We often find ourselves in a not unfamiliar position, leaning on the back end of a tailgate with a view straight into a vet box. These situations vary in that sometimes the night is black and frigid and we are huddled bleary eyed under as m…uch of our outer wear as we can find, or other times, we are under the penetrating and relentless burning rays of the sweltering sun. The one constant is a vet and a friend who patiently waits with us until such a time as we know that whether it is sunlight or night time, that our treasured horse is safely out of the dark. Certainly, with as many horses in our care as we have, and the circumstances of starvation, neglect, and abuse that have brought our horses to us, it is little wonder that we have spent countless hours perched on the tail end of a vet truck. While we have become increasingly competent and comfortable in diagnosing and treating repeated, common, and sometimes even unusual afflictions, we can easily add up hundreds of hours spent holding the rope of a sick or injured horse and conferring, collaborating or conversing with the holder of the title of DVM. Our inside joke is that our “online veterinary degree” will only take us so far, and we have been fortunate to have a tremendous wealth of caring and compassionate vets who are willing to pick up the phone, travel far out of their designated route, and drive out to Red Bucket long after the world is safely tucked into bed at night, in order to help us help a desperate horse.

We have experienced Mother Nature waving a temporary white flag in the recent birth of little McGarrah. The tenuous and often volatile tenor of our dance with nature more frequently resembles a Rumba than a Waltz. As luck would have it, Darla must have conferred with the Merk Manual or the UC Davis Reference Guide on Foaling. As her ribs began to quietly fade and her coat picked up a luster that silently hinted at health, her bag began to fill giving us fair warning that her baby was 4-6 weeks away from making its debut. Six weeks almost to the day, a small bead of wax formed on each of her teats signaling to us that we would most likely make the acquaintance of our 243rd horse within the next 24 hours. By afternoon a steady drip of colostrum had us quietly waiting in the wings for the delivery of Darla’s foal, and ready to help Darla, if necessary. While it is probably wise to give Mother Nature a bit of credit, in the end, it was Darla who proved to be both a pro and a very good mother. Little McGarrah’s beautiful entree to Red Bucket was not through the rod iron gates that flank our entrance, but rather a smooth and beautiful delivery by her astounding and graceful mother.

We have found ourselves tightening our belts of late and postponing routine lameness examinations, dentals, and appointments for non-urgent ailments. Foregoing the luxury, reassurance, and safety net of a vet, we are rolling up our sleeves, taking a deep breath and reminding ourselves that “we can do it,” having had a tremendous wealth of vets who have invested in our education. These accomplished veterinarians are our good friends Dr. Winnick, Dr. Collins, Dr. Colladay, Dr. Treser, world renowned Dr. Grant, Dr. Davis, and our kind hearted kindred Guardian Angel, Dr. Moore. The bravado behind bolstering our efforts had left us a bit weary when Dr. Adrienne Moore pulled into our driveway (claiming that she was “in our neighborhood” via Sunland); we were thrilled to see a friendly and familiar face. As her “assistant,” Micah, frolicked and romped in the yard with JoJo and Barkley, Adrienne proceeded to empty the back of her truck of nearly 20 fly masks (including 3 little foal size masks), a stack of scrupulously cleaned buckets and ground feeders that she had rescued from a client and disinfected for our horses, and newly packaged items that she pulled from the back of her truck. Brushing off our words of gratitude, she accompanied me on a walk around the ranch, a visit with the ever popular Mini Mac (McGarrah), and a stop at Autumn’s stall which resulted in an offer to drop by on Tuesday when she was in town again, (Burbank this time…hmmm), to adjust Autumn and bring her relief from a recent injury resulting from being cast.
 
Tuesday the very broken line from Burbank to Chino Hills brought the familiar white truck, friendly smile, and gregarious German Sheppard who could barely wait for the tires to stop rolling before launching himself out of the cab of the truck into a much straighter line for the yard and barking friends. Adrienne spent the afternoon bringing Autumn a relief that we could not, and in her style that contradicts the adage that less is more, she spent time working on Roulette’s little body which included passing Lauren a bottle from the back of her truck that was sure to help Roulette’s flaky and itchy skin. At an entertaining visit to the donkey paddock at what was to be a last stop, Lauren ran over to inform me that Parker was colicing…again. Suffice it to say that Adrienne did not make it home that afternoon, but armed with her stethoscope and a commitment to serving and saving lives, spent the evening and into the night watching, helping, coaxing, and quite possibly praying, until Parker turned the corner. We have often said that we do not leave sick horses, and neither does Dr. Moore, who did not gather her dog for the long and broken line drive home until many hours later.
 
This culture message is dedicated to the remarkable, selfless, and gifted healer, Dr. Adrienne Moore, who is our cherished friend and fellow Red Riding Hood.