Attack of the Ticks

I am having a full on paranoid freakout.  JD and I went hiking at Greenbelt Park and (so far) we have pulled twenty four ticks off of him!!!! And most of them were nymphs.  He didn't even recognize them as being ticks, that small.  Luckily he was with me, and I have lots of tick experience.  On the other hand if I hadn't gone he wouldn't have been exposed.  Maybe.  Or maybe he picked up some of them at home, mowing the lawn.

I had sprayed myself with bug juice before leaving, and I didn't find a single one on myself.  Which shows that that stuff REALLY works.  I only sprayed myself to avoid mosquitoes and biting flies, but I was so so glad I had done it when the tick count started to ratchet up.

I itch all over now.  Ick!

JD stripped down to his boxers out on the porch, and I checked most of him (again) out there.  Inside he took off the boxers and I checked the rest of him, and found ANOTHER tick pretending to be a tiny mole way up the back of his thigh.  Worst case of ticks I've ever seen!  And it was only for about two hours of walking on a trail!

Other than Attack of the Ticks, it was a pretty nice walk.  The weather was delightful, and the park was showing off its mountain laurel.  I think this is the most mountain laurel I've seen blooming there.  It was gorgeous.  And the park was nearly deserted, so we had the trail to ourselves.  If it hadn't been for the constant tick removal it would have been unbearably nice.  Good thing about those ticks, eh?

JD before I started compulsively searching him for dark spots.  Doesn't he look nice?

The only picture I took of the gorgeous laurels, before I got distracted by ticks.

His clothing is all hanging on the porch now, having been sprayed with permethrin.  That was the only way I could think of to make sure ticks wouldn't come into the house with them.  After they've dried I'll wash them.  And next time, I bet he sprays himself with Off first.  I may spray myself with Off just generally, before I pursue such dangerous activities as watching tv and reading a book.  Indoors.

Brief pause for compulsive scratching and tick checking...

In less scary and disgusting news, Olli found out today how nice laundry is:

Furry black tubeworm in laundry

Andy already knew.

Emo cat wonders why he has been disturbed

Try the raspberries, they're excellent

I slept in until nearly 8:30 this morning.  It was AWESOME.  And then I got up and ate sticks and twigs, because I'm responsible that way.

Also I ate a second breakfast.  Hobbitses!  We like the second breakfast.

Water crackers and natural peanut butter and the best raspberries I have ever had in my life, I swear to dog.

JD offered to go out to the farm with me, so I transferred the minimum amount of necessary doctoring stuff (gloves, paper towel, ointment, halter, lead rope, muck boots, and cookies) to his car and we set off.

Mystery was already out getting his pedicure, so Pluto was right there at the gate wanting to come out too.  I brought him out and made him all shiny, and gooped up his head, and fed him cookies.  You know.  The usual.  (His head is looking somewhat less bloody, fyi.)  After Mystery was done, Pluto got his feetsies done too.  Sam the Rottweiler came over to say hi and eat hoof shavings, and I made much of him, as I always do.  He's such a big sweetie.  He was mildly concerned that we might want his hoof shavings, but A) gross, and B) I am not about to try to take food away from a full grown Rottweiler, sweet or not.

We went home the short way so I could get lunch before meeting DeLee.  And I have to tell you about it because it was so very good.  We had no bread, so I made a burrito.  And in the burrito I put leftover Peachy Chicken, some pepperoni, and some ricotta, which I had heated up in the microwave.  Then I added cold pickle slices and a pile of alfalfa sprouts.

You cannot buy sandwiches like that.  You have to make them yourself.  Oh my goodness.

Also, I had a handfull of fresh blueberries.  I *love* the abundance of fresh fruit in the summer.  Were it possible, I would be a fruitatarian.

I sped off to see DeLee.  Or at least I intended to speed off.  The traffic was abysmal.  I tried getting back off at the first exit and taking back roads, but realized that I had spent so much time traversing them that I might as well have stayed in the backup, so I got back into the parking lot / highway.  And crept up to DeLee's.

