informed of world opinion, as well as pundits' assessment of the day's events. I have usual shouting match with radio when in disagreement with opinions expressed, although animals are unimpressed with my oration.
7.30pm - *!@#*! milking machine has decided that tonight is too cold for any self-respecting vacuum pump to work, and why don't we have an enclosed milking parlor like sensible people! Carry out all previous mechanical and electrical engineering tricks that made it work before - cursing, hitting with hammer, pleading - all to no avail. Finally call quits on it and milk by hand. That I can actually milk Bessie by hand without her removing what little hair I have left is a feat in itself. To do so in sub-zero temperatures (well it felt like it!) when I could have been indoors watching well coiffed, bejeweled and elegantly gowned ladies besporting themselves on the ballroom floor, was pretty much a miracle.

But all good things must come to an end, and so I finish the day with a large Irish Whiskey, a toasted egg sandwich and my main squeeze by my side. Mulling over the day and able to say I was there in spirit if not in person. And, yes, it was a day to remember.

My thanks to Ana Gross for permission to use photos from her inauguration day album. Ana, a colleague at my old firm Evans Incorporated, braved the 3am cold and joined the throng on the Mall.

Cometh the hour, cometh the man

(Photo by Alex Brandon courtesy of AP )

If ever the above were true not only the USA, but the world, needs that man. Whether Barack Obama proves to be that man only time will tell, but there is certainly a collective hopefulness that he will prove to be a great President; that he will not only meet and deal with the economic crisis, but also be a world leader to be proud of. Looking at the TV pictures from DC, all over the US, and also from around the world, it is obvious that there is a palpable sense of occasion, of something special happening. The African-American population, rightly, sees his inauguration as historic, but shut your eyes and listen to the speeches and there is a message there for every man, woman and child in this country, and beyond.

He, undoubtedly, has a heavy burden to carry and to have so much hope heaped onto the shoulders of one man is an awesome responsibility. Watching a review of his life on TV last night, and seeing his meteoric rise from community activist to a world leader one can only feel that there is something extraordinary in the man. Jorg and I have also been struck by his ability to take time out (from what must be long hours preparing for office) to do "ordinary" things - like helping at a shelter for teens the day before his inauguration, or writing an open letter to his daughters for Parade magazine.

It does seem that crises bring out the persons with the capabilities to overcome them - Lincoln, Roosevelt, Churchill. But of course those same crises were failures for the men who preceded them - Buchanan, Hoover, Chamberlain. We can only hope that Barack Obama goes down as one of the greats, because these times demand nothing less. On a personal note, I am proud to be living in a country that has elected President Obama as its head of state, and it has spurred me to apply for US citizenship. The final step in my US journey, and one that I have agonized over since becoming a permanent resident.

(Photo by Alex Brandon courtesy of AP)

The origin of the quotation is not really known, but some notable variations and one actual use are as follows:

John 4:23 has ‘But the hour cometh, and now is'.

William Yancey, said about Jefferson Davis, President-elect of the Confederacy in 1861: 'The man and the hour have met'.

It was notably used (about himself) by Cliff Gladwin, the Derbyshire and England cricketer, during the first Test Match against South Africa at Durban (20 December 1948). England were 117 for 8 requiring 128 to win, when Gladwin walked out to bat, remarking to Dudley Nourse, the South Africa captain, as he did so: ‘Cometh the hour, cometh the man!’ The last ball of the match hit Gladwin on the thigh and he and Alec Bedser ran a leg-bye to win the match for England.