I need an equine gyno...STAT!!

OK, y’all, I suck. And I’m not talking about sucking like you would out of a straw. I’m talking the kind of suck that has that Dyson guy making so much money. I’m a horrible blogger, if you haven’t noticed. Believe me, I really wanted to keep up with this, but holy freakin’ crap I’ve been busy.

Truth is, I’ve run out of school stories at the moment since I’m only in one class and I don’t want to talk about the class until I’m done. Trust me, you’ll thank me later. So I’m opening up my story base to whatever the heck is on my mind at the time.

Wait.

Do you hear it?

It’s my mental dam about to burst.

Hopefully my readers will come back.

Maybe if I tell them I’m giving away free baklava, you will read my blog again.

*Chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp*

C’mon people!! It’s baklava!! READ!!

Oh, you want something to read? My bad. Well, here you go.

So, last Saturday I went to my volunteer session with the horsies and the kiddies. I cannot even begin to tell you how miserable that was. Not the horses or the kids, or even the volunteers or instructors, but the conditions we had to work in were insane.

It all began before I even left the house while I was getting dressed. Now, I KNEW damn well that it was 80,000 degrees outside, so you can imagine the groan that came out of me and I’m pulling on a pair of jeans. I must be crazy, I thought. Well, they’re crazier for not cancelling lessons that day, but I digress. Already I knew I was going to be hating life.

After arriving at the stables, my heart sunk when I saw other volunteers there…nope, definitely NOT cancelled. *Sigh* Thank God I had the presence of mind to bring an extra gallon of ice water. Or, rather, a gallon sized bottle of quickly warming water that was very sweaty on the outside. Calling it ice water would be a stretch of reality.

[It was so hot that day that I drank at least 72 fluid ounces of water in a span of four hours and never peed once…and I STILL managed to get a dehydration headache when I got home.]

All the lessons went fine, as long as you loosen your definition of “fine” to mean walking around in a pool of my own sweat dealing with testy kids, of whom many cannot verbalize their discomfort, so they just cry and shriek a lot. To those of you who know me and my tolerance for whining minors, I was just having a friggin’ ball. I would have much rather been licking the burning sun…at least it would have been quiet and not so smelling of horse crap.

However, I did get a break in the middle where I got to clean tack in the barn instead of walk a lesson in the hot, nasty, dusty, stinky show ring. Not the most exciting job in the world, but since we were partying in Dante’s seventh ring of hell, I appreciated the reprieve.

The best part though, came at the end, after the last lesson of the afternoon. Typically, would just brush the horses and pick the crap out their hooves. [I’m pretty sure that particular process has some fancy equestrian name, but I don’t know what it would be, so crap-picking it is.] However, due to the heat, the instructors decided that hosing them down would be more comfortable for them. I completely agreed and was very enthusiastic to assist.

I can’t say, completely, that my motives for wanting to shower the horses was entire pure and educationally based. The truth is I was not going to be particularly upset if I accidentally splashed myself with a little water. Or if I accidentally held the shower nozzle over my own head and used the “one for you, one for me” method of sharing. But I never got the opportunity to share in the horse’s cool, aqueous relief as what happened next completely horrified me from dwelling on my sweat-induced discomfort.

As I’m hosing off the horse, the instructor is following behind me with a curved, plastic contraption that she’s using to scrape the excess water, sweat and dirt of said horsie. As we draw closer to the rear of the horse, the instructor informs me that I need to make sure that I (direct quote) “need to get the water and [my] hand up the ‘girly’ parts of the horses to remove the black residue that builds up in there.”

I’ll let that sink in for a minute.

WTF!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! You want me to do WHAT NOW??????

So I did it. Surprisingly, the part I was squeamish about had nothing to do with playing around with the horse’s lady parts. I used to bath my dogs all the time…I’ve spent plenty of time around pet nether regions. Hell, the cats like to stick their little buttholes in my face, so I’m quite accustomed to dealing with pet “parts.”