Anyway I finally got there, and then we went to look at shoes.  Shoes!  All pink and shiny!  As it happens.  Apparently women's trail shoes are pink.

Our salesman was excellent.  He right away understood our issues with feet swelling after many miles, and needed enough support, and not wanting toes to touch the end.  For me brought out shoes in two adjacent sizes in every style of trail runner they had.  For DeLee he brought out a similar selection of walkers, as she wants something in which to train for one of those three day walks for charity.

We both found good options, then checked out the rest of the massive store (much bigger on the inside than it looks - RoadRunner in Columbia).  And then Delee asked if I wanted to see the Perfect Pour.

I may, technically, have been in heaven.

We walked around for an absurdly long time in that store.  I didn't even check out the wine or hard liquor, just the beer.  And I limited myself to buying a very few single bottles.  One dares not lose one's head, you know.  We wouldn't have room in the fridge for anything else if I tried everything I wanted.

I didn't forget my tea-totalling husband.  I got him some diet ginger beer and also some diet boutique root beer.

I arrived home hungry (again) and suggested we call Shirley to see if she wanted to get pizza.  As it happened she was on the porch, about to order pizza, so we went over and it was a huge pizza fest.

And, finally, I put all my entries into trailjournals for the week I was hiking with DeLee.  Whew!  Long day.  I shall have to retire to my fainting couch for a rest.

PS Apparently I didn't get raptured.

Debbie Harry sang a song about it once

Aw, crap.  I got to watching tv (well, downloaded episodes of tv, seeing as we have neither cable nor reception) and forgot I had a blog.  I almost went to bed.  But then I would have woken up in a cold sweat.  And I intend to take a shower before bed, so the sweat would have been annoying.

So, let's see.  Y'all ready for some Rapture?  Rapturing?  Rapturousness?  Raptors?  I'm thinking about having a party.  Some people say there will be folks floating up in the sky.  Somebody else told me it will happen like a flash of lightning.  You'll be walking along and you'll look over and Bob will be gone.  I didn't manage to get the details on whether or not Bob will take his cellphone and chinos to heaven, but if he doesn't I'm sure he wouldn't mind you taking them after he's gone.  None of the descriptions of heaven I've read have involved cellphones, and I think they wear robes there.  I suppose there could be pants under the robes.  At any rate the electronics are a safe bet.

So I was thinking I might sit out on the porch and drink a Double Bag and wait for floaters and/or looters.  At the office I put up a sign that said "No looting please.  We're sinners.  We'll still need all our stuff."  I'm just making an assumption on the part of my office mates, but I'm pretty sure if you dug deep enough you'd find some sin.  Maybe just one of those small sins, like envy.  Technically as an atheist I'm not a sinner because I don't have anyone to sin against (feel free not to correct me if I'm wrong) but that didn't stop the Inquisition and it probably wouldn't stop looters.

Rapture aside, I have some pretty exciting plans for tomorrow.  Rubbing goop onto Pluto's chin, hanging out while he gets his pedicure, maybe fly spraying a little.  Then shoe shopping.  I realize that everybody who has ever met me wonders why I need to shop for shoes when I wear the same pair of hiking boots every day, but I have this crazy idea that I might find some trail runners that fit well enough that my feet don't slide down to the toe when I'm standing on a steep slope.  If I found those, I could wear them every day instead.  Though I really need to get a formal pair, because regular trail shoes don't go with quite everything.  I didn't wear a skirt today because it wouldn't go with my hiking boots, for instance.

Aaaand it's a blog.  Time to hit the showers.  Night all!

Male model seeks adoring audience

The Stinker was reasonably accommodating about his ointment, today.  Unfortunately he had several new bloody spots around his eyes.  On the theory that something is biting him, I went and got his new fly mask out.  I asked him to model it for you:

Well, hello there

I'm working the Modern Horse look

But perhaps you prefer the ears rakishly tilted, darling?

I have fond hopes that he will still have it on tomorrow morning when I go to check on him.  I'm glad I'm checking on him twice a day, as I wouldn't have wanted to let any of the new spots go a whole 24 hours.  I emailed the vet to see what she thinks about my mystery bite theory.  Not Mystery the horse.  Mysterious insects.  Or other nasty bitey crawling/flying things.

In related news, my butt still hurts.  Pluto contributed to me injuring it a few years ago by leaving me hanging in the air, Coyote-style, before I fell several feet and crunched my sacro-iliac region.  And then he helped AGAIN a few weeks ago by rediscovering OMG CANTERING and also bucking.  I didn't help my case by working on sitting trot with him.  Thanks to my apparently weak spot, post-injury, I'm not sure if it will ever be reasonable for me to attempt sitting trot on a Lipizzan.  Or Lipizzan cross, as may be.

For you non-horsey folks, the difference between a Lipizzan trot and a non-Lipizzan trot is something like the difference between a home jogging trampoline, and a regulation gymnasium trampoline. They are both bouncy, but the home trampoline only gets you up a foot or two.  The gymnasium trampoline can boost you ten or more feet in the air and requires spotters.  (Note that I have ridden Pluto with spotters.)

I pondered today what it might mean to not be able to do sitting trot with my horse, and I decided I don't really care.  I do care if I can't canter him, but mostly I care because it isn't always an option to not canter.  Riders like to think they are in charge but it is a joint operation, folks.  If your horse really wants to canter, you are going to canter.  At least for a little while, until you negotiate something else.

So I'm okay with limiting my riding based on my frailties.  It's better than the other options, which are not riding, or not riding this particular horse.  And I want to ride this horse, because.. well, he's family.  He's my pal.  I want to keep him for the rest of his life.  Once he goes (around 2031, I speculate) I don't really intend to keep riding.  If he lives out his full span, I'll be about sixty and definitely ready to stick closer to the ground.

Possibly I'll be ready before then if he keeps it up with the bucking at the canter.

Too tired to think of title. But not too tired for alliteration.

Long day.  Long, long day.  Hungry day, too.  And it wasn't just me.  JD was hungry also.  We are both drinking hot drinks after dinner in the hopes of convincing our tummies that we are full.

I went to bed early last night in preparation for today, and I think I'll go to bed early tonight too.  An extra two hours of driving and 30-40 minutes of horse care make my day feel much, much busier.  I hope that by the end of the week Pluto will start cooperating so that I can dash in, rub his ointment on him, and dash out.  At the moment he is drawing it out.  He steps toward me, he steps away.  He wants his cookie but he doesn't want to cooperate.  I hope he figures out quickly that the goop makes him feel good and that I'm not going to do something horrible to his owie.

So, here is a summary of my day:

Get up 45 minutes early.  Race through breakfast.  Forget to take vitamins.
Drive to farm.  Try to convince horse to let me put goop on him.  Halter would have been helpful.
Drive to chiropractor, where she tells me that my pelvis is all tilted.  Again.
Drive to work.  Frantically try to get things done before..
Driving over to pick up DeLee to go to the Asian Pacific American something or other luncheon.  Try to restrain myself in the face of yummy food.  Sadly succeed and remain hungry after inhaling a small plate of deliciousness.
Drop DeLee off, get several minutes of work done.
Walk to other building to sit through incredibly boring two hour presentation.
Take the long way back.  Realize am tired.  And kind of sore.
Work frantically.  Find mistakes I made last month.  Fix them.  Eat emergency popcorn.
Drive to farm.  Repeat dance with horse, this time with halter.
Drive home.  No husband, no dog.  Frantic dog manages to wake husband from pre-dinner coma so she can run downstairs to yarp at me.
Too hungry to wait for dinner.  Start noshing on anything I can find.  Mmm, raspberries.
Eat dinner.  Get the sriracha sweats.

Still to come:  cleaning litter boxes, falling into bed.

I got very little actual exercise today but I'm exhausted.  Various parts keep hurting.  Then they stop hurting.  I feel like I'm a puppet and somebody is yanking my strings.

The last time I had to go out twice a day to take care of Pluto, it was a very, very long week.  Kind of wishing the horse lived closer.  Glad he doesn't require five times a day care like that one time when Playboy hurt his eye.

PS I just heard rustling, clanking, and crashing.  One or more of the cats somehow managed to remove the end knob from a wooden curtain rod about eight feet up over the door, and pulled the curtain off the end of the rod.  A) How the hell did he do that?  B)  Which cat was it, or was it a collaboration?  Andy looked indignant when I accused him.  C) What are the chances they'll leave it alone if I put the curtain back up?

Blood and gore update, plus kitty butts and a tattoo

I met the vet out at the farm amidst sprinkling rain and vigorous winds.  Pluto was airing out his Arab side.  In between Pluto's wild eyed lunges and uncooperative posturing, the vet got a look at his chinny chin chin.  Her comment:  "Huh!"  It doesn't really look like an abscess, for all that it's bleeding and icky.  It looks maybe fungal.  Or something.  Since we never have gotten anything definitive to grow on a culture, we are relying on guesswork and her years of experience here.  Treatment is more straightforward.  He is getting enough doxycycline to kill a goat (but not a horse, luckily).  It's doxycycline mostly because it's a different antibiotic from what we've already tried, but she said it also has anti-inflammatory properties.  Though I might have been mistaken on which thing was anti-inflammatory, because he is ALSO getting the Ointment of Doom.  It's an antibiotic.  It's an anti-fungal.  It has steroids in it.  And it's anti-itchy.  You better believe I will be wearing gloves while applying it.

I am going to post pictures of his owie, but I will put them at the bottom for the faint of heart.  Do not scroll down below my awesome tattoo if you don't want to see.

Today was my day to be snubbed.  Here is Dori snubbing me.

Here is Andy snubbing me and knocking everything off my desk.

My awesome AT tattoo, since washed off.

Okay, ready?  Gore ensues.  I warned you.

The dark area next to his halter (continuing beneath it) is his owie.  He has blood smeared on the right side of his jaw.

Oh gross.  I can't decide if this is better or worse than last night, when there was pus and goo all in there.

It's itchy, so in addition to a bloody head he has a bloody knee.  I guess he couldn't get anything else up in there to scratch it.

Horses.  Never a dull moment.

Oh, and the doxycycline?  Fifty pills, morning and evening.  That's five zero.  I tried two in a handful of grain before I left and he hoovered them up, so possibly it won't be too difficult to get them into him.  I hope not, because my other option is daily shots and doesn't Pluto sound like he would be an exemplary patient for that?

Lunchtime update and the Apocalypse

I have been having apocalyptic dreams for the last week or two.  Dreams in which I am fending off intruders, or searching for food, or retreating from rising flood waters.  I don't know what this portends but it can't be good.  Maybe you should stock up on essentials.  You know, like beef jerky and batteries.

I hopped on the scale this morning and it sneered at me.  Apparently I've gained six pounds in the last week and a half.  Kind of shocking when you consider that I spent six of those days dragging a backpack up and down mountains.  Less shocking when I ponder the overeating I did afterward.  Hiker hunger is bad enough without the opportunities provided by faire food.  Soft ice cream, a deep fried oreo, sodas, fries to die for (those I don't regret, and I will be experimenting with dill seasoning in the future), second breakfast, really big first breakfasts..  yeah.  I was hungry.  And I didn't hold back.  But still.. six pounds?

Ah well.  Back to the straight and narrow for me.  JD bought me some celery.  Unfortunately, when I was rooting around in the cabinet for some lunch to put in my lunchbox, I came across the astronaut ice cream.  I had intended to take it backpacking but didn't because I was running low on space and high on weight.  I immediately forgot about everything else and ate freeze dried ice cream.  Then I logged it in Sparkpeople.  Sigh.  And I still had to go back and figure out lunch.  Fortunately I only had the one package of ice cream in there so I didn't run into any GroundHog Day ice cream scenarios.

Hiker hunger is abating but hasn't left entirely.  I suppose it will take another day or two.  The hunger hit a lot harder and faster this time than last, probably because I was already dieting before I left for the trail.  Weather isn't cooperating with me getting back into my regular exercise routine, which isn't helping.