No, the thing that completely floored me was the fact that I needed to dig around for whatever black gunk accumulates in the horse’s vaginal area.

(You know, I’ve scrubbed her privates already, so let’s just go ahead and give the horse a name. Her name is Callie. She’s a beautiful, sweet horse that enjoys hay, carrots and walks in the moonlight.)

What the hell is ANY creature doing with a black colored residue in that area? OK, I’m a female, so I feel qualified to speak to this topic. If I EVER see a black residue in MY “girly” area, I’m going straight to the ER (right after I’ve stopped shrieking hysterically). How the heck does this NOT signify some sort of illness, really? I was so mortified by playing with Callie’s “residue,” that my typically inquisitive brain forgot to cue me to ask the instructor what that stuff even was. I’ll have to find out later and get back to you on that. Because I’m sure you all are just DYING to know, right?

After what seemed like a disgusting eternity, I finally get done with that lovely little job. As I’m getting ready to put the hose away, the instructor says, “did you clean between her butt cheeks?”

Then I passed out.

Seriously, I didn’t even know horses HAD butt cheeks. But yep, they have butt cheeks. And I cleaned them. Oh, did I mention she had dropped a fresh, steaming pile of crap IN THE SHOWER STALL!?!?!?! So, yeah, I got to play with that “residue,” too. Callie and I REALLY got to know each other that day. Next week, she and I are going out for milkshakes and a movie at the drive in after lessons. Geez.

Incidentally, the discovery of butt cheeks on non-human creatures does not bode well for me at home. You see, whenever “T” cuts the cheese, so to speak, and blames it on Tucker (the poor, dumb dog), I always have the solid rebuttal that dogs don’t have butt cheeks and, therefore, cannot physically generate that intensity of sound. Now that I know animals actually DO have butt cheeks, I’m just going to have to find another argument to defend Tucker’s honor.

Giddy Up

As mentioned in previous posts, the best way to get accepted into veterinary school is to rack up a whole bunch of hours doing various things with animals. Yikes, that sounds really inappropriate…you know what I mean!!

Anyway, as I alluded in the post about counting bird nests, I found an opportunity that would allow me to work with horses (something I have NEVER even considered doing before) and do so in a quasi-clinical environment.

The program I’m working with is called Simple Changes, a non-profit organization that seeks to offer low-cost equestrian therapy to kids with a wide variety of disabilities. A wide variety, indeed. Naturally, I don’t get the low down on every kid’s condition, due to confidentiality issues, but from what I can gather through observation, we see kids with cerebral palsy, autism, spastic paraplegia, muscular dystrophy – a veritable cornucopia of social and physically conditions for which horse riding provides a unique treatment and socialization regimen.

My duties with the program were pretty narrow at first, since what I know about horses could be tucked neatly into thimble. My first day was spent learning how to groom the horses and observing lessons to get a feel for how they ran.

A note about grooming: you want to feel humble in your humanity? Take a minute to clean a horse’s hooves. Not only are those suckers HEAVY, but these horses can apparently smell a newbie a mile away and proceed to go all Fred Astaire on you while you’re trying to clean them. This is not good news for either the horse or the one doing the grooming. Leaving debris in and around the horse shoes can lead to abscesses in the foot which are very painful and potentially debilitating for the horse. Great news for Erica. Apparently the trick is to wait for them to finish their rendition of Singing In The Rain and take control of the limb again to finish the cleaning. Take control of the limb!?!?! Are you nuts!?!?! These animals weigh the same as a Volkswagen and I’m supposed to “take control?” Lord have mercy!

Learning quickly, however, is a must in this program as you don’t get very much time in novice status. By the second week, I was grooming my own horse (except the hooves, I’m still contracting those out to some other unsuspecting, I mean experienced, sucker) and “sidewalking” during lessons. Sidewalking is exactly what it implies – walking besides the horse and the rider, making sure that they remain safely on top of the horse. Collateral duties include helping the students practice their riding techniques (walk-on/whoa, posting, jump positions and the occasional trot for the more experienced riders).

This, too, is a situation ripe with comedy. What the heck do I know about riding commands? The only horse I ever “rode” was a skinny, geriatric stallion who looked though he would implode if I gave him the walk-on kick. So basically I spent half an hour sitting on top of a horse, a meer spectator, while he moseyed around the paddock gettin’ his graze on. Acting as a dining companion does not good horse riding experience make. However, I do find that this is becoming easier as well, using the monkey-see, monkey-do approach to cognitive learning. Hey, it works for three year old, it should work for me.

Then, last week, I got to do the coolest thing. I got to lead a horse during a lesson. Again, this is pretty self-explanatory: the leader has control of the horse and assists the riders in their commands (stopping, starting, etc.). One would think that this would be a fairly simple function, but as with anything, there’s a lot more to it than you think. First, leading a horse is a lot like operating a car downtown. You have to keep your eye on traffic and make sure that the horses don’t get too close to one another, especially in the indoor arena where space is tight. Who knows what they’ll do and we can’t have horses bucking off students because they’re scared of their buddies. Plus, you have to know what all the commands mean so you can help execute them. Easier said then done when you don’t know jack about horse riding. Finally, you have to convince the horse that what you want him to do is what he should be doing. Did I mention they can smell a newbie? The big giant draft horse I was leading and I had clashing ideas of what he should be doing. Things were not going well for me and after running along side riders in the first two lessons on trail rides, I was quite drained in no mood to negotiate. Unfortunately, his massive size gave him all the bargaining power.

It was then that I learned the art of making that clicking noise with your tongue against the roof of your mouth. This annoying little sound somehow motivates a horse to your way of thinking. Fantastic! My problems are solved, I thought. For about five minutes. Did I mention the two previous trail rides? On a sunny day in 80 degree weather? Apparently this technique requires the presence of saliva in the mouth in order for it to come off effectively and I had none left. I couldn’t win for losing. Not to mention the two trail rides left the instructor a bit tired and, well, not with as much patience as she had in the early part of the day. Good day for Erica to start learning how to lead a horse. Woo hoo.

In the end, everything came off without a hitch. No one got hurt, no one was flung off my horse and the horse didn’t send me into next Tuesday. We’re calling that, in Erica-land, a raving success. I can’t wait to do it again.

All in all, this is a really awesome program and I’m so glad to have the opportunity to be a part of it. I’m excited to get to know the students and bond with the horses – truly a win-win situation.

Saturday Morning: For the Birds

Part of the application process of getting into veterinary school actually happens well before you even think about starting the actual application. To be considered for acceptance into a veterinary program, one must first log in hundreds of hours of employment or volunteer time spent working in science or with animals to satisfy a number of “non-academic prerequisites.” It is really never too early to begin working on these particular prerequisites. Virginia Tech, for example, recommends 400-600 hours of clinical experience in an animal hospital, 200-300 hours of large or mixed animal experience (i.e.- horses, zoo animals, commercial/food animals), and yet another 100-300 hours working in a corporate or research setting. On the high side, that’s roughly 1200 hours of scooping poop and not getting paid for it. For those following along at home, the average full time job rings in 2080 hours annually. This means that in the middle of working and schooling full time, I have to figure out how to defecate more hours out of an already constipated schedule to the tune of another half time job. Giving myself 2-3 years to knock this out is probably one of my better decisions I’ve made yet!

Being thusly short on free time, a girl needs to get creative. This means finding little snippets of volunteer efforts in which to become involved for the sake of sharpening my skills of making mountains from molehills. More on this later…

My first volunteer opportunity was on March 1st. The task was to assist the “Wildlife Coordinators” (Hoo doggy, DO NOT call them Park Rangers!) at the Mason Neck National Wildlife Refuge with counting blue heron nests in the rookery located on the banks of the Potomac River. Not real hands on, mind you, but still science-y nonetheless.

My contact, Marty, who at this point I only know through emails, advised us volunteers to meet up at the rally point at 0800 (for my civilian friends, that 8:00 am – aka too damn early on a Saturday). So, wanting to make a great first impression for my new “friends,” I woke up nice and early (grumble) and made it to the front gate at 0745 (translation: 7:45a…you’ll catch on, I promise). Here’s what welcomed me:



Son of a baby biter, I should have known! How could I forget that I was dealing with the federal government? Ugh. So there I sat for 20 minutes until Ranger - I’m sorry, Coordinator - Grumpy Pants came to open up the gate. Seriously, he was a real bear. I said a friendly good morning, he snarled at me. I was going to take a picture of his sour puss, but he looked like he’d eat my camera if I did.

After he opens up the gate, I continue to the rally point, knowing full well I’d be there way before anyone else. Sure enough, it was a full 45 minutes until someone else, showed up. “Did I miss the memo?” I ask my fellow volunteer. Apparently, I did. There was an email sent out the night before moving the meeting time to the right an hour. Figures. I was at the Jeff Dunham show when that came in and I never bothered to check my email before bed. I could have slept in an hour longer. I could have bathed! Ah!

The refuge is a beautiful wooded area right on the Potomac River – pretty rare in these parts. I took these pictures while waiting for everyone else to drag their sorry butts out of bed.




Notice my trusty steed in front of the maintenance shed. I’ll never get rid of that vehicle!

Finally everyone shows up. The turn out was lower than expected, but enough to get the job done. We were divided into different groups (I got to be in the group that did the most hiking, which is way cool), got briefed in on what we needed to do and piled into the vans for the short drive down to the dike that served as the outside boundary of the rookery. In short, we were to count the heron nests that we found, record the number and put chalk lines on the trees so they weren’t doubled counted. Not brain science, but probably about as much as I cared to handle on Saturday morning. I got to be the data recorder – a position that I handily placed myself into for reasons I’ll detail later.

All in all, it was a really cool experience. We saw a ton of heron nests and even more blue herons flying around.



These birds must have smurfs as general contractors, so indicated by their aerial subdivisions. There were many, many trees that looked like this.



As many nests as we counted (rough count was 788), it was still not good news for the herons. According to Coordinator Joe, the trend over the last seven years or so has been a slight, but steady decline in the heron population as well as a marked eastward shift of their habitat. It was also rumored that more nests had been found on the ground this year than had in years past. I guess even the blue herons aren’t safe from the effects of a crappy real estate market.

One hypothesis into the decline of the heron population has stemmed from an increase in the bald eagle population. As they compete for the same resources, bald eagles – the larger, more aggressive of the two species (who have clearly mastered the art of the avian McMansion) – appear to be running the herons out of their happy home. I’ll let you play with the symbolism on this one.



Bottom line, it was a fun, unique experience. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

My take aways:

- I have officially logged four hours of science / animal experience under my belt which, of course, further cements my aspirations to get into veterinary school (there’s no way I’d miss sleeping on a Saturday unless there was a really good reason).
- This makes great application fodder. As per my duties as “data recorder,” I “tracked” blue heron habitats (walked around aimlessly waiting for teammates to call out numbers), “recorded observations” (wrote numbers on a paper), “analyzed the resulting statistical data” (added up the columns at the end), and “submitted the findings to the lead research team” (left the clipboard on the table). Hey, you write enough resumes, you’re bound to become a skillful BS technician.
- I made some great contacts so that maybe, just maybe, they’ll call me back to help conduct some actual research.

On my way home from the Wildlife Refuge, I found a government owned stable full of horses. Naturally, I had to stop in to see what it was all about. That story next time.

BFN